The Sensual Language of Baklava: Diana Abu-Jaber

By JULIETTE ROSSANT Being the child of a Cairo-born, French mother, who published two food memoirs and has a third coming out shortly, and having been raised in part on the foods of Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue, I could hardly wait to get ahold of Diana Abu-Jaber's food memoir The Language of Baklava (New York: Pantheon 2005). The chapter that lends its name to the book is when Diana introduces her wonderful Aunt Aya, who makes sense of Food and Life: "When you're old enough to know better," she says as we skim the liquid butter spoon by spoon, "you'll teach some man how to cook with you. And you'll see what happens then," she says, nodding and lowering her eyelids. I stop, my spoon full of pale butter foam. "Why, what happens then?" "Ahh," she says, her lashes sinking over the dark mercury of her eyes. "Ahh." A thousand songs in Arabic, Turkish, and Persian flood my mind, all with that single word that censors everything -- because it sings everything with such sensuality: ahh! There are plenty of recipes for the diehard recipe-mongers: a mysterious Shaking Tea Infusion (p. 184) that contains ginger, cloves, cinnamon, anise and chopped nuts, Mona Lisa Puffs (p. 187)m and Poetic Baklava (p. 192) -- spelled the Greek way, not the Arabic, on purpose (as Diana explains). The chapter on "Food and Art" really got me, since I had a somewhat similar experience with parental concern over boyfriends. When Diana tries to draw in a new boyfriend through Art, her father undercuts her by cutting straight to the heart via the stomach -- with Food: Then Jay Franklin delicately steers his hair behind one ear with a finger and says, "Diana told us you make your own hummus"... My father's face becomes tender as he focuses on Jay, and I think this might be the first time he's ever really looked at a young American male. Or at leas the first time he's ever looked at one without thinking molester or rapist. "You know hummus?" he asks in a low, ardent voice... Bud stands up abruptly, dusts off his pants, and with no further ado gestures for Jay to follow him up the back steps... "Your dad actually invited a guy into your house," Mahaleani says. "That's a miracle!" She's right. Jay Franklin and Bud are making something in the kitchen, nattering like old friends. Bud has stolen my boyfriend. Calvin Trillin wrote a short story (which he has very kindly allowed me to republish online) about me and one of my boyfriends, when he was sent on a mission by my mother to "Check Him Out" in Istanbul -- no food memory per se but certainly a similar ring (click here to read Calvin Trilliin's story about "Juliet" -- the name was changed to protect the innocent). Diana's language itself is utterly American -- as American as apple pie. The story is a classic tale of growing up as the first-generation child of immigrants -- not too much different from the language or even the experiences of Patricia Volk's Stuffed. Of course, that is part of the charm -- to touch on experiences common to many Americans. Diana pulls heartstrings -- as Aunt Aya tells her at a troublesome 13, threatened by her father to be sent back to Jordan: "We clean the butter to remind ourselves of the way our lives should be -– light, delicate and pure." (p. 188). Related articles: Saudi Aramco World, UPI, NPR, New York Times Previous articles: Paula Deen & Friends Roland Mesnier's Dessert University Puerto Rico: Grand Cuisine of the Caribbean Don Pintabona: Shared Table Annabel Karmel: First Meals Nigella Lawson's Feast Cook Like a Kyrgyz Personal Favorites: The Chefs of Las Vegas Anne Willen: The Good Cook Gale Gand's short+sweet More Food from Alton Brown Manju Malhi's India With Passion SOS: Baking from the Heart Madhur Jaffrey: Our Lady of India, CBE Amazon UK's Steamy Xmas Chefs All Hail Alfred Portale Agassi's Star Palate: Celebrity Chefs Book links: Publisher Amazon.com Technorati Tags: chefs restaurants food cookbooks biography branding -> back to superchefblog