Permission in the Margins - letter two

A letter exchange with Farrah Berrou of A'anab that discusses who has the right to draw from the well of local cultural heritage

This is part 2 in a 6-part correspondence between Lebanese American wine expert and cultural observer Farrah Berrou and me. She kicked off our conversation last week in letter one and this is my reply. We will continue the back and forth for three weeks on the topic of who holds the keys to cultural heritage, with a final recap on October 4th. Farrah and I have known one another, mostly from afar, since 2018 when we met at a supper club in Beirut, and I’ve been a fan ever since.

An exhibition created by Farrah in April this year in Beirut held at Malfoof Studio (I wrote about it in an earlier post here. She featured her short film about her family’s olive farm in Southern Lebanon and what had happened to that land in the wake of October 7.

Dear Farrah,

I was so glad to read your insights into place and identity and permissions prompted by my newsletter earlier this summer. There is so much to unpack in what you rightly call a fraught subject that’s just waiting for a misstep to be pounced on. Like we discussed behind the scenes, there aren’t any right answers and we’re certainly not going to resolve the ideas of appropriation and cultural overstepping here, but the conversation is one I think we both mull over from different angles often, so why not take the leap?

I read and re-read your post as a way of framing my answer and something struck me. I wrinkled my nose at your use of the word “based” in referring to where I live (Amman). While I AM “based” here technically, this is a word I’m accustomed to being used to describe where someone lives temporarily, usually because of work. Amman is now my home and will be for the foreseeable future. I’m working to establish a long-term life here with my Jordanian husband….something I’ve never really done before. However my (over)reaction to your use of this word also shows to me how sensitive I am to the idea that I don’t belong here….which for me is even more complicated given how I grew up.

I haven’t lived in the United States since 2008. As a child, I mostly lived abroad from the time I was 6 until I began university. For 27 of my 51 years I have lived away from my “home” country, often with long stints in a particular location. Most of my childhood was spent in what was the Soviet Union where I had a very not Russian upbringing, but not a very American one either. I went to an international school, had a funny, unplaceable accent, and in a pre-internet world was completely out of the loop on any kind of American pop culture references. However, looking back, I know that everywhere we lived I made an (then unconscious) effort to know the local culture and people as much as I could, going as far as to attend Russian high school in the late 80s when no other Americans were. Local food traditions were often my way of communicating with people, of breaking a barrier that was quite strict. Food wasn’t threatening, is such a strong representation of culture, and is something we all share.

Throughout my Summer pop up restaurant experience here in Amman, the social media team for the restaurant group referred to me as a “visiting chef” despite my best attempts to explain why this wasn’t accurate. The waiters were under the impression that I had merely swanned in for a couple of months of glamorous chef work in Amman to have my moment of glory (LOL), and then would run back off to America. Influencers asked why I hadn’t been paired with a Jordanian chef as I worked with local ingredients. And I understand the undercurrent of hostility towards me, especially here in Jordan since October 7th. No matter how many fundraisers for Gaza I participate in, no matter how outspoken I am against what’s happening just miles from where I write this, the government represented by my passport is complicit in the genocide taking place against the Palestinians. Whereas before there was always an acknowledgement that the American people and its government were different (like when we invaded Iraq), this time I don’t find people I encounter are making quite that same distinction. For the first time in my 10 years in the region I have wondered if people here might avoid my ventures because I am an American.

You asked about my plans for opening a restaurant here in Amman, which are in the works (all fingers crossed). While it is exciting, Amman isn’t Beirut and many of the things you cited as being questionable outside influences from people dipping in and out of Lebanon aren’t at all the same here. I could argue this lack of outside influence contributes to the cultural closed-ness of Jordan relative to its (very) nearby Lebanese neighbor. Is it in fact the international “dialog” Lebanon has had throughout its history has make it the desirable, culturally open, diverse place it is in spite of its many challenges? Relative to the Jordanians I find the Lebanese open to new concepts, new food, new ideas. This is my challenge here: create my take on local, seasonal ingredients like I did at restaurants like Super Vega and Beit Noun, in a city that is culturally conservative and much more insular. 

But roll back to 2018 when I first started working as a restaurant consultant with Lebanese restauranteurs, I had to work hard to change the idea that seemed to be prevalent in the restaurant world that international or imported was better than local. Countless heated arguments were had on the topic as I strove to always use as many local ingredients as possible, play with existing flavors, comforting ingredients, and what remains the best produce I’ve encountered in my travels. There was much push back from some of the Lebanese I worked with, a kind of reverse-snobbishness against themselves, but I did make a lot of headway and developed what’s become my culinary style at the same time. Since the multiple crises hit in 2019 and imported goods became prohibitively expensive, this local-first philosophy has become the necessary norm, which thrills me.

How do I navigate this balance of inspiration and originality, you asked? I firmly believe that using ingredients in unconventional ways isn’t disrespectful as long as you acknowledge the origins of them and understand how they are traditionally used (I always share these stories/facts at the top of my recipes). If I use maftoul with seafood (as I do) I’m not dismissing its more common use as a stew with chicken, onions, and spices. Instead I’m just trying to think of another new delicious way to feature maftoul.  At the same time I believe that trying to “elevate” a familiar, traditional dish is not necessarily the way to go - as they always say on Masterchef Australia, if a change isn’t making the final product notably better, leave it alone. My tact is to take individual ingredients and use them in unexpected ways. For me that’s a safer, less blasphemous creative tactic, one that brings me great joy when it works well.

My aforementioned Seafood Maftoul served at my supper club event, Amman, September 2023

I’m American…but I’m not. There are many Arabs I’ve met who are infinitely more American than I am. Sound more American than me, know more about what’s what across the vast country I still refer to as home even though it’s not. And dare I say I’m more versed in daily life here than some of them? Growing up as I did made me a cultural sponge. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to acquire it as my own, but I do think it’s blessed me with a world view that makes me (overly) empathetic and attuned to life around me. And can two distinctly different places be home to one blonde, confused, nomad? I’d like to think my food combines this very notion of two places in one, my zaatar fried green tomatoes with tarator comes to mind immediately. 

You wisely wrote: “As a Lebanese-American who lives here, before pitching or launching initiatives, I ask, am I the right person for this? Should I be at the center of this? It’s not about ability, it’s about having that lifetime of cultural immersion. It’s about knowing when you don’t know enough.” I don’t know if I ever feel like I know enough living here and am humbled every day at how little I actually understand, whether it’s in an exchange in my clumsy Arabic at the butcher or a real cultural faux pas that I’ve unwittingly made. However, I do know that these experiences make me grow and have made me the unique person I am. And in spite of it all, I wouldn’t trade my varied and gorgeous cultural experiences for any kind of peace of mind living in one place might have offered me. My food is a love letter to the different cultures I’ve experienced that have filled me up with their generosity, beauty, and history.

I wonder how do you feel about this going the other way, Farrah? Is there, can there be appropriation of American culture? When you were living in Los Angeles do you consider yourself as American as you do Lebanese when you’re in Beirut? And why or why not?? Forgive me if I seemed to write in circles….narrowing down such a broad subject has been a challenge, but one I’ve enjoyed.

Looking forward to your response!

xx CSJ