I had always thought that marrying my non Lebanese boyfriend was never going to be a big event in our household. After all, my elder brother, the only son in a line-up of 3 sisters had already trail blazed with his marriage to a certain ‘Miss Lee’ from Hong Kong, causing much scandal and unrest in family circles fifteen years ago. To have the only prodigal son, tasked with the responsibility of continuing the family name, suddenly choosing to marry a Chinese girl was perhaps not quite the future they envisaged for him in our village. The fact that the only oriental person they had ever met was a former housekeeper at a distant auntie’s house didn’t help. Aware that each culture had it’s norms, the only way they could get married without upsetting the two tribes was by holding 3 different weddings, a civil ceremony in London with friends, Dj’s & a registrar to make it legal, a Lebanese one in a hotel complete with zaffehyh, (traditional bridal entrance) video cameras and our entire village, and finally a Chinese one in London’s bustling Chinatown with all the Chinese relatives and elders who were especially flown in from Hong Kong to give there blessings.
Misss Lee’s family were almost defiantly as unimpressed with the union and took time to warm up to the idea their little girl was marrying an Arab. Like most couples keen to keep respective mother and father in laws on side, my brother and his then fiancé decided that all meetings between the two clans should alternate between Chinese and Lebanese restaurants as this would offer light relief when it came to small talk and give them a way of introducing each culture in an informal setting ahead of all the ceremonies. I must confess to feeling dubious about this plan, however watching everyone tuck into a Lebanese Meza whilst making small talk on the various functions and uses of the humble chick pea in both cultures, and noticing that my fathers use of chop sticks had excelled, I was soon won over and felt warmly opportunistic that perhaps it was not such a bad idea after all.
My short lived optimism was however quickly replaced by panic & fear during the Chinese leg of the nuptials that concluded with the consumption of seven dishes, that represented various aspects of the couple’s future complete with lotus paste ( for fertility) sharks fins (for wealth) & Sea cucumbers ( to give them a good heart) amongst other unavoidable delicacies. Not wishing to offend our hosts or risk burdening my brother and his wife with a lifetime of misfortune (not to mention the potential fall out from insulting a zillion years worth of Chinese culture) all the assembled Arabs, myself included ate, slurped, & sucked & consumed every last mouthful under the proud gaze of our new Chinese family who nodded approvingly at the end of each round.
Three wedding ceremonies and 650 air miles later, it struck me that although we may have consumed completely different food at each of my brothers wedding ceremonies (a whole spit roast lamb at the Arabic wedding vs sharks fins at the Chinese one) and spoke different languages, their were a lot of similarities between the two cultures. The importance of family & respecting one’s elders, being the first and most obvious one. A shared love of ‘gold’ between the Arabic and Chinese community was also noticeable as my brother and his wife were laden down with the shiny stuff at both celebrations. Finally and possibly most importantly, it was the overwhelming significance of the type of food being served that joined the dots between these two cultures as each uneaten mouthful would be an offence not only to the family serving it, but to the culture as a whole.
Over the years, it has given me great pride and joy to notice how the once narrow minds of my relatives who didn’t know any better have since stretched like rubber bands about my brother’s unusual choice of soul mate. The arrival of 2 magniciant little boys who look Arabic to be Oriental, too Oriental to be Arabic has certainly helped iron out even the harshest of frowners in our extended clan. Yet of all the factors at play, my brother’s wife and I have always joked that it was the power of food to unite, that held the most powerful and valuable key to our families hearts and that she was able to win a battle of the hearts and minds thanks to a few pigeon words of Arabic and a honest love for Lebanese’s cooking and my grandmothers lahme Baajine that she can now pronounce perfectly. I could only hope that 15 years on from welcoming Ms. Lee into our lives, that the family would be ready to embrace the latest addition to the family, in the form of my new non Lebanese husband from Devon who had little exposure to the new culture and family that awaiting him.
Armed with the faded memories of awkward introductions and prolonged family silences at my brother’s celebrations I was relived to discover that my non Lebanese husband’s introduction to our fold was smooth sailing, just as I hoped it would be, and yet, However much I would like to believe that my husband’s smooth transition into my large extended family was due to a shared sense of values, It was clear that the ‘food factor’ was just as important now as it had been 15 years ago when my brother and his wife bought the Chinese and Arabic cultures together. Unlike my sister-in – laws passion for Lamhe Bjaime, this time it was my husbands diehard enthusiasm & love for a certain herb affectionately known as Zaatar ( thyme and sesame that is turned into a paste using lashings of olive oil) that offered the perfect passport to my families hearts. Family members, I am told were greatly softened by the rumours that my husband had a secrete passion for submerging every thing he cooked (including any English dishes like Sheppard’s pie,) in a thick layer of Lebanese zaatar. They were also thrilled to hear that his more recent experiments with ‘Shawarma Spice’ had led to a new fusion between Devon and Lebanon in the form of cooking we jokingly thought of as ‘Devonese’ cuisine ( think boiled organic charlotte potatoes from the west country with shawarma spice and salad cream, garnished with tabouleh). Some days my husband delights in teasing me that when it comes to eating, he is more Lebanese then I am and perhaps he is right. After all, it was he, not I that was brave enough to eat kebbeh nayeh (raw meat) at the family lunch celebrations in the village during our trip. Having said that, perhaps he felt he had no choice, just as I had felt during my brothers Chinese wedding fifteen years ago. The fact that my aunty explained that once he had eaten it, it would be considered as a kind of baptism into the clan, and refusing it would be a grave insult to the family, so with a big smile and a steady fork, he ate every mouthful without question. It may have cost him 2 weeks of stomach ache, however my husband has assured me that every mouthful was worth its weight in gold as it somehow cemented the feeling that he was now one of them and I am reliable informed that my dear and much loved grandmother would have defiantly approved.
So if your thinking of going global with your heart and need to act local on a visit home with your soul mate, you could do far worse then hook your other half onto a local culinary delight. Apart from the hilarious exchanges in your kitchen that may ensure, your grandmother/aunts and uncles will be most suitably impressed and who knows… you just might invent the next devonese.
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