Today I went to visit my friend W with a pan of cinnamon rolls. I had made Pioneer Woman’s recipe for the twins’ birthday (only modified. She seems like a nice woman but I believe she wants to kill us all, with her “use whole milk or better yet, full cream” and “pour the melted butter on…use a whole cup.” Yeah. I use skim milk and about 1/3 cup of butter and they are still wickedly indulgent and everyone loves them. Also I don’t like her icing…waay to sweet. But I digress, rather long-windedly. Let’s start this post over.)
Today I went to visit my friend W with a pan of still-warm cinnamon rolls. “No! You have made yourself tired; why?” she scolded me. I ignore this, recognizing it as polite protestation, and kiss her in greeting as she takes my coat, sits me down on the couch, and embarks on a long explanation of why she has to go somewhere. It’s a wild journey into the perils of pronoun abuse; I’m told about my husband’s car and how my husband is too busy and my friends will come. No, his friends. She means her friends and her husband. It gets really confusing when she introduces a third party to the conversation, but I hang in there, mentally substituting the pronoun I think she means for the one she says. I manage to work out that her husband is going for his driver’s test today and that her friend is coming to pick her up and take her to meet him there. “How is my family?” she asks me. “Fine, fine,” I tell her. I know what she means. I do help her with English, but this is a social visit and ends up being very short, and I also try not to overwhelm, working on a few things at once.
I sometimes love pronoun trouble because it’s so cute. Donn helped another Iraqi man get his driver’s license a couple of months ago, and afterwards he sat and drank tea in his home. His wife was curious about me. “Is my wife American? Is my wife at home?” she asked Donn.
I have written before of Arab hospitality, and how hard it is, as a fairly hospitable American, to keep up. Several weeks ago, we invited W and her husband and 3 kids for dinner. I tried to go all out; I made tagine and zaalouk and samosas and salad; I served good bread and put out fruit and cookies. We started with a sweet orange drink, and afterwards made tea.
They responded well. “Yummy!” their 9 year old kept announcing! (He is very proud of his English and shows it off whenever possible) W stuck her fork in the salad. “Spanish?” she asked, and it took me a moment but then I nodded. It was a spinach salad. She gave her daughter a bite and then stuck her fork in again to spear an egg slice for herself. They were a relaxed combination of single-serving plates and communal eating, not hesitating to stick their forks in the serving bowls, but mostly eating individually. They ate heartily and seemed to enjoy everything.
Then they had us over. We had olives and leban (yogurt) and biryani (rice and vegetable dish)and kefta (spiced ground beef) and salad and samosas (hers were much prettier than mine) and chicken and pickled cauliflower and grilled vegetables and 2 kinds of bread; homemade Middle Eastern flat bread, and whole wheat pita bread. The table practically groaned under the weight of it all. Then we had home-made baklava, called baklowi in the Iraqi dialect, with pistachios and a hint of rose water, sooo good. I used to not like it too much because it’s too sweet, but the home-made Iraqi version has changed my mind and it’s become something I can’t resist. Plus tea, made with cardamom and schwaia min sucre, a small amount of sugar, and freshly-squeezed orange juice, and other things I’m forgetting. I’m sure it took them all day to prepare it. When we were leaving, they pressed gifts upon us—we came home with baklowi (yeah like I needed that temptation round the place) and other foods.
I should have sent them home with gifts.
I should have shrieked in protest at their hard work, instead of smiling and saying things like, “Wow!”
I should have cooked more.
But I think it’s okay. When the woman I’m teaching English to (the artist’s wife) presses a brand-new package of Najjar coffee into my hand, after I’ve admired the coffee she makes me, it’s a way of paying me for class. I might feel awkward that I’ve brought her nothing but I forget—yes, I have. I have brought my expertise, my teaching experience, my lesson prep.
I do still worry a bit though. Do you think that, behind our backs, they talk about how stingy and ungenerous the Americans are?
15 comments
March 3, 2011 at 5:44 pm
Miss Footloose | Life in the Expat Lane
What a lvoely post, and you made my mouth water with all the food. I remember well the hospitality of the Palestinian people when I lived in Ramallah for over a year. And the food was so delicious! the home-cooked dinners take hours and hours to prepare.
I wouldn’t worry about what your friends say about the stinginess of Americans behind your back. You may be the only one who has invited them yet. I am sure they understand your “intentions,” and true hospitality is not about the amount of food. It’s about making connections and giving people your attention.
March 3, 2011 at 8:54 pm
Becky
Uh… Now I’m embarrassed to think how little I served you all when you were over… good thing you understand my type. But YOU had an amazing spread it looks like! I would be sitting there saying, “Yummy!” too
March 3, 2011 at 11:15 pm
ThirdCat
Such a warm and generous post (and, yes, I agree, regarding those cinnamon rolls of The Pioneer Woman’s – they are quite something, but I too modified them, because just reading the recipe was enough to make my arteries call out in pain).
March 4, 2011 at 5:01 am
Louise
My husband recently spent the evening at a Bible Study at an Indian couple’s home. He cannot eat too much that is sweet without getting ill, and the poor man had such a hard time trying to accept their hospitality and the homemade sweets the eight-and-a-half month pregnant wife showered on him. “I didn’t want to seem like a rude American, but I physically couldn’t eat it all!” he wailed when he came home.
I tried not to chuckle as I told him I was sure they appreciated his efforts, and that his eagerness to learn how to say “hello” in their language went a long way toward erasing any thoughts they might have had of rudeness.
Although now I’m hoping the simple meal of pasta, salad, bread, and spice cake that I served when we hosted Bible Study didn’t seem too stingy to them …
March 4, 2011 at 5:14 am
Jennifer, Snapshot
I think that people who are hospitable also don’t judge others’ hospitality — that wouldn’t be very generous, would it?
But I don’t think that most of us can even imagine!
March 4, 2011 at 5:49 am
Kit
Hospitality and gift showering seems to be so different from culture to culture. Even between UK and America there is a huge disparity – Brits must seem incredibly stingy to Americans with far less custom of gift giving on every occasion. Both those meals you mentioned sound incredibly generous and lavish to me – I’m glad I don’t have to compete! But in the end it is the intention that counts and that shines through all the way.
March 4, 2011 at 8:53 am
Bon
i am a terrible host, on all those terms.
time was, i would sit and talk with you all night and share my last cigarette, but i never quite mastered the art of remembering to get people drinks, or of enjoying food prep enough to truly shower people with the glory of that kind of generosity. and thus, when i lived in other cultures, i became increasingly hermit-like, overwhelmed by the impossibility of ever giving back what i’d been so kindly offered.
March 5, 2011 at 10:45 am
Debbie
Personally, I think they had to have been impressed by your efforts – I am! You definitely went “the extra mile.”
March 6, 2011 at 7:24 pm
LG
maybe… i remember my malagasy neighbour in Gabon. I was so busy teaching and running a guest house and doing payroll at the hospital and managing the station workers and…. so finally one Sunday I ran over to her house and said I am having leftovers tonight, now, in ten minutes, just come with your family. and so she did. Of course, she had us over for a three course meal, the table groaning with food, we were overwhelmed, but I was so busy I could never do that in return. But I kept inviting her over for leftovers, for potluck, yes, I taught her about potluck, we both bring our leftovers or something new. And yes, leftovers are not really “in” at all in Africa. But she and her boys and husband (who was always on call, just like mine) became part of our lives and somehow it was okay that we did potluck. She realized that I was treating her like my American friends, like a sister, and somehow in the end, potluck was okay. My kids always loved what she brought, deep fried plantains, or stuff crepes, or home made African beignets…. or “rings”, these bracelet shaped deep fried pastries. One time, she even brought “puppy chow”, these dog food shaped deep fried treats. And I made tuna casserole with bean salad, koolaid and jello and avocado salad. Or whatever. Our boys became like brothers…. and it was okay.
March 6, 2011 at 9:11 pm
Jennifer
You might like this:
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/428/oh-you-shouldnt-have
See act 3. (I haven’t listened yet; I only read the descriptions.)
March 7, 2011 at 3:16 am
Linda
What a nice experience you had. So far my cultural experience has been eating with French people. It’s different too as you probably know.
March 7, 2011 at 4:12 am
Jennie
They really have amazing food..
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March 7, 2011 at 1:45 pm
MaryWitzl
I’m so glad I’ve already had dinner — I’d be drooling all over my keyboard if I hadn’t. I miss baklava and homemade samosas so much!
My students used to crack me up with their garbled pronouns, telling me all about my mother and my friends instead of their own — and they returned the favor every time I tried to speak Turkish.
March 8, 2011 at 5:09 am
Susan
So much comes down to cultural differences. In spite of the blending of the world through technology, we still have so many differences. My “hope” would be that most people enjoy the differences and learn from them. We can’t really expect to fulfill all the different cultural expectations can we? It’s great when we can but I don’t think we should feel bad for not getting it “totally right” if it’s not our heritage. Neither can we expect that “our way” is the right way and a different way is wrong. It’s not wrong, just different.
My mother gets frustrated with some foreigners she sees trying to bargain in US department stores lately. She sees that the clerks finally give up and have a supervisor deal with them – the bargaining customer often gets the deal but no one else does. She finds it rude of them and unfair. Based on the national backgrounds of the individuals she described, I told her “that is their culture.” In their home country, it would be unthinkable to pay the asked-for price and bargaining is a way of life. When I’m in those countries, I certainly bargain as hard as I can. But perhaps not many people think to explain to immigrants moving to the US our “culture.” Which can change depending on where you live within the US. Ah, not looking forward to my own culture shock……
March 8, 2011 at 11:31 am
Bluegreen Kirk
I have a lot of Arab friends and they are some of the best friends i could ever ask for. I dont think they turn around and talk about you behind your back at least I hope not.