Growing up in Philadelphia, I was always very critical of the food my parents made for us. From a young age, I always made statements like “This is too salty,” or “This needs some more seasoning.” When it came to my dad grilling, I always had to put my opinion in, like “The coals are too hot” or “You let the meat sit on one side for too long.” I know I sound bratty, but I knew what I was talking about.
I swore that vegetables were my enemy. So, when my mom tried to introduce me to this one strange looking plant, I was not interested. But she was so persistent that eventually I had to give in, and she began to prepare it for dinner. I just sat and watched with a disgusted look as she washed and cut it up. After she was done preparing this vegetable, I took a bite and was completely surprised. This disgusting plant was called Collard greens. It was bursting with flavor earthy yet subtly sweet. “It’s okay I guess,” I admitted. I liked it with a smile on my face. It was a very small victory for her.
My move to Louisiana to go NSU was a significant cultural shift. Everything, from the way people greet each other to the use of "Yessir" or "No ma'am," felt distinctly different. However, the greatest change for me was the food. My Philadelphian taste buds were accustomed to the city's famous greasy, cheesy cheesesteaks from Gino’s. Oddly enough, when I arrived in Louisiana, my immediate craving was for a cheesesteak.
My friend Zach told me about Sam's Southern Eatery in Natchitoches and how they had pretty good cheesesteaks. I was expecting the classic cheesy, oniony beautifully cooked bread with salt, pepper and ketchup. My expectations were not met. First of all, the size of “my to go” plate had what seemed like a third of a cheesesteak in it. This sandwich was pathetic. It lacked the essential elements that defined classic Philly cheesesteaks – no peppers, onions, or melted American cheese. I wanted to voice my disappointment in this sad wannabe Philly cheesesteak to my parents. It failed to pass the traditional eye test, bearing no resemblance to the sandwiches I was accustomed to.
So, I decided to give this Louisiana off-brand sandwich a chance. I tasted it and to my surprise, it was bursting with flavor and turned out to be genuinely palatable. It was still far from the sandwich standards.
When Zach asked about the "Philly cheesesteaks,” I chuckled and told him, “Ahh I wouldn't call this a Philly cheesesteak, but it’s got good taste."
In Philadelphia, I was not exposed to Southern Louisiana culture. Although around the age of seven my taste buds were exposed to one of the best tasting foods. During the summer of 2008 my grandma from Natchitoches was hard at work in the kitchen, cutting up onions, celery,
sausage, and boiling crabs. I was completely confused about what I was looking at. All I wanted to know was what she was making. My curiosity kept getting the best of me: “Mo, what is that? Can I try it?” She didn’t answer me until about four hours later. I heard, “Food is ready.” So, I sprinted downstairs. There sat this warm delicious dish that I’d never seen before. “That’s gumbo, son,” she told me. My mouth was amazed with all the different flavors and tastes I have never had. This was completely different from my later, Northern gumbo experience.
Six years later, after playing in a middle school football game, all I wanted was something warm to eat. I was told that there would be gumbo, and this made me so happy, I couldn’t wait. I ran out of the locker room to see this weird colored brothy looking thing. I was shocked. I asked my mom, “What is that?” She looked at me and said, “I think gumbo.” An overwhelming anger came over me, but I ate it anyway. It was absolutely disgusting. I couldn’t believe it was the same dish my grandma made years ago. I couldn't believe this Northern version could be so different compared to the Southern original. Everything about the two were just so different. One felt like there was more love and care while the other felt like it was just put together last minute.
During the years trying all these different foods, there are a few things I realized along the way. The first thing is culture does matter. When I was in Philadelphia, I realized that a lot of the food being made by from there just did not have the same love and care to it, compared to when my grandma cooked it. Maybe it was the amount of time, she used to prepare the ingredients or the
legacy that came with making gumbo. Her recipe has been in her family for many years, and I really felt that in every bite of the gumbo. It works the same way for the cheesesteaks because Louisiana is not a place where they are known for that particular sandwich. Philadelphia has years of perfecting cheesesteaks and making them the best that they can. So, the biggest thing I learned from cooking is that history and legacy when it comes to food can really impact everything about a meal.
