The Wisdom of Ali El Sayed

Eating is not as simple as it to be. Just a few short years ago most of us Americans were blissfully unaware of the story behind our food – slowly we’re beginning to understand how naive we have been. In the industrialized West (and East), food is produced for profit but not necessarily for healthy consumption. The path our food takes – from plant or animal to plate – has become mired in industrial confusion. Most all of our food is delivered to us courtesy of fossil fuels, genetic modification and corporate agro-businesses who determine how major producers grow their products; none of which has to do with good eating. Meanwhile, a fewer number of people actually cultivate the food we all need to sustain ourselves – and our steady population expansion – which decreases diversity and increases the risk of disease, famine and generally unhealthy food choices. However, journalists, scholars, academics and chefs like Michael Pollan, Barbara Kingsolver, Morris Berman and Alice Waters finally have the average person at least questioning what it is they eat. For answers, more and more people are turning to their local farm markets, organic food stores and local chefs.

Recently, while roving New York City’s boroughs in search of food and drink, I met a man whose wisdoms and philosophies personally addressed our sad eating circumstances. His name is Ali El Sayed, owner/cook/sage of the humbly titled Kabab Café in Astoria. My friend and guide, a fellow gourmand, brought us on a good night. The tiny mosaic decorated Egyptian diner (twelve seats) bordered by bodegas, a hookah lounge and his brother’s restaurant, was empty. At times there can be a wait. Soon Ali entered, asked if we were hungry, and then told us everything he would cook for us. No menu – no prices, just food. Did we eat meat, fish or vegetable he wanted to know? Before any conclusive decision was made, Ali set before us small platters with various spices and herbs and a tiny bowl of peppers, lemon juice and oil. Stove hot falafel followed with porous humus and evergreen baba ganouj.

Ali El Sayed told us to drink some wine and enjoy, food is for savoring, not devouring! (He could tell we were hungry.) The simple Middle Eastern spices primed our palates and related us to the future courses. I began to take mental notes as Ali continued to feed and enlighten. It may have been the Malbec, but food wisdoms seemed to pour from the man like spices from his tins! The more he spoke, the more I understood the culture of food Ali embodies and expresses. His poignant lessons made sense in this our world of senseless eating.

Ali first said food should be enjoyed, not gobbled up; basically summarizing the entire Slow Food movement. Eating slowly evokes the mind along with the senses. Work was put into the food you are eating. Care was taken in the cultivation, processing, and preparation of your dish. Savor the flavors and textures. Recognize the experience for what it is: time spent nourishing your body and mind. If you’re patient you’ll discover fulfillment for more than merely for your hunger.

Ali said patience will be rewarded. When you live in the city, long lines may be a way of life. Instead of dwelling on the wait, try slowing down and enjoying the things around you. If it’s good food you’re waiting for, it’s worth it! At Kabab Café, Ali is your host, waiter, chef and friend: a busy man considering you are not the only one dining. A mixed plate will soon be out with hot round bread and warming wine for you to prime with while he begins a desert and critiques the history of Middle Eastern food in the US. We have all become accustomed to immediate gratification, which creates a paradox when it comes to good eating. A short (or long) wait while the food is being prepared is an indication of care and love in the kitchen. In the case of Ali, who prepares the food literally inches from your table, one is actually able to experience this passionate process. Quick food may pacify your impatience, but it will not nourish like a paced and respected dining experience.

Ali said food should be flavorful. If not, why eat? To enjoy a meal you may have had to patiently wait for, it must taste good. Food grown or purchased fresh locally generally tastes best and proves to be the healthiest for your body – and soul, Ali would argue. As it turns out, local food also costs less because of reduced transportation and storage times and builds the local community and economy. The Kabab Café is definitely out of the way from the train line and a little walking is in order. You may find the same thing in your neighborhood. Maybe the best grocer, farm market or chef is not on your block or commute. Taking the time to find restaurants and stores which aspire to stock and serve regional fare will connect you to your food, community and develop your food culture.

Ali said Food connects us with our past. Queens is as a culturally diverse place as any on earth. The United States as a whole is a conglomerate of the world’s finest peoples. Originally from Egypt, Ali has gifted Astoria and New York City with rare traditional Alexandrian cuisine. His cooking is indelible to his former and current cultural residence. All of today’s foods and cuisines have storied histories; to partake is to acknowledge their successes. Our multiplicity of foods represents our varied cultural contributors better than any census. Digesting a new cuisine mentally and physically is an investigation into what we are as a people.

Ali said food should be shared. Dining in the tiny Kabab Café felt like Ali had welcomed us into his home. He personally showed us how he prepared his lamb cheeks, liver and sweetbreads. He spread his spices before us and showed our minds how to understand his cooking. Medium size dishes were set in the middle of the table and we shared each new carefully plated entrée. To participate with another person’s food culture is to share; just as we diners were eating from the same bowls and boards. The culinary experience combined teaching with learning, cooking with eating, talking with drinking and patience with reward. And as any chef knows, the most rewarding part of cooking is serving.

As the seasons change, so should your cuisine

A year ago this month I wrote in Recoil a piece called “As the leaves change color, so should your beer.” Seasonality, I argued, was the antidote to the lassitude afforded by drinking one’s favorite beer all year long. Fall is here, ready or not, and malty brown ales can help one coax. When it gets a little colder, a potent stout is effective. Really cold out? just nip some apple brandy. Hops move spring forward and hefeweizen dries the summer sweat off of one’s brow – all facts the brewing industry has by now educated most all but the greenest consumer. Now, these seasonal taste arrangements may prove true, both historically and contextually, but the foods which accompany these styles have only recently been available year round.

Human culture is inextricably linked to the seasons. Rational efficiency, coupled with ever increasing technology, however, has allowed for many of us to be removed from the ebb and flow of gradual seasonal drift – most likely to our detriment. This modernization is nowhere more evident than in the arena of food. Compared to past and foreign cultures, we Americans eat a lot. We also eat whatever we want, whenever we want it. This is not to say that we are inherently selfish gluttons. Actually, the greed begins long before we eaters partake – on the highways of the industrialized food chain – an arrangement we find ourselves at the bottom of.

For a little context, imagine that not until the mid 1970’s was California produce available nationally. The time period grocery stores across the country began stocking cantaloupe, asparagus, leeks and tomatoes year around and out-of-state, as opposed to seasonally, represented an economical crux – food was now being produced cheaply and abundantly enough to make cross-nation refrigerated trucking profitable. Other food producing regions soon branded and followed suit. (Washington apples, Wisconsin cheese, Idaho potatoes, etc.) What was once a luxury is now commonplace.

In order to make this happen, we the people sold out the farmer, subsidized his living to keep speculated prices low, divided agriculture and horticulture, standardized, pasteurized, homogenized, genetically modified, privatized and patented every congruent and painstakingly evolved farming process from fencerow to fencerow. What’s left is the indistinguishable mess located somewhere between farm and fork.

Today we’re feeling a backlash from this unsustainable system. Basically food, which was once a necessity and human right, has since been transformed into a commodity – a currency which is ultimately used to make the wealthy wealthier. And while we Americans are no longer starving in masse, diabetes, obesity, cancer and heart disease increasingly ravage our population – especially minorities and the poor. A pathogen based pandemic is sure to follow. Keep following me here and you’ll be rewarded with the knowledge of why drinking a local beer or buying a half-peck of fruit in season can help change these dire circumstances…

As West Michigan citizens, consumers and eaters, we’re in a great position to join a national movement towards sustainable, ecologically friendly, economically viable and efficient food production. Ask any agrifood sociologist or Lamont resident and they’ll tell you many farmers here have been cultivating using non-conventional (typically sustainable and organic) methods for generations. Why the stubbornness? It’s proven cheaper and more productive. There may not be a national or global alternative to industrialized food, but there is an antidote in West Michigan: buy your food, and beer, seasonally and locally.

Shopping and eating seasonally takes some practice, especially if you’re used to always getting what you want. Which brings up a good point – in getting what you want, are you really getting what you want? Fast food is an easy example: parts and pieces of who-knows-what assembled cheaply and efficiently as possible from across the globe. No one wants to be overweight and unhealthy, yet millions of us line up for unethical and unhealthy meals every day. No point in blaming the individual here – eating can be expensive, and these outlets can feed a busy family cheaply and easily. They are also extremely convenient and accessible – qualities CSAs and farm markets lack. So for those of us who can feasibly manage, eating locally, sustainably and seasonally will be hard work.

Start by learning about what is actually in season at Aquinas College’s Center for Sustainability: www.centerforsustainability.org. The delights of eating in season are three-fold. One, food in season not only tastes best but is actually better for you. Two, your dollars spent on food (think of it like a vote) will not be used to support long-haul trucking, international shipping, packaging or the bedeviled oil industry – instead your money will remain in and enhance your community. Lastly, as an eater who prepares local and seasonal fare, you will become an actual participant in an accessible and sensible food network – one which will surely enhance your and other’s well-being.

Preserving the Harvest

As the summer winds down, I’ve been filling my crisper, root cellar and freezer with bushels of the bounty my garden, family’s garden and local farm market has to offer. Fruit and vegetables, like beer, taste best fresh. They also taste best locally grown – heirloom and farm fresh varieties tend to be grown for taste as opposed to simply transport and storability. However, no matter how many good foods came into fruition this past month or so, we’re all limited to how much of them we can eat. Greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, peaches and now apples, pears and squash; it seems like you’ve just arrived and already the weather is cool and your harvest is nearing its end. Human culture is based on this seasonal change, and before Trans- national and continental refrigerated transport, everyone was required to eat “seasonally”.

Nobody, however, was happy with just squash for four months of the year, so techniques such as freezing, drying, fermenting, pickling, salting and canning were slowly developed and perfected by the world’s cultures for preserving and storing the harvest for the long winter months ahead. As kitchen authority Harold McGee writes, “Fruits and vegetables can be preserved indefinitely by killing the living tissue and thus inactivating its enzymes, and then making it either inhospitable or unavailable to microbes.” Peoples of the past utilized the natural preserving qualities of salt water, dark caves, lake ice or simple holes in the ground to achieve this end. Today, canning and fermenting would allow me to savor my modest harvest over the darker months to come.

To get started canning, gather the necessary knowledge and supplies (the university extension publication found at: http://extension.oregonstate.edu/catalog/pdf/pnw/pnw355.pdf is an excellent guide.) Minimally, you’ll need a burner, enamel canning pot, jars and lids and canning salt along with the various spices called for by the recipes. Almost anything can be canned for prolonged preservation. I decided to make some simple tomato sauce from my neighbor’s excess Roma tomatoes, also Colorado Hot Mix, banana pepper rings and bread and butter pickles which would preserve my green, red and hot peppers along with small cukes from the market. The process is simple: wash and prepare the vegetables, heat with spices on the stove and ladle into hot jars. Secure the top on the jars (making sure to wipe the contact lip clean) and process in boiling water for the time designated by the recipe (usually about ten minutes). As the jars are removed, the contents cool and compress, vacuum sealing the lid. Throw the ones that don’t seal into the fridge and eat them first. Wait a few weeks for the flavors to meld and enjoy!

Beyond hot pack canning, my next step was to try fermenting some food. Pickles and cabbage for sauerkraut, two of my favorite foods, were currently cheap and abundant. To ferment pickles or cabbage, the vegetables are submerged in acidic salt brine which inhibits the growth of unwanted microbes. Lactic bacteria naturally residing on the vegetable’s skin, however, go to work fermenting the vegetable’s sugars into lactic acid, carbon dioxide and alcohol. McGee explains, “(lactic bacteria) leave most of the plant material intact, including its vitamin C (protected from oxidation by the carbon dioxide they generate); they often add significant amounts of B vitamins; and they generate new volatile substances that enrich the food’s aroma.” A whiff of my week-old sauerkraut and I knew exactly what McGee was getting at. Pungent and sweet veggie fumes now slowly seep up from my basement and trips to the kegerator inevitably end up with a fermented dill pickle sampling.