The Antiracist Kitchen: 21 Stories (and Recipes)

Nevertheless, Nadia Hohn, the editor of The Antiracist Kitchen: 21 Stories (and Recipes), developed anti-racism coping strategies, and one of them was learning to cook the foods that are integral to her Jamaican heritage. Although discussing racism can be uncomfortable, “sharing a meal can make it just a little easier.” (p. 4) Some say that music is a universal language, but I suggest that food is equally so. Let’s face it; we all have to eat. Sharing stories about our favourite foods, why they are important to us, and how they connect with our identities creates a comfort zone for uncomfortable topics. So, Hohn reached out to 21 authors of diverse ethno-cultural backgrounds, from Turtle Island (the Indigenous name for North America and Mexico) and the rest of the world.

The book is divided into four chapters, each of which offers a different perspective on recognizing and fighting racism. Reclaim, resist, restore and rejoice are the key concepts, and each chapter’s short introduction always concludes with Nadia Hohn’s recounting a personal food experience and its relationship to the concepts of reclamation, resistance, restoration and rejoicing. These introductions also contain vocabulary specific to discussions of racism. Terms such as colonization or white supremacy are presented in bold face type, with definitions being provided in the “Glossary” at the end of the book.

In the first chapter, “Reclaim”, we read of the ways in which traditional foods are the means of cultural continuity for the Cherokee (“Beans on the Stove, Corn Bread on the Table”), of pride in one’s Black heritage (“Love Me, Love my Banana Fritters”), of hospitality in Hispanic homes (“Tortillas con Queso (and Love)”), of individuality within a culture (“Fusion Fried Plantain”), and of reclaiming a traditional family name through the regular enjoyment of an Anishinaabe staple (“Manoomin”).

“Resist” is the title of the second chapter, and it explores the ways in which oppressed peoples can fight against racism, directly and sometimes indirectly. Say the word “banana”, and most people immediately think of a yellow-skinned fruit. But in elementary school, given a coloring sheet of a fruit bowl, Hohn coloured the banana green, like the ones she ate at home. Her teacher’s response was shaming: “There are no such things as green bananas. They are supposed to be yellow.” (p. 40) Ms. D. had obviously never eaten green bananas nor was she aware of the many ways in which they are an integral part of Caribbean cookery.

The stories of resistance take many directions. If your fourth-grade class is having a pizza party and you’re a Muslim kid who doesn’t eat pork (because mozzarella is alleged to contain pig product), what are you supposed to do? S. K. Ali says that she’s allergic to pizza, and that becomes the impetus for her mom to create a halal pizza, using ketchup for the red sauce. That’s “The True Story Behind Ketchup Pizza”, and, although Ali’s mom ultimately learned to make “real” pizza, Ali still craves the ketchup version. Bryan Patrick Avery is taunted by white kids who claim that he isn’t “Black enough”, (p. 50) but life experience tells him that he is. It’s hurtful, but it gets better when his grandmother makes collard greens, a comfort food, because “Grandma’s Greens chase the blues away.” (p. 51) As a five-year-old, Natasha Deen and her seven-year-old sister are terrorized by a gang of ninth-grade boys who throw stone-packed snowballs, berate them with ethnic slurs and tell them to return to their homeland. Hearing of the problem, Mrs. Deen’s solution is unusual and brave: she confronts the ringleader of the gang, bakes him a cake, and invites him to their home. Several days later, the contrite young man arrives with his grandfather, dialogue ensues, and, after that, he becomes the girls’ protector. All because of “A Cake for My Bully.”

The Fourth of July is a major celebration in America, with fireworks, picnics, and backyard barbecues, but when you’re the only Black kid at the event or are mistaken for another Black kid, holiday food stops being appetizing. But, in “The Best Deviled Eggs Ever”, Andrea J. Loney reminds the reader that the tastes we grow up with are the tastes of home, and when she enjoys her grandma’s deviled eggs, that’s a celebration. At a “Girl Scout Breakfast”, fried bologna accompanies the pancakes at Linda Sue Parks’ Girl Scout troop’s Sunday breakfast. Why bologna? It’s the breakfast meat of choice in Korean immigrant families, the result of their introduction to the contents of the ration packs brought by American GI’s during the Korean War. All those processed meats - Spam™, bologna, hot dogs – were added to “army stew”, and “what began out of necessity evolved into preference.” (p. 87) If your palate’s preference is for sinus-clearing heat, you’ll love muhammara, a Syrian appetizer dip. In “Muhammara”, Danny Ramadan tells of his profound disappointment with the dip served at a friend’s Syrian restaurant in Vancouver. Ramadan had lived in Egypt and Turkey and was refugee in Lebanon before coming to Canada, and, during that time, “one of the only things that remained the same was the taste of food.” (p. 72) So when his chef friend omits all the spice heat as a concession to the taste buds of her Vancouver clients, it’s just not the same. Ramadan provides a recipe for the real thing, and he begs, “When you make this recipe, please – for the love of sumac – make it spicy.” (p. 73)

Food can also be restorative, a way to “create healing space for ourselves and others.” (p. 77) Nadia Hohn grew up in multi-cultural Toronto, and neighbours and friends offered the chance to explore other food cultures as they shared whatever was on their family’s table. The third chapter, “Restore”, focuses on the concept of “food justice”, the ability “to grow one’s own food, feed others and continue culinary traditions”. (p. 78) When the food that is familiar to us is enjoyed by others, we feel proud and unashamed of our culinary heritage.

Marty Chan’s mom’s Chinese Dumplings – known in Cantonese as “war teep” – are just like perogies, but with meat, and when Marty’s friend Jay comes for dinner, he scarfs them down and asks for seconds. “Taquitos de Papa” (Little Potato Tacos) tells the story of a Latino writer who never quite feels that she belongs. But, when the taquitos are served at a gala dinner at a book festival she is attending, Reyna Grande realizes that, “if tacos belonged at the Library of Congress, so did I.” (p. 89) The concept of the golden rule – that we do unto others as we would have done to us – is fundamental to a humanitarian organization called Khalsa Aid. Its leader, Ravi Singh, emulates Guru Nanak, Sikhism’s founder, who started “langar to help those who were hungry and in doing so, he helped people see that we’re all equal.” (p. 93) One of Guru Nanak’s followers was a woman who became famous both for her sense of service and also for a dessert she served: “kheer”. It’s a simple but sweet rice pudding for which Simran Jeet Singh, provides a recipe (and you can make it in an Instant Pot, tradition made modern!) And while some might think that white rice “is so boring. . . I can’t believe you eat it every day” (p. 99) Ann Yu-Kyung Choi’s recipe for “Tasty and Easy Kimbap” proves that rice is anything but. Malawach, a traditional flatbread made of puff pastry, a staple of Yemeni Jewish cooking, fried and often served with honey, is not exactly the healthiest of foods. In “A Reimagined Malawach”, Ayelet Tsabari describes making a healthier, gluten-free version, using the rice paper traditionally used in Vietnamese spring rolls. But, sometimes, she mixes traditional Yemeni condiments into maple syrup, dipping the bread into it, enjoying a fusion of her culture and food traditions, old and new.

Every culture has special food items only made at special, festive occasions. Even simple and humble ingredients, eaten because they were all that was once available, can become delicacies over time. The final chapter, “Rejoice”, tells the stories of food that celebrate holidays and traditions. For North Americans, apples are an iconic fruit and guavas are exotic. But, if you hail from Cuba, it’s the reverse. In “Between Guavas and Apples”, Ruth Behar learns to love apples, when they are dipped in honey at Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a tradition that comes with her family’s immigration to America from Cuba. Her mother makes an apple-guava cake, blending the fruit of their warm Cuban homeland with all-American apples, baking a dessert that “lets us imagine what hope tastes like.” (p. 116) “Magic Ingredients” details Deidre Havelock’s pivot from office assistant to caterer for the Indigenous community. Volunteering to cook an Indigenous meal for an upcoming event marks the moment of change, and she specializes in bison meat, the magic ingredient in her recipe for “Bison Stew”. Nigerian parties aren’t parties without desserts, and Sarah Raughley offers a toothsome pastry in her recipe for Puff-Puff. They look like the holes from donuts, but they’re nothing like the product from Tim’s. In “Sharing Meals Is Sharing a Piece of Who We Are”, Susan Yoon describes a simple picnic on the way home from elementary school, one in which she and friend share their lunch leftovers. Her recipe for “Dosirak for One or Two or Three” isn’t fancy, is highly adaptable, and is a perfect take-along. The final entry in the chapter is “A Cup of Shaah” in which Rahma Rodaah recounts the early years of her family’s immigration from Somalia. Arriving with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a couple of suitcases, it was an incredible adjustment. As the only Black Somali girl in her class, knowing neither French nor English, she was bullied, and her lunches were a source of mockery. But, at home, around the family dinner table, as the kids talked about their day at school, her parents would listen and advise. After supper, her parents would prepare shaah – tea – even though Canadian tea was bland, lacking in spice and aroma. Finally, Rahma’s mother found a market that carried the cardamom, cloves and cinnamon that helped to recreate the shaah of Somalia, its soothing aroma wafting through the house as the kids drifted off to sleep. And when Rahma met her husband, he completely impressed her parents with that first cup that he brewed. It’s a tradition the continue to enjoy at the end of a long day.

The 21 stories recounted in The Antiracist Kitchen contain many memories, and some are painful. But each ends with a triumph, big or small, in which food, glorious food enables the storyteller to savour that special feeling which only comfort food can give. The recipes are easy to prepare and rarely contain hard-to find ingredients. Plantain and pomegranate molasses are sold in the grocery stores of most urban centres, and a Google search can help to find a substitute ingredient for some items. As a self-confessed foodie and adventurous cook, I thoroughly enjoyed the stories which preceded each recipe. I never experienced “food shaming”, but I also grew up in a multi-ethnic neighbourhood where everyone accepted the idea that everyone’s food culture was its own. Yes, I still turn up my nose at some Ukrainian specialties (you’ll never, ever get me to eat “studenetz”, which is head-cheese), but I understand that everyone’s food culture is to be valued. Even though Nadia Hohn’s introductory pages for each chapter described her personal experience of racism through food, the tone of those pages came across as less personal and more polemical. Still, it’s a small morsel of quibble. Roza Nozari’s bright and bold graphics underscore the message that we should all be at the table, whoever we are. The front cover is a truly inclusive group sitting down to enjoy a meal and each other’s company. Even the little dog begging for table scraps is having a good time.

The Antiracist Kitchen is intended for a readership of ages 9-12, but the introductory content to each chapter is more likely to be understood by a slightly older group, perhaps 12-15. Purchase it for your school library: teachers of nutrition can use it in their classrooms, and it will provide food for thought (and the table, lunch-bag, and home kitchen) for students who are interested in the culture of food. The diversity of ethnic food cultures is valued, and the book reminds readers that we are what we eat, and who we are is affirmed by what we eat.