Seattle 93, or A Very Literary Evening

The idea began one night at the kibbutz. I don't remember what we were talking about, or what we were all doing there - watching an episode of Northern Exposure on DVD? Hanging out post-Yiddish class? Sitting around on our laptops, doing work? It could've been any of those things, but Debs began talking about an idea for a potluck party.

Debs, I should mention, has been doing a lot of procrasti-cooking lately. This is what happens when your thesis is due in a week. Debs has come up with more delicious creations in the last month than I've come up with in the last year. She's permanently corrupted my arteries by bringing her friends Butter and Heavy Cream into the world of mushrooms and kale. Every time she cooks something delicious, I propose that we get married. It's gotten to the point where she gets insulted if I *don't* ask her to marry me.

Debs's idea was simple: everyone brings a dish inspired by a piece of literature. In addition to the dish, one must also bring the book, poem, or passage that mentions the dish. I squealed, and immediately started coming up with ideas.

Two days later, I got the invitation. This morning, I figured out what to make.

The summer before college, I read Crescent, by Diana Abu-Jaber. The novel is first and foremost a love story, but it's partially set in an Iranian cafe in Los Angeles. The scenes in the cafe's kitchen (the protagonist is the chef) are rich, colorful, often downright sensual. I finished the book in a couple of days. After I read the last pages, I hugged it (as I often do, with especially good books), put it down, and walked into the kitchen.

I haven't left since. Those who know me as a cook often assume my culinary education began in toddlerhood, as my mother passed secret recipes down from some ancient oral tradition while I peeled potatoes. In reality, my mother's and my cooking aren't much alike. Sure, we both like good food, but our palates differ. She's all earth - nuts, stewed fruit with meat, pecan pie and roasted beets. I'm more about richness and vinegar, the contrast between cheese and pickles, tough greens cooked in butter, cucumber salad brined in rice vinegar and soy sauce, macaroni and cheese with caramelized onions and smoked paprika. This is because I only started cooking right before I left home. Most of what I've learned from my mother has been things I've asked since I left.

Despite all of that, I ended up bringing as simple and earthy a dish to the potluck as I could possibly make - mjeddrah, a simple, peasant dish of lentils, onions and rice. A little butter, a little cumin, a little bouillon to give it some oomph, a quick side of cucumbers, mint and yogurt. I packaged it up with an excerpt from the book and brought it to Deb's house.

Some dishes that appeared at the party:
Lentils with fried onions from Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies (there were actually two of this dish!)
Cupcakes from Laura Numeroff's If You Give A Cat a Cupcake
Wine, cheese, bread and candy from Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums
Pomegranates from the myth of Persephone and Demeter
A rich meat and potato stew from J R R Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Sweet potatoes from Ralph Ellison's The Invisible Man
Cheese sandwiches from Margaret Atwood's The Edible Woman
Madelines from Proust's Remembrance of Things Past
Sour pickles, Strawberry Jam and Frankfurters from Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth

Delightful, no? We ate, and ate, and when we could eat no more, we read the passages we'd brought to one another. When I left, around midnight, I felt the best kinds of full.