Calling all kids who took ethnic lunch to school

When I was in elementary school, most kids were not inclusive of non-dominant cultures. Acceptance of others wasn't the norm, and the smallest difference could be the foundation of exclusion and mean taunts. I would get made fun of because I took Persian leftovers to school, which smelled weird and looked strange to them. 

Look, I’ll say it. Beef koobideh leftovers should not be left in the car, because they WILL smell like farts. I knew my food smells could be off-putting to my classmates, who had never had a traditional koobideh or seen an herb stew like ghormeh sabzi. I was embarrassed by this.

Rather than face the ridicule my packed lunch inspired, I would throw away my food in the Tupperware, unopened so the smell wouldn’t get out, and tell my mom that I lost it. That worked only a few times until I couldn’t explain away the missing, expensive Tupperware boxes anymore.

I was jealous of the kids who got to have the paid school lunch. I dreamed of eating the grossly pale pizza with plastic cheese, soggy chalupas with beans, or stale corn dogs. I didn't know these foods well, because we didn’t have them in the house. The school’s versions were boring and flavorless, but I knew eating them would be a key to belonging. But it wasn’t an option, as the school lunch was expensive and at the time beyond my family’s means for me and both my siblings to have it.

It wasn’t just my lunch menu that betrayed my difference. (The uni-brow and dark, hairy skin didn’t exactly help.)

My mom had volunteered to come to the school to teach my peers about Nowruz, the Persian New Year. She had been an active member of the Parent-Teacher Association, getting involved with school activities. Instead of feeling proud or excited to share more about my cultural traditions and celebrations, I was intensely embarrassed. It was like being reminded of my otherness in the most public way.

It is always a vulnerable experience to share your culture with others. When you're communicating aspects of a culture to someone who has never experienced it, it feels peculiar to them, because it's so foreign compared to their understanding of normal. Sometimes that feeling comes out as curiosity or desire to learn, sometimes it comes out as a harsh rejection.

When I shared a recipe for beef koobideh on TikTok, I received a comment that said “No offense, but why does it look like that?” As you know, this wasn’t new for me. I’ve been hearing comments about the food I eat my whole life. I decided to respond to it. I was thrilled to see other users respond to my video with love and support, opening up about their own experiences feeling embarrassed or ashamed of their ethnic foods. Some of those comments are the ones I’ve scattered throughout this post.

@proportionalplateReplying to @🌙LUCI🧸 lets normalize foods looking different than what we think they should look like 🥰🥰

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While it is wonderful that people in the dominant culture are now more open and curious to try the food of different cultures, something is still missing. I am missing an acknowledgment of the harm that was caused by years of being othered. Know that I welcome this modern shift. I love hearing that people are trying my recipes for the first time or trying foods that are new to them and other cultural experiences. Good things are happening, but it doesn't erase the years of ostracism so many of us had to go through to get to this point. 

Sharing my food with others has been part of a larger, harder process to accept my own culture. I have moved from not wanting to share my identity because my identity makes people uncomfortable to openly sharing with and educating others on Persian cuisine through my blog work. 

A healing tradition for me in accepting all facets of my identity has been to host potlucks with foods from all over the world. My friends have always been enthusiastic to experience and taste this food in my home. For example, my good friend Salima (blogger at Salima’s Kitchen) and I love to cook together and mesh our food cultures. Last time we hung out, we made her chicken tagine, paired with my potato tahdig and zereshk polo. We ate them together, sharing and enjoying our cultures coming together in new ways, exploring what goes well together and what doesn't. I love telling dinner party guests what I'm making and asking them to bring a favorite dish of their own, contributing to these mixed-culture meals. It feels good to see all those little fragments coming together.

These experiences of people showing up as themselves and bringing a piece of their culture to contribute have affirmed and helped me celebrate my mixed-race, mixed-culture, mixed-ethnic background. All of us have to learn how to respond with curiosity, kindness, and empathy to cultural differences, and food is one way to do that. Sharing our experiences is important, and those responses I got on that Tiktok video and have added in this post for you to see will forever hold a place in my heart.

All of us have to practice this regularly, too. I hope you share yourself and your experiences with whoever will listen, no matter which side of the story you are on.