This week, I became the old man yelling at the cloud. I wrote an email to a podcast complaining about its content. It was On the Media's episode Is This Food Racist? The podcast was a logrolling platform for another podcast that shares the WNYC distributor and had two main thrusts -- an interview with Rick Bayless, an Oklahoman who has dedicated his life to Mexican food (real deal stuff, not food truck tacos) and the response to a comment the guest made about Korean staple bibimbap about how to improvement. A key piece of information is that both Bayless and Dan Pashman, host of Sporkful, are white and not Latin or Korean. At least, that was key to Brooke Gladstone, host of OTM who interviewed Pashman.
I have gotten irritated by podcasts before -- mostly by stuff like how pretentious David Plotz can be on the Slate Political Gabfest -- but never have I actually written an email to voice that. Food, though, has a powerful effect on me. There were a few moments that made this happen.
The first was when Pashman, while interviewing Bayless, confronted him about whether he had advantages in his career with Mexican food because he was white. He said that he never really thought about it, tried to figure out what they were asking him, and pretty much said Mexican food is good. Afterwards, Pashman and Gladstone could not believe the gall of him unwilling to concede his white privilege. At this point, the transmission in my brain ground its gears. For some reason, the idea that his whole food palate is built on him being an American interpreting Mexican food, so the idea of getting advantages in this context is kind of meaningless.
The next was when Pashman acknowledged that during a discussion on Korean food, he suggested an improvement to bibimbap and got an array of calls, some positive, others not where he and Gladstone wrung their hands over whether it was ok. The podcast played an interview with an offended Korean American discussing how as a child he was made fun of for his school lunches because there were noodles in them. He then talked about how it felt like a white guy suggesting an improvement to Korean food was like trying to tell his Korean grandmother how to be hotter. There are a couple of things about this: everyone gets made fun of for their school lunches. Another is that these sorts of adjustments are how immigrant foods become assimilated so that when the next generation of Korean kids bring their lunches to school, it looks normal. Finally, there is not definitive bibimbap, and if there were, this guy who called in would not own it. He's not Korean Arnold Palmer.
The interview concluded with Gladstone asking Pashman if he would continue to experiment like that. He said, probably yes, but while being more thoughtful of others. It seems like a fine sentiment, but it also seems kind of crazy. The idea that making food a different way is imperialism seems like it requires a lessening of the original in a way that really does not happen. This is not the first time I have seen this sort of complaint, though. (In the interest of full disclosure: I eat collard greens. I cook them often, though never with peanuts.)
More importantly, though, is that this is what interaction is. Integration like this is part and parcel of what America is, especially with food. Pizza, General Tso's chicken, the California roll, the Cuban sandwich, everything that comes out of Louisiana, chili and the mission burrito are all results of cultures running into each other.
I also think that this is the kind of thinking that leads to people supporting people like Donald Trump. It's hard not to see this as an argument that white people can't make foods from non-white people. While the discussion is clearly more nuanced than that, the implication was clearly that this was somehow bad. When immigrants arrived here with their recipes and found different ingredients available, they improved without feeling enslaved to an idea of authenticity. I just can't see how the world isn't a richer place because of decisions like that, and if the offended Korean American's complaints cause others to be hesitant to experiment because they do not belong to the ethnicity, that's really a shame.
Showing posts with label the south. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the south. Show all posts
Friday, April 01, 2016
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Discomfort, Indeed.
As my wife likes to remind me, I am not really a Southerner; I am a Floridian. Even though the latitude of my birthplace is 3 degrees south of hers, I am still an outsider, a sort of mongrel, even though a sizable portion of my higher education and all of my professional life has been spent squarely in the South. I'm not sure I'll ever get to be a member of that club, in part because I don't drink sweet tea and sound like I was born closer to to the Iowa River than the Chattahoochee, where my wife was.
I do feel like I understand this place somewhat, though, and certainly felt more at home in Clemson, South Carolina than I did in Terre Haute, Indiana. I was an outsider there, too, because the Midwesterners categorized me as one of those from the other side of the Line. College is a place where identity is both calcified and shattered, sometimes more than once. I never got the impression that there was all that much that identified an Midwesterner, really, or an "Hoosier" in particular. In fact, nobody even knew what a Hoosier is.
The same could not be said in the Upstate of South Carolina. The people there had a distinct sound -- distinct from the other side of the state, distinct from the other Carolina and distinct from the other side of the Savannah River. I could not tell an Ohioan from an Illinoisan in nearly the same way I can pick out an Upstater from a Low Countryman from an Alabaman or a Tennesseean. The food is different in these places, the music, the dress (especially the colors -- Red is not welcome in the Upstate, and Orange is frowned upon in Athens, Georgia), the sense of place and the sense of story.
I think the story telling comes from the Scots-Irish stock that populates the region; I am convinced there is something inherent in the Celtic blood that makes words pour out like honey -- whether it be from the mouth or the pen. Like any other people with a strong sense of identity, it's strange to have someone else try to tell your story for you, so I am not even sure I am qualified to write this now, but when I came across this New Yorker piece, my reservations about my credentials receded lazily like the tide over the dark, cakey pluff mud of the Charleston marsh.
After spending some half a dozen paragraphs talking about how Southerners are stubborn, xenophobic, backward, somewhat barbaric, greedy, racist, ignorant, out of touch while culturally dominant, football and Nascar obsessed, tribalist, and violent, he closes with a couple of throwaway sentences that make it seem he's really not judging (the phrase that's used down here is, of course, "Bless his heart"):
I am particularly sensitive to that sort of attitude because I chose to be among these people. I picked Clemson University for graduate work. I bought my first house in Augusta, Georgia. I married one of the Peach State's daughters. We decided together to move to Charleston. And, in the next place we live, I am certain we will be greeted with y'alls, elongated vowels and an extremely dedicated knowledge of college football. I like the polite conversation. I like the weather. I like the pace of life. I like the sense of culture. I like the emphasis on faith.
The task of refashioning the identity has been going on here for over 200 years. Re-examinations of what it means to be born between Virginia Beach and El Paso came to a rather violent head in 1861, of course, and no one forgets it. The benefit of losing, though, is being forced to have that conversation; the winner is spared from that kind of existential introspection.
So a magazine entitled the New Yorker is an odd place indeed to read about an explanation on what's going on inside of the cultural mind of the South, especially when, upon completing this story, I was offered a suggested reading link of this story.
Like I said, I'm not actually a Southerner and I don't know if Packer is either.. I don't know why it feels like politics are dramatically different now than just two election cycles ago. But I do know that Packer's infantile reduction of the region to the Republican Party, Wal-Mart and the SEC is not productive or accurate. I am skeptical that you couldn't go to a small town in Michigan, Pennsylvania, or Oregon and find similar evidence of the low-brow to which Packer objects. And so what? What exactly is he trying to argue?
I do feel like I understand this place somewhat, though, and certainly felt more at home in Clemson, South Carolina than I did in Terre Haute, Indiana. I was an outsider there, too, because the Midwesterners categorized me as one of those from the other side of the Line. College is a place where identity is both calcified and shattered, sometimes more than once. I never got the impression that there was all that much that identified an Midwesterner, really, or an "Hoosier" in particular. In fact, nobody even knew what a Hoosier is.
The same could not be said in the Upstate of South Carolina. The people there had a distinct sound -- distinct from the other side of the state, distinct from the other Carolina and distinct from the other side of the Savannah River. I could not tell an Ohioan from an Illinoisan in nearly the same way I can pick out an Upstater from a Low Countryman from an Alabaman or a Tennesseean. The food is different in these places, the music, the dress (especially the colors -- Red is not welcome in the Upstate, and Orange is frowned upon in Athens, Georgia), the sense of place and the sense of story.
I think the story telling comes from the Scots-Irish stock that populates the region; I am convinced there is something inherent in the Celtic blood that makes words pour out like honey -- whether it be from the mouth or the pen. Like any other people with a strong sense of identity, it's strange to have someone else try to tell your story for you, so I am not even sure I am qualified to write this now, but when I came across this New Yorker piece, my reservations about my credentials receded lazily like the tide over the dark, cakey pluff mud of the Charleston marsh.
After spending some half a dozen paragraphs talking about how Southerners are stubborn, xenophobic, backward, somewhat barbaric, greedy, racist, ignorant, out of touch while culturally dominant, football and Nascar obsessed, tribalist, and violent, he closes with a couple of throwaway sentences that make it seem he's really not judging (the phrase that's used down here is, of course, "Bless his heart"):
But there is a largely forgotten Southern history, beyond the well-known heroics of the civil-rights movement, of struggle against poverty and injustice, led by writers, preachers, farmers, rabble-rousers, and even politicians, speaking a rich language of indignation. The region is not entirely defined by Jim DeMint, Sam Walton, and the Tide’s A J McCarron. It would be better for America as well as for the South if Southerners rediscovered their hidden past and took up the painful task of refashioning an identity that no longer inspires their countrymen.The implication is that the South we have now is an inferior facsimile of what the South should be that is popularly understood to be personified in a recalcitrant Senator, a dead business man, and a football star, after he describes the region in precisely those terms. I don't know what sort of inspiration Packer expects the natives of my adopted home state and our neighbors to provide when the the picture he paints of Southerners is so grim. None of the buildup to this terminus tells us how the positive qualities do indeed benefit society at large outside of a rather ambiguous listing of positive traits: "At the end of “The Mind of the South,” Cash has this description of “the South at its best”: “proud, brave, honorable by its lights, courteous, personally generous, loyal.” That sounds nice, until two sentences later, he extols vices to counter them. He is treating my neighbors as either terrorists or children who ought to be mollified.
I am particularly sensitive to that sort of attitude because I chose to be among these people. I picked Clemson University for graduate work. I bought my first house in Augusta, Georgia. I married one of the Peach State's daughters. We decided together to move to Charleston. And, in the next place we live, I am certain we will be greeted with y'alls, elongated vowels and an extremely dedicated knowledge of college football. I like the polite conversation. I like the weather. I like the pace of life. I like the sense of culture. I like the emphasis on faith.
The task of refashioning the identity has been going on here for over 200 years. Re-examinations of what it means to be born between Virginia Beach and El Paso came to a rather violent head in 1861, of course, and no one forgets it. The benefit of losing, though, is being forced to have that conversation; the winner is spared from that kind of existential introspection.
So a magazine entitled the New Yorker is an odd place indeed to read about an explanation on what's going on inside of the cultural mind of the South, especially when, upon completing this story, I was offered a suggested reading link of this story.
Like I said, I'm not actually a Southerner and I don't know if Packer is either.. I don't know why it feels like politics are dramatically different now than just two election cycles ago. But I do know that Packer's infantile reduction of the region to the Republican Party, Wal-Mart and the SEC is not productive or accurate. I am skeptical that you couldn't go to a small town in Michigan, Pennsylvania, or Oregon and find similar evidence of the low-brow to which Packer objects. And so what? What exactly is he trying to argue?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Responsibility is hard
I'm pretty sure it's evident, but I live in South Carolina again now. It's my second favorite state, but has the potential to pull into first because I wasn't born here so I'll never really be accepted as one of their own but hope to participate in their society, like Jame Goodall and the apes, but since I live with my wife here, the best times of my life are ahead of me with her here. I also had two pretty good years at Clemson.
As a resident of the Palmetto State (which has a rather obsessive, borderline creepy relationship with its imagery [see below]), I get to vote in the primaries tomorrow.
As a former opinions editor, this makes me giddy. It's like Christmas or St Patrick's Day that only comes around every four years. Politics are the bread and butter of opinions editors, and most other people don't like discussing it, and when they do, they normally don't know what they're talking about. So, soccer fans, I know how you feel.
I went through the emotional gamut that I always go through during these primaries -- excitement about the strength of the field, and then eventual disappointment once we get to know them. That's the way that most things work, though; I got excited about watching the Orange Bowl, and well, that was kind of a disappointment, too. Really, though, it's not as bad as it looks, because exaggeration gets attention. "Worst. Episode. Ever." It's funny because it's absurd.
My position, as described by the political compass, is economically right and a little libertarian. (See below again.) So, I'm trying to figure out where I fall. Sounds kind of mopey, like every high school drama, "Where do I belong?" But really, that's the fun. That's what life is like. It's choosing the new meal at the restaurant, seeing the new movie, and surprising your wife with something fun. It's figuring it all out. This time, figuring out for whom I want to vote is quite significant for the rest of the county. It's fun, but it's also a little intimidating, because it feels important.
I have taken this responsibility seriously, pretty aggressively consumed the media about the candidates to make informed decisions and I hope that when it's your turn, you will too. People say every election, "This is the most important election of our time." It might be true every time, but if so, it's silly to say. That's like saying, "This is the most important meal ever. If I never eat again, I'll die. So I must eat this Reuben sandwich." I do love Reuben sandwiches, though.
As a resident of the Palmetto State (which has a rather obsessive, borderline creepy relationship with its imagery [see below]), I get to vote in the primaries tomorrow.
As a former opinions editor, this makes me giddy. It's like Christmas or St Patrick's Day that only comes around every four years. Politics are the bread and butter of opinions editors, and most other people don't like discussing it, and when they do, they normally don't know what they're talking about. So, soccer fans, I know how you feel.
I went through the emotional gamut that I always go through during these primaries -- excitement about the strength of the field, and then eventual disappointment once we get to know them. That's the way that most things work, though; I got excited about watching the Orange Bowl, and well, that was kind of a disappointment, too. Really, though, it's not as bad as it looks, because exaggeration gets attention. "Worst. Episode. Ever." It's funny because it's absurd.
My position, as described by the political compass, is economically right and a little libertarian. (See below again.) So, I'm trying to figure out where I fall. Sounds kind of mopey, like every high school drama, "Where do I belong?" But really, that's the fun. That's what life is like. It's choosing the new meal at the restaurant, seeing the new movie, and surprising your wife with something fun. It's figuring it all out. This time, figuring out for whom I want to vote is quite significant for the rest of the county. It's fun, but it's also a little intimidating, because it feels important.
I have taken this responsibility seriously, pretty aggressively consumed the media about the candidates to make informed decisions and I hope that when it's your turn, you will too. People say every election, "This is the most important election of our time." It might be true every time, but if so, it's silly to say. That's like saying, "This is the most important meal ever. If I never eat again, I'll die. So I must eat this Reuben sandwich." I do love Reuben sandwiches, though.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
Tradition!
So, this morning, I wanted to take in a piece of Charleston history when I went to church. I headed to First Baptist Charleston, because it's 4th of July weekend and this church predates the country. (The preacher casually mentioned that this church donated its treasury to the Revolution. The American Revolution. The one that started in 1775.) The subject of the sermon was Christian liberty (with the primary citation of Romans 14:1-4), which is never an easy topic to cover, since one thing that people love to do, Christians or not, is to remind themselves that they're better than everyone else. (You think I am unable to button my own pants? Well, at least I don't wear spray deodorant.)
He mentioned the usual historical examples that we all laugh about as adorably out of date now, like dancing and playing cards and makeup and whatever. (I do kind of wonder how many of the average church goers ever obeyed those things; but back then, there was no World Series of Poker on tv, so I guess the temptation was a little easier to take. On the other hand, if Maverick is any representation of reality, then poker was way more awesome in the 19th Century.) Baptists aren't nearly as anti-dance in our platform as we used to be. One of the other things, though, that always comes up for Christians in general and Baptists in particular is the booze.
It is an true and actual struggle for Christians (or, at least, ones I know) because we have those very concepts shown in Romans 14, but we also have 1 Corinthians 6:12. I am "permitted" to eat Doritos and chocolate chips for breakfast everyday, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea. I personally am rather fond of craft beers and fancy whiskeys (note the "e" in whiskey). Today's message, where the preacher says that "strong drink" is never ok, made me think. If I have a single barrel bourbon in my pantry, am I abusing that liberty? Is it more ok if I don't drink often, or ever to excess? Or is this rationalizing in the way that people just say that the prohibition on sex outside of marriage is an anachronism, because they just want to do it? Christianity is hard.
I don't know the answer. There is scripture that can be used to justify both sides. I think the thing we know for sure is that abuse of alcohol is clearly bad, in the same way that abusing credit, dancing, cheeseburgers or football could be -- if it interferes with your ability to live your life and maintain your relationships (especially with Christ) then it's bad. I also think culture is important; if there is a problem where makeup indicates something un-Christian, then setting oneself apart by not wearing makeup might be a worthwhile thing for a church to urge. But we can't lose sight of the why, since we can do something stupid repeatedly for no real reason, just because we always have, like watch the newer Star Wars movies.
He mentioned the usual historical examples that we all laugh about as adorably out of date now, like dancing and playing cards and makeup and whatever. (I do kind of wonder how many of the average church goers ever obeyed those things; but back then, there was no World Series of Poker on tv, so I guess the temptation was a little easier to take. On the other hand, if Maverick is any representation of reality, then poker was way more awesome in the 19th Century.) Baptists aren't nearly as anti-dance in our platform as we used to be. One of the other things, though, that always comes up for Christians in general and Baptists in particular is the booze.
It is an true and actual struggle for Christians (or, at least, ones I know) because we have those very concepts shown in Romans 14, but we also have 1 Corinthians 6:12. I am "permitted" to eat Doritos and chocolate chips for breakfast everyday, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea. I personally am rather fond of craft beers and fancy whiskeys (note the "e" in whiskey). Today's message, where the preacher says that "strong drink" is never ok, made me think. If I have a single barrel bourbon in my pantry, am I abusing that liberty? Is it more ok if I don't drink often, or ever to excess? Or is this rationalizing in the way that people just say that the prohibition on sex outside of marriage is an anachronism, because they just want to do it? Christianity is hard.
I don't know the answer. There is scripture that can be used to justify both sides. I think the thing we know for sure is that abuse of alcohol is clearly bad, in the same way that abusing credit, dancing, cheeseburgers or football could be -- if it interferes with your ability to live your life and maintain your relationships (especially with Christ) then it's bad. I also think culture is important; if there is a problem where makeup indicates something un-Christian, then setting oneself apart by not wearing makeup might be a worthwhile thing for a church to urge. But we can't lose sight of the why, since we can do something stupid repeatedly for no real reason, just because we always have, like watch the newer Star Wars movies.
Back to the Old...
Hey everyone, I have an announcement: I am going to stop keeping up Fear and Trembling in Augusta because I no longer live there. I was also never an especially big fan of Hunter S. Thompson. My wife (!) and I just moved to Charleston, SC, and the other blog just doesn't seem appropriate any longer. Dr. Sighted is starting residency, so hopefully I will have more time to keep up this space. I am also no longer writing for a paper or preparing Sunday School lessons, so I need to write somehow, right? I will also rescind my earlier promise of no politics in this space -- my vision for the future is that any topic is fair game here, from movies, to politics, my favorite chilis, religious themes (like in Fear and Trembling) but with a little less formality. I promise there will still be jokes, but I cannot promise they will still be funny.
I also noticed that I have a giant pile of spam comments, and some posts are more popular than others. This one has 35 comments on it, which is slightly higher than my previous high of like 4. I'm pretty sure I would have to post on some sort of controversy like we should execute all double parkers by hanging. I don't know if the uptick in spammers is representative of a an uptick in traffic, which would be swell, (I did notice an upswing in followers -- Hello new folks) but it's still troubling. It might require me to activate some sort of interceptor to keep odzwyki from posting about about how to buy pharmaceuticals from China in weird broken English. My favorite is the insincere flattery (is there any other kind?) about how smart and great my blog is -- while I love having my ego stroked, when they say "I imagine you have a excellent information in particular while dealings with these kinds of topics" it kind of takes some of the vim out of it when it's not actually whether they can read it, let alone did. But why my blog? How many of you readers are out there?
Let me know with comments. Coherent is preferable, but not technically required.
I also noticed that I have a giant pile of spam comments, and some posts are more popular than others. This one has 35 comments on it, which is slightly higher than my previous high of like 4. I'm pretty sure I would have to post on some sort of controversy like we should execute all double parkers by hanging. I don't know if the uptick in spammers is representative of a an uptick in traffic, which would be swell, (I did notice an upswing in followers -- Hello new folks) but it's still troubling. It might require me to activate some sort of interceptor to keep odzwyki from posting about about how to buy pharmaceuticals from China in weird broken English. My favorite is the insincere flattery (is there any other kind?) about how smart and great my blog is -- while I love having my ego stroked, when they say "I imagine you have a excellent information in particular while dealings with these kinds of topics" it kind of takes some of the vim out of it when it's not actually whether they can read it, let alone did. But why my blog? How many of you readers are out there?
Let me know with comments. Coherent is preferable, but not technically required.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Southernfolk talk different
Growing up, my dad used to use funny idioms that I'd never heard anywhere else, and since his mom is Southern and my mom is not, I just assumed that's where they came from. One I remember is "You better be over here in two shakes of the lammy's tail." This meant very quickly. Evidently, lammies shake their tails so quickly that they can shake them twice before whatever instant you need to deal with is at hand. I'm pretty sure there is another one, but I can't think of what it is. I have lived in the Real South (as my loyal readers know, I grew up in Florida, which is like the bicurious state) since 2004 now, and have yet to hear any of them come out of any other Southern mouths. So I can only conclude that my dad is an amazing idiomologist and made them up.
There are, however, a number of colloquialisms that I have come across that are worthy of sharing. You will, of course, find them listed and discussed below in my favorite and noblest of all lists: the numbered list.
There are, however, a number of colloquialisms that I have come across that are worthy of sharing. You will, of course, find them listed and discussed below in my favorite and noblest of all lists: the numbered list.
- Show [one's] tail - The first time I heard this one, I actually had to ask for an explanation. I have not heard this one outside of rural South Carolina yet, so it might be unique to there and not Southern at large. It has nothing to do with nudity or discovery of morphological changes in humans, to my disappointment. How great would it be if they discovered lizard people in the Upstate of South Carolina? Clemson's swim team would win all kinds of national championships. It actually means to misbehave, as in, "After eating several pixie sticks, the State Senators really showed their tails."
- Cut on - This is the phrase that made me want to write this entry. This one bothers me for aesthetic purposes. It doesn't sound right. This is the opposite of (obviously) cut off, as in "Cut off the woodchipper, he's already dead." Cut off should be obnoxious too, since it doesn't really make sense either, but it gets a pass because cutting off and termination kind of make sense, even though cutting off a light switch is not really that permanent or serious of a change. I do feel strongly though that you should not be able to cut on anything.
- Might could - These are two linking verbs. I know that because in seventh grade Mrs. Adair made us memorize all of the linking verbs in the English language via a cute little song that I will never forget ever. The thing about verbs like that, though, is that two of them can't follow each other in a sentence, with the exceptions of am/is/are/was/were and being. No other combinations are possible, including might could. This means might be able to, and I grit my teeth every time I hear someone say this. An example of this being used in a sentence is "I might could help you with your math homework, but you have to take off your shirt first." (In this example, the speaker is talking to a girl [who is over 18]. The speaker can be whichever gender you prefer.)
- Stay - This one isn't so much a phrase as it is a word. That's ok, though. It means live. As in, "No, I don't stay in this refrigerator box. Thanks for asking." This one, though, isn't really quite as aggravating or funny as the others, but it's still unusual. Like a cat who barks or a complete sentence coming from Rep. Corrine Brown. I am also told that this is restricted to a subset of Southerners who are also black, which is consistent with my very scientific observations.
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