It was 1986, the walls of the school hallway were speckled with posters for the upcoming heritage luncheon.

Everyone from students to teachers were invited to bring their culturally specific dish to showcase and share. Although optional, my 4th grade teacher enthusiastically encouraged our class to partake.Excitedly, I urged my mother to prepare the beloved ‘Rasgullas’ — she obliged and even beautified them with luxurious silver leaf accents.

On the day of, I brought them with constrained haste, so as not to spill the saccharine rose water, they bathed in. Carefully, they were placed amongst the globally diverse cuisines with a sign, ‘sweet cheese balls’.  Within minutes, a South Indian classmate juxtaposed a plate of brownies. Too young to realize the irony and humor of a brown girl bringing in “brownies”, I felt inexplicably upset. In retrospect, it was her rejection of a culture I was proud of that gnawed at me.

By lunch’s end, my shock transformed to deep sadness. While her brownies were devoured, my dessert remained untouched; her revelry a foil to my embarrassment and hurt. Rather than returning home proudly with an empty container, I arrived sticky from the sloshing syrup from scurrying home. 

Fast forward 3.5 decades – Meet my  friend in Cleveland, a fifth generation Ohioan who is the epitome of the Midwest. Dropping in one afternoon, I hesitated offering him a pan Middle Eastern lunch by the venerable Israeli-English chef, Yotam Ottolenghi.   Diametrically contrasting the traditional American burgers he zealously showcases on social media, I watched with delight as his palette experienced the foreign flavors with joy with requests for seconds; once again, I was in shock.

above Chicken with Caramelized onions and Cardamon rice, Ottolenghi