Don't listen to your mother.

Last year my friend Austin and I were sent to NYC with no cash, no cell phone, just a few layers of clothes, and a bus ticket. (One of our mentors thought it'd be fun to actually follow what's written in Mathew 10.) I'll spare you all the details, if you're interested in learning more, see link... Anyways, Austin and I were introduced to a man from Bangladesh named Joshi. He ended up being our host for the week (AKA worthy man - Mt. 11). New friends that we met in Manhattan led Austin and I to Joshi. They told us to take the train out to Queens, look for a white jeep wrangler and a Bangladeshi man. The very first thing that Joshi did, when we met him, was extend his hospitality. Aus. and I found ourselves in a neat little Bangladeshi resturaunt in some corner of Queens. Joshi picked out our food and we shared from the same plate. Joshi then told us that it is his cultures tradition to eat with their hands. And here's where I introduce the topic related to food this week... Eating with my hands, sharing the same meal with others turn out to be the most memorable meals my life.

Here are a few others that I remember...

In college, again with friends from South East Asia and from the Middle East, I had a meal during the Muslim Ramadan holiday. We all stayed up until just before sunrise and had an amazing fusion meal of from Jordan/India/Korea/Bangladesh. Right before sunrise we all shared the incredible meal together. We sat in a cricle without silverware (as far as I can recall). After we ate, we then fasted from sunrise to sunset and broke the fast together. The fast was difficult being that the scent of the food lingered on my hands throughout the day.

I've been blessed with two experiences in Sub-Saharan Africa. One in Niger and the the other in Mali. In each place, at each meal we had the option of silverware. But my friends and I were in the middle of the desert living with the Tuareg tribesmen, why use silverware? I remember eating bread made in the sand and goat that was slaughtered a few feet away from where we sat. Again, all of us, Tuareg and Americans, ate from a common table with our hands. Though we could barely understand each other, we found ways to communicate and share the wonderful experience we each other. I feel like laughter usually companies these meals as well.

I have sooo many memories of eating with my hands. Even this week, the last 5 days, I can't recall using silverware, other than buttering bread with peanut butter or cheese. I love feeling the sensation of warmth or cold and texture of the food. There's nothing like licking your fingers of the excess olive oil, egg yoke, cheese, salt and pepper. On the last two occasions where I prepared a local meal, I enjoyed the meal with my hands. Last week, my roommate and I cooked up Lamb Chops, Beats, Squash with onion and red pepper flakes, beans, and potatoes. I choose to eat with my hands and it brought me back to the previously mentioned experiences above. I think that the flavors mix on the surfaces of my finger tips to create unique tastes. As I thought about what to write today, I couldn't resist challenging ya'll to stop listening to your mother, drop your silver ware, and eat your food with your hands! (The challenge does not include burgers and fries from McDonald's). Go to your local Market!

I'll leave you with that. Next week I will write about my visit to Polyface Farm in Virginia. In the meantime, I hope that You, Me and Everyone In Between enjoys great food, together, with your hands!