Introducing the MILK blog with our first article, "Eating with Aunties"
Written by Kim Supajirawatananon
Welcome to the first post in our new MILK food blog! Every week, MILK hosts many different people from all over the world to a variety of workshops, gatherings and all sorts of activities, right in the heart of Govanhill, Glasgow. This leads to dozens of fascinating conversations and insights, and what subject can unite a diverse array of humans more than food!
This blog is a way of giving voice to some really interesting people, whose perspective you might not hear much ordinarily, or whose words might get drowned out by all the noise from media - either social or mainstream. The articles we present here will be the result of ongoing collective efforts from old Scots, new Scots and individuals from various migrant backgrounds. This collaborative writing and editing process is ongoing, flexible and open to change, as we explore the best ways to write together and highlight the importance of centring and valuing migrant voices. All of us at MILK are continually enriched by what we hear and learn from others here and this food blog is a way for bringing those conversations to a wider audience. We hope you enjoy them as much as we do.
Eating with Aunties
Written by Kim Supajirawatananon
Friday mornings at Milk’s ESOL conversation café are always full of warmth and interesting chat. Sometimes you hear some very sad stories, but generally it’s fun and you leave feeling cheered up and maybe even a little more optimistic about how wholesome and yet important it is to form bonds with all sorts of other people.
This morning is even more special, as one of the regulars has not only brought in some home baking, but is also brewing mint tea and serving it in special pots and glasses she has brought from home.
Fatiha is from Morocco, and we all love hearing about the landscape, food and rituals of her pre-Glasgow life. Doing this while eating home-made baklava and fakkas (similar to biscotti) with our hot tea makes this feel even more special.
For migrants, sharing food really feels like a fundamental way of spreading your roots into the soil of a new culture and bearing fruit; of being able to assert your own cultural identity whilst giving to your new hosts. My Filipina mum was constantly cooking for the community. Whether she was preparing dishes for the church or school fete, or we were hosting or attending a party, my sister and I would be roped into rolling lumpia (spring rolls) or mixing the pancit (stir-fried noodles). And then you’d be able to try all the other dishes that other families specialised in. My Mama Lita was really proud of her kare kare (peanut stew) and cassava cake.
What was a culinary adventure for me was misty-eyed nostalgia for my mum and all her friends as they compared and contrasted recipes and lamented the ingredients from back home they were missing out on.
They would always know the best and cheapest places to get their ingredients, and what substitutions could be made, like spring greens for kangkong (water spinach) or carrot for bayabas (guava). I know from going to parties at my Filipina friend Mara’s house that people will still sit around eating, complimenting each other’s dishes and having similar conversations to the ones I heard 30 years ago.
My dad is Thai, and my mum’s cooking skills were also a way into his culture. As she learned a whole new culinary language, with new methods and new ingredients; as she pounded her own curry pastes and asked for advice on where to buy galangal and lemongrass (still pretty unfamiliar in the UK when I was growing up); my dad’s Thai friends became her friends too. Cooking food was a massive expression of my mum’s skills, her knowledge, her confidence, her personality. And the more she learned from other people and other cultures, the more she spread her wings. I’m sure this is a story shared by many mums, aunties and cousins from all over the world, here in the UK. We may not have much, we may be new here, but we can give you this dish because it’s so good.
I wish that I did this more. I’m actually not a bad cook, but I suppose the lack of time and tiredness of parenthood and all the other responsibilities I’ve fallen into makes cooking for others seem more of a chore than it is. As a Chinese-Thai/Filipina/English(!) migrant to Scotland, I have a plethora of food cultures to draw from. When I first moved to Glasgow 18 years ago, I used to love making green curries and tangy salads for my pals, at a time when decent Thai food was harder to find here. And when I worked in an office I used to enjoy bringing in baking for me and my colleagues to share. I loved making sweets and used to make a nice coconut ice. Maybe being regularly and generously lavished with delicious international dishes might inspire me to roll my sleeves up and start contributing again.
Every week we share food at Milk, whether it’s from an ever-replenished biscuit tin, bountiful plates of fruit, leftover dolmades from a training course or a Moroccan feast. It always reminds me what a humane and powerful act of kindness it is to break bread together. Our resources, whether that’s time, money or love, may be stretched more than ever at the moment, but we can always show true hospitality by making or preparing something delicious and making sure our friends are nourished.
Today’s article is written by Kim, a regular volunteer at MILK’s Friday ESOL (English for Speakers of Other Languages) Conversation Café , held every Monday and Friday from 10 am to 12 pm.
This is wonderful to read. I can almost taste the food as it is described and the amazing mixing of cultures and spices! Laura