Monday, June 18, 2007 at 12:12am
Gnocchi de platano maduro
Column: Left Coast Lions' Den
Lately I have been obsessing about the meaning of food. Like most people, I love to eat, and like a lot of people, I treasure the time I spend in the kitchen; but recently cuisine is functioning as metaphor in the world I inhabit.
The problem has gotten bad enough that I spent the better part of last week contemplating the gnocchi made with platano maduro that I invented and cooked up as the first course in a weekend dinner shared with friends.
Platano maduro is a ripe plantain, the large banana that is a dietary staple in much of Latin America. Normally I eat my platanos green and deep-fried like pommes frites, and it seemed to make sense to me that if a plantain could be fried like a potato, it probably would make good gnocchi. At first I worried that it would be too weird to make Italian food out of a banana, but I then I remembered that potatoes also are Latin American in origin, and besides, the meal would honor one of our guests who has a Mexican father and an Italian-American mother. A first course of gnocchi de platano maduro seemed an appropriate way of celebrating her heritage.
But what does it mean to eat an Italian dumpling made out of a Latin American tropical fruit? The question was particularly poignant because as we ate the gnocchi de platano maduro the G8 Summit was winding down on Germany's Baltic coast, and an immigration bill was being weedled to death in Washington. Globalism and immigration were on the front burner of political discourse and were made manifest in my kitchen when I served up the Italian-Latin American fusion.
The modern economy of free trade and global markets is criticized on the left, and the relative permeability of U.S. borders is deplored on the right, but in gnocchi de platano maduro I discovered proof that global markets and immigration can improve our world.
After all, without a vibrant transnational economy, plantains could never be imported to California, and if the San Francisco Bay Area did not have an immigrant population desiring the flavors of home, no store would stock the big bananas necessary for gnocchi de platano maduro.
My gnocchi de platano maduro served as a reminder that globalism isn't just about Wal-Mart and McDonalds and the death of local culture. It also is what makes a true celebration of the world's diversity possible. And immigration isn't just about people crossing borders looking for work and a better life; it's about the gift of new flavors, new accents, new color, and new neighbors bringing vitality to their new homes.
Admittedly, it's a lot to learn from a dish, and the goodness of gnocchi de platano maduro does not even begin to settle every question raised by globalism and immigration, but those banana dumplings, when tossed with fresh sage and olive oil, were mighty tasty, and I doubt it ever hurts to bring one's mind to the table, to join with the God-given joys of taste and smell in the celebration of good food.
— — —
Ben Daniel is the pastor of Foothill Presbyterian Church in San Jose, Calif. Visit his website or send him an email at {email ben@bendaniel.org}ben@bendaniel.org{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Ben Daniel.
The problem has gotten bad enough that I spent the better part of last week contemplating the gnocchi made with platano maduro that I invented and cooked up as the first course in a weekend dinner shared with friends.
Platano maduro is a ripe plantain, the large banana that is a dietary staple in much of Latin America. Normally I eat my platanos green and deep-fried like pommes frites, and it seemed to make sense to me that if a plantain could be fried like a potato, it probably would make good gnocchi. At first I worried that it would be too weird to make Italian food out of a banana, but I then I remembered that potatoes also are Latin American in origin, and besides, the meal would honor one of our guests who has a Mexican father and an Italian-American mother. A first course of gnocchi de platano maduro seemed an appropriate way of celebrating her heritage.
But what does it mean to eat an Italian dumpling made out of a Latin American tropical fruit? The question was particularly poignant because as we ate the gnocchi de platano maduro the G8 Summit was winding down on Germany's Baltic coast, and an immigration bill was being weedled to death in Washington. Globalism and immigration were on the front burner of political discourse and were made manifest in my kitchen when I served up the Italian-Latin American fusion.
The modern economy of free trade and global markets is criticized on the left, and the relative permeability of U.S. borders is deplored on the right, but in gnocchi de platano maduro I discovered proof that global markets and immigration can improve our world.
After all, without a vibrant transnational economy, plantains could never be imported to California, and if the San Francisco Bay Area did not have an immigrant population desiring the flavors of home, no store would stock the big bananas necessary for gnocchi de platano maduro.
My gnocchi de platano maduro served as a reminder that globalism isn't just about Wal-Mart and McDonalds and the death of local culture. It also is what makes a true celebration of the world's diversity possible. And immigration isn't just about people crossing borders looking for work and a better life; it's about the gift of new flavors, new accents, new color, and new neighbors bringing vitality to their new homes.
Admittedly, it's a lot to learn from a dish, and the goodness of gnocchi de platano maduro does not even begin to settle every question raised by globalism and immigration, but those banana dumplings, when tossed with fresh sage and olive oil, were mighty tasty, and I doubt it ever hurts to bring one's mind to the table, to join with the God-given joys of taste and smell in the celebration of good food.
— — —
Ben Daniel is the pastor of Foothill Presbyterian Church in San Jose, Calif. Visit his website or send him an email at {email ben@bendaniel.org}ben@bendaniel.org{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Ben Daniel.