In Honour of my Mother's "Faux-ndelbrot"
Christmas Cookies and Sicilian Saints
So I’m re-stacking a piece I wrote last year, in fact, almost exactly a year ago. Today seems a good day for it, as it is the Feast of Santa Lucia (as in the famous song), a Sicilian saint who is celebrated in a huge way in Scandinavian countries. There is a lovely procession that takes place on this day in Norwegian and Swedish (among other) homes, led by the oldest daughter. Like many winter festivals, light in the darkness is part of the message. There’s a particular kind of Santa Lucia bun that is served, seasoned with saffron to make it yellow, as - apparently - the devil does not like that colour. (Good to know.) The story below is about what I call my mother’s “Faux-ndelbrot” - a cookie she developed, shall we say, by borrowing a friend’s recipe for Mandelbrot and then adjusting that same recipe. It’s also about the utter silliness of fussing about such matters. Last year, the New York Times ran a piece about the alleged appropriation of Palestinian cuisine by Israelis - the link to the Times story can be found below and is still active, though I believe behind a firewall, if you care to read it. Given the volcanic explosion of antisemitism we are witnessing these days, and the insane double standards applied to (and against) Israel since the pogrom of October 7th, what I wrote last year seems even more timely.
And by the way, I will be baking some Faux-ndelbrot this weekend, in keeping with the festive season.
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I REMEMBER MAMA’S CULTURALLY APPROPRIATED COOKIES
It’s All Levantine to Me
When I first read Preserving a Palestinian Identity in the Kitchen, a feature that appeared in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago, I dismissed it as an attempt to minimize or even eradicate the Jewish identity of Israel, unfairly casting Jews as thieves and interlopers who, not merely satisfied with “colonizing” the land, have to steal food, too. But winter is coming and as I pulled out some of my Norwegian mother’s favourite comfort food recipes in anticipation, I realized that culinary appropriation is real. For mum, too, had been a recipe thief of the greatest order.
One hangs one’s head in shame.
When I was growing up, my favourite of the many types of cookies my mother made were her famous – at least at our house – Norwegian almond cookies. There always seemed to be tins of them in the freezer. Fresh batches made the house smell amazing. They were shaped like biscotti, but not hard or in need of a dunk. They were crumbly and not too sweet. We kids ate them with milk, my parents with coffee or even a cocktail. There was no one who didn’t like them.
[One of my mother’s recipe cards - likely appropriated from Julia Child. Photo: Family Collection]
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I discovered mum had got the recipe from her friend Minnie. Minnie was Jewish. The cookies were Mandelbrot, a cookie that, like biscotti (twice cooked, literally), you bake twice. The first time my mother made them, she got impatient and baked them once. She decided she liked them that way. Over time, she added some more of her own touches: a pinch of cardamom here, some brandy there. I’m not sure when they were christened “Norwegian almond cookies,” but I am certain it was not deliberate obfuscation, nor a wish to steal culture, diminish anyone or embroil the Ottawa Valley in sectarian conflict. Knowing my mother, it was a joke between her and Minnie and probably my father and done with zero malice. She was a short-story writer and when we caught her in exaggerations, she would shrug and say, “Well, it makes a better story.” There actually is such a thing as a Norwegian almond cookie, but it is nothing like a Mandelbrot or a biscotti. And I’m guessing there is a historical connection between those latter two having to do with diaspora Jews in Italy, but no theft. Influence? Yes.
In Woody Allen’s Love and Death - watch it, you will love it - Napoleon berates his personal chef for not coming up with an appropriate Napoleon pastry before the Duke of Wellington’s chef comes up with beef Wellington. “The future of Europe hangs in the balance!” he warns. While Beef Wellington may have been named for the British hero, the dishes we love were not created on demand or by diktat. They are mostly the result of geography, weather, trade routes, availability, adaptability, or a woman being driven crazy by her family, going over to her friend’s house for cookies and borrowing the recipe. Humans talk, travel, intermingle, live, farm, eat and drink together and sometimes take one thing they like from a meal (or an outfit or song), bring it elsewhere and make it their own. This is normal, healthy, and desirable. One might be flattered by it. One can copyright a recipe or a cookbook or take pride in a tradition, but as with the broader culture, food can’t belong to anyone and therefore cannot be appropriated. It can, however, enrich our lives if we stop being silly or woke (but I repeat myself) about it.
I used to live in Istanbul, where I taught English in a Turkish high school. I unintentionally caused my students some dismay when I told them that the dishes they called Turkish – hummus, dolma, broad beans, tabbouleh - were all Greek and/or Lebanese to me. Even the Times article grudgingly concedes “overlap” between Middle Eastern cuisines and even more grudgingly concedes that Mizrahi Jews might have left Arab countries under duress. You think? This is where the word “Levantine” comes in handy and for a major newspaper to use this non-issue as a way to undermine the Jewish identity of Israel is truly despicable. (A good piece on a similar matter can be found here.) I’ve seen others do the same, including travel doofus/naif Rick Steves, on a show he taped in the Middle East. He really should stick to hotel recommendations and steer clear of politics.
No need to explain any of this to a Norwegian. There is plenty of overlap between Scandinavian cuisines, and if any Swedes out there would like to take full credit for, and ownership of, lutefisk, may they go right ahead.
[Editor’s note: for those of you who are young, the title of today’s post is a reference to this fine film.]