Apropos of our next International House of Breakfast (tomorrow! Get your tickets!), we’re sharing this article (AND RECIPES!) from Issue 01:Pantry about three shaved ice makers. Chef Nico de Leon is one of our chefs for our event and his previous halo halo pop-up was one of the makers featured.

Enjoy!

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Photo by: Joyce Kim

By Kat Hong

Photos of Camphor and Tito Rudy’s by Joyce Kim

Photos of famiLEE by Sheadon Ringor

“The process seems to start with a foreign dish in its original form, brought in by foreigners. It is then taught to a native cook, who naturally adopts it to the tastes he knows and the ingredients he can get (borrowing, adapting). Eventually, he improvises on it, thus creating a new dish that, in time, becomes so entrenched in cuisine and lifestyle that its origins are practically forgotten (indigenization).” —Filipino food columnist Doreen G. Fernandez, 1988

Shave ice comes in many forms: granizado in Cuba, where shards of ice are studded with warm, spicy star anise; Cambodia’s vibrantly hued teuk kork chus; Filipino halo-halo capped with spell-binding desserts; Pakistan’s beloved street food gola ganda; chamoy-slathered raspados in Mexico; and Korean bingsu, where the ice is shaved so finely, it resembles the country’s mountainous Gangwon-do region during wintertime. No matter what part of the world one finds this icy treat, there is always a fascinating tale behind its arrival.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

The story of shave ice is one of indigenization. Ice, once a luxury item for the ruling class and the very wealthy, eventually trickled down to the masses with the advent of modern refrigeration in places like Italy, Japan, and the United States during the 19th century. Throughout history, expatriates have scraped together new versions of shave ice, longing for a taste of home and using whatever ingredients they could find, often reaching for canned foods and pantry staples. Did you know frosty Colombian cholados can be made with canned lychee, mangoes, or pineapple if fresh fruit is not available? Condensed milk—an American product—found its way to the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries during World War II, where it was used to feed soldiers before becoming the beloved halo-halo we know today. Common pantry goods, like adzuki beans, can be found on Japanese kakigōri, Chinese baobing, and Korean patbingsu. In short, the story of shave ice encompasses the history of global commerce, class conflict, colonization, immigration, war, resilience, and blade-sharp ingenuity. Plus, it’s pure heavenly bliss to consume in the summer.

For Max Boonthanakit at his L.A. restaurant Camphor, and the couples behind Familee Shave Ice on Kauai and Tito Rudy’s, a modern halo-halo concept in L.A., sweet beginnings extend far beyond the past and stretch into the future, as these shaved ice aficionados create new experiences, delicious things for us to eat, and most importantly, memories. Make some of your own with the recipes they share here.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

Maxou Boonthanakit

Co-Executive Chef at Camphor

Speaking with Maxou (Max), one gets the sense that he got into the restaurant business as a way to eat shave ice whenever he pleases. Despite stints in some of the world’s most famous kitchens (Blue by Alain Ducasse, José Andrés’ Bazaar, and Mei Lin’s Nightshade), it’s ice that truly captures Max’s imagination. Now a chef at Camphor, a French bistro with Southeast Asian influences that was awarded a Michelin star in 2023, Max talks about shaved ice with the fervor of a detective getting deliciously close to solving a murder case that’s gone cold.

Raised in Atlanta by Thai and Chinese parents, Max draws on a sprawling, almost anarchical well of influences when crafting his desserts: He begins in the Malaysian restaurants he frequented as a child, then heads into the world of Italian ices, creamy custards, and unnaturally hued treats, proving that inspiration can come from just about anywhere. The result is one of Camphor’s most renowned desserts—a sweet serving of marzipan ensconced in a pile of fluffy ice, topped with Meyer lemon shavings.

How did Camphor’s marzipan dessert come to be?

Max: When I was growing up and going to Chinese restaurants, I would always order the almond jelly or the almond drinks. So, naturally, I fell in love with marzipan. It has that same floral, almond-y taste to it that I love. And my favorite dessert of all time is shave ice. I wanted to combine the two while also making something really lemony and citrusy, so I created a Meyer lemon ice. We don’t shave the ice with a shaver but pulverize it with nitrogen, which causes the ice to freeze, then over-freeze, and become really brittle before turning into powder. It’s a super-light shaved ice, essentially, but it’s really more of a powdered ice. And it’s nice to not have dairy at the end of a meal. Camphor is a French bistro, which means you’re eating a lot of butter, so it’s great to have something at the end to cut through all of that.

What are your first memories of shaved ice?

Max: I had one of those tiny, cheap manual [ice] shavers at home, so I would always make myself shaved ice. And there were times when the blade would get too dull and my mom wouldn’t buy me a new one right away. So I would press the crushed-ice setting on the fridge, add syrup, and just eat that. Later, I became obsessed with Rita’s Ice & Frozen Custard, particularly the blue raspberry flavor. Another thing that sparked my whole “blue ice situation” back then was Burger King’s Ice Age drink.* When that came out, I begged my mom every day before Chinese school, like, “Can we please? I just need this drink.” So, icy desserts have always been an obsession of mine.

*In 2002, as a part of the promotional campaign for the animated movie Ice Age, Blue Sky Studios released a limited-edition Blue Cherry Frozen Float, which featured frozen Minute Maid Blue Cherry slush poured over vanilla ice cream.

What do you find particularly invigorating about making icy dishes?

Max: Ice is the perfect vessel. It’s so clean and pure, so that the flavor will come through no matter what. I like ice because it helps release the flavor [of ingredients] better than a lot of other things. With ice you have structure, you have pockets. It melts on your tongue and everything lasts longer. I wish more people would open more ice places.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

Nico de Leon and Kaylie Miraflores

Tito Rudy’s

Like many foods enjoyed in the Philippines today, halo-halo is more than just a dish. The crushed ice and evaporated milk treat, literally translated to mix-mix, offers a glimpse into the complex, often brutal history that led to the creation of what is now considered the unofficial dessert of the Philippines. Halo-halo’s odyssey begins during the Spanish colonial rule (1565-1898), a period when much of the Philippines’ wealth (as dictated by despotic Spain) depended on sugar haciendas, or plantations. Desserts, as an art form, blossomed during this time, giving birth to modern classics such as ube macapuno cake and glossy, golden leche flan. Later, during the Japanese occupation—a short but violent military stunt that took place between 1942 and 1945—one of the earliest halo-halo prototypes swept the nation, capturing the hearts of Japanese farmers and expats. Called mongo con hielo or mongo-ya, the simple dish sees boiled, syrup-laden mung beans spooned over coarse, ground ice and topped with sugar and milk, in a tradition not unlike Japanese kakigōri.

After World War II, with little reason to stay, the Japanese withdrew from the Philippines, but that delicious coarse ice dish remained. Halo-halo, as we know it now, began to take shape. To this day, there is not one set of standardized ingredients, although common hallmarks include a tall, clear glass paired with a long silver spoon, condensed and evaporated milks, canned fruit, fresh fruit, jellies, and flan. Toasted coconut flakes and crispy pinipig (pounded young rice) provide textural snap. Ube ice cream is all but required.

At Tito Rudy’s, a modern halo-halo concept in L.A., the resourceful, ever-evolving spirit of the Philippines lives on through this labor of love. Co-founders and life partners Nico de Leon and Kaylie Miraflores enjoy playing to their strengths (de Leon is an award-winning chef who co-owns Lasita, a funky Filipino rotisserie in L.A.’s Chinatown, while Miraflores boasts over 10 years of food, beverage, and barista experience). Since Tito Rudy’s inception, they’ve served their halo-halo—which features miso-condensed milk and ube ice cream, macapuno coco jelly, and candied pinipig—at pop-ups, a Chinatown kiosk, and as a permanent addition to Lasita’s menu.

Photo by: Joyce Kim

What memories does halo-halo evoke for you?

Nico: My dad would surprise us with halo-halo growing up. When he came home with all the accoutrements, we knew immediately that after dinner we’d all be enjoying our own customized glasses of halo-halo, sometimes even seconds, if we were naughty. [laughs]

Can you share the origin story of Tito Rudy’s?

Nico: Tito Rudy’s began as a pop-up during the pandemic. Kaylie and I were living in San Francisco and trying to find ways to keep busy. We wanted to have a project together that encompassed all of the things that we love: design, food, and culture. Locked down and confined to our home, we started to peer into our pantries for inspiration. What was in there that we could utilize and be creative with?

What goes into creating a halo-halo at Tito Rudy’s?

Kaylie: We’re picky about the ice, the ratio of the components, and the texture. The level of sweetness, also. We don’t like it too sweet—you don’t want palate fatigue. And you want to taste the quality. We make the ingredients and toppings in-house, and that’s something we’re really proud of.

Nico: When you’re delivering something that’s so nostalgic and personal, you need to make sure that you’re hitting all of the textural points while also providing different notes of, almost feelings. We’re fortunate to live in California, because a lot of our native produce is available here. But not everything is! Like, calamansi is really difficult to find unless your family has a tree, or you have that one tita who hands you a bag at a family party. So, discovering other citrus that speaks to us, or finding other flavor profiles that can mimic or evoke the same feeling, that process reminds us of what our ancestors would do in the Philippines—shop locally, etc. Whether it’s a mile from your barrio or around the corner at your favorite farmers market, Filipinos make do with whatever’s around them.

Tito Rudy’s has existed in many forms. What’s been your favorite iteration?

Nico: The kiosk [in Chinatown.] That was a really fun moment.

Kaylie: We turned it into a seated bar where people could have conversations with us as we made the halo-halo. We were able to see the diversity of people who were attracted to the project. We met people who had never heard about halo-halo before and just stumbled upon us. Some people came because they were curious about the design. And then you had a bunch of Filipinos, Filipino Americans, and titas who were like, I haven’t had a good halo-halo in so long.

Who is Tito Rudy?

Nico: My father. The whole origin story, with the nostalgia I brought up earlier, circles back to him completely. It’s a little ironic because he’s diabetic now. He hasn’t had one of our halo-halos yet, unfortunately.

Kaylie: He keeps telling us, “You need to make a sugar-free one.”

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

Jess and Tim Lee

Familee Korean Shave Ice

Bingsu, in its earliest form, was an icy treat reserved only for Korea’s court royalty and high-powered government officials. During the winter, ice was cut from the frozen Han River then put into seokbinggo, or royal ice boxes, a practice that remained until refrigeration was introduced to Korea in the 1950s.

By comparison, Familee Korean Shave Ice could not be more egalitarian: The bingsu truck, run by husband-and-wife duo Tim and Jess Lee, operates off the side of the Kuhio Highway on Kauai and sources its ingredients from local farms, friendly neighbors, and the bounty found on trees in the Lees’ backyard. The truck, which offers traditional and modernized takes on Korean bingsu, has become a hit, attracting tourists and locals alike with its playful flavors, seasonal fruit, and puns galore (each flavor is named after a Lee family member, and the descriptions are packed with a poet-laureate amount of wordplay).

Do you have any strong memories of shaved ice or bingsu as children? And if so, how did they influence Familee?

Jess: When I was really young, my dad and his friends played ping-pong in our backyard. After their games, they would go out for bingsu and he’d bring one back for me, which I shared with my grandma. We’d eat it on my bed. So for me, bingsu brings people together.

Tim: I’m from Los Angeles, but we came to Hawai’i a lot as kids. My dad loves it here. He’d always joke around and say something like, “Oh, if someone opened a bingsu shop here, it would do really well.” He wasn’t serious, and it became a running joke in our family. But when Jess and I met during the pandemic, we both were looking for something new for our careers.

Jess: And that’s how [Familee] started.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

When did you learn to make bingsu?

Tim: Although we grew up eating it, we didn’t know much about bingsu from a business perspective. So, we spent about a year researching everything we could and traveled to Korea in 2022.

Jess: Korean bingsu is next level. Before our trip, I reached out to my family in Taegu and they gave us a list of places to try. So, there were some days that we would eat, like, four bingsus a day. There were unique flavors trending there, like mugwort, corn, grapefruit, salt and cream, and tomato bingsu. We got a lot of inspiration from what we saw in Korea, especially around how creative you could be.

It’s interesting to think of bingsu in the context of Kauai, where there is not a large Korean population.

Tim: I can probably name every Korean person.

Photo by Sheadon Ringor

How has that been?

Tim: Once we opened, all 10 Koreans on the island somehow found us and they loved it. We were told that when a new business opens on the island, everyone comes. And we found that to be true. [Bingsu] is something new for a lot of [customers].

The inspiration for Familee’s menu comes from your family members. Walk me through some of the flavors.

Jess: Everyone calls Tim’s dad Pa, and one of his favorite places on Kauai is the Nā Pali coast. So he became the “Nā PaLee.” Plus, he loves mangoes, so that’s how we came up with that one. Another one is The Sweet Kamja, which represents my brother-in-law, Kam. He loves ube and kamja in Korean means sweet potato. So we made his flavor sweet potato, even though it’s not a 100 percent translation match.

How do you feel about the word authenticity?

Jess: That’s what we’re trying to offer, authentic Korean bingsu. There aren’t many Koreans on Kauai compared to Southern California. Language and food have that way of pulling at your heartstrings. They’re such a deep part of who we are and how we grew up. So, to be able to carry something as simple as bingsu here to Kauai is so special to us.

RECIPES

Camphor’s Marzipan Sorbet

⅔ cup marzipan

Read more

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

FILIPINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, July 12th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Filipino breakfast from Nico de Leon of Ako and Otto Markel of Nananu Ka.

Tickets on sale now! (These will go fast!)

We’ll be offering four time slots: 9:00AM, 9:45AM, and 10:30AM, 11:15AM.

Chef Nico is an old friend of Synonym — he was featured in our very first issue talking all things shaved ice and his halo-halo pop-up, Tito Rudy’s then served up those icy treats at our inaugural release party. Now he’s back, collaborating with us again for IHOB alongside Chef Otto Markel of Nananu Ka.Otto has been a friend for just as long. You might know him as the smiling face behind the counter at one of our favorite bookstores, Now Serving, or from his Instagram deep-dive recreating every variation of Jell-O, or from his famous bibingkas at a pop-up. Come to think of it, whenever you run into Nico or Otto, they greet you with the warmest smile — and you can taste that in everything they make.

A little about Chef Nico:

Nico de Leon is a Filipino American chef from the greater Los Angeles area whose work has helped define LA’s Filipino food movement. Through projects including LASA, Lasita, Tito Rudy’s (read about this in our first issue!), and Ako, he explores the intersection of memory, seasonality, and identity, creating food that reflects his evolving experience as both Filipino and American.

A little about Chef Otto:

After studying food policy, farming, and terroir at Evergreen State College, Otto moved to Los Angeles and started working in food. Primarily a cook (more craftsman than artist), he has also worked as a butcher, a farmer, a Jell-O obsessive, and a cookbook merchant. Through extensive research, lots of trial and error, and a decent amount of luck, Otto focuses on making Filipino food the old way.

We’ve gotten a sneak peek at the menu for Sunday, July 12th and trust us, we’ll be the first in line.

RECAP of June’s IHOB

A quick recap of June’s iteration of “International House of Breakfast” with Arroz and Fun and A Manos at Chifa. A nice, cool day for June was welcomed with plantain waffles and savory soy milk. The community was dyeing which was led by the fiber artist Cayetano. Thanks to all that came.

• Issue 05: Sweets is being wrapped up as we speak! We’ve got lots of plans to unveil and merch to reveal. Stay tuned and be sure to be subscribed for advance notice!

• LOS ANGELES: One of our editors, Tien Nguyen, will be in conversation about food stystems and culture in Los Angeles at the LARC (Los Angeles Reporting Collective) Food Media Summit on July 9th. Get your tickets here.

  

• July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair at Lago Alto in CDMX. Our editors, Remy Ramirez and Lisa Butterworth will be in attendance, come say hi!

  

Support Independent Media!

Ozoz Sokoh is a writer, food historian, culinary anthropologist, and now James Beard award winner! She won a JBF award for Emerging Voice in Books for her cookbook, Chop Chop: Cooking the Food of Nigeria (Artisan Books) and we couldn’t be more thrilled. Her depth of knowledge and thoughtfulness around food—its history, even its language—is so expansive that once she starts talking, you just want to keep listening. Ozoz has contributed two articles for us: one from Issue Two: Rice and Beans, about the fried fritter “akàrà (…akkra…accras…kara…kala…cala…calas),” and another from Issue Three: Spices, on West African spices. We absolutely love Ozoz and can’t wait to see what she does next. In this week’s newsletter, we’re sharing her article “Just a Pinch” about the West African spice cabinet.

Celebrating the staples of a West African spice cabinet.

By Ozoz Sokoh

Illustrations by Zab Shavrick

Are you familiar with the other nutmeg — the one named after a gourd? Or the bean used as a spice known as soup perfume? What of the smoked pods that resemble black cardamom but aren’t at all related to it? Welcome to the world of West African spices, seasonings that grace kitchens from Calabar in southern Nigeria to St. Louis in northwest Senegal — fascinating, intriguing, and abundant, yet largely uncommon outside the region.

Used in various ways, ancient and contemporary, these spices — calabash nutmeg, grains of paradise, African cubeb, and more — bring life to soups and stews, broths and teas. Among them is the classic Nigerian pepper soup, a broth enjoyed as food and medicine, like chicken soup in the States, Thai tom yum, or Vietnamese pho. Always creating deep flavors and warm notes, these spices are deliciousness encased. Beloved across West Africa, they have just as many names — thanks to the multiplicity of local languages, including Urhobo, Igbo, Yoruba, and more — as uses. Here are the spices you need to make a beloved pepper soup, and a few others for good measure.

Calabash Nutmeg

Monodora myristica

This smooth, shiny, oblong seed comes from a fruit similar to the custard apple. Each fruit has several seeds, which are almost an inch long and contain an oily kernel. The spice’s name likely stems from the seed’s resemblance to the calabash gourd and its similarities to the more well-known nutmeg, Myristica fragrans, including its hard form and shared taxonomic order, Magnoliales. To use, discard the seed’s shell, then toast and grind the kernel.

Other Name

African nutmeg

Local Names

Erhe (Urhobo), Iwo (Itsekiri), Ehuru (Igbo), Ariwo (Yoruba), Guliya dan miya (Hausa), Ukposa (Bini)

Flavors

Warm, nutty, and citrusy, with woody and bitter hints. Think nutmeg and coriander with a hint of cumin.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; often combined with grains of Selim.

Historical Uses

“As an aromatic and stimulating addition to other medicines and to snuff.” — The Useful Plants of West Tropical Africa, J.M. Dalziel, 1937

Guinea Cubeb

Piper guineense

Fresh clusters of these small berries, which have a more pronounced piney flavor before they’re dried, are sold in different colors, including green, orange, and red. The dried berries are black with curved tails. To use, remove the fresh berries from their clusters and add them whole, or dry the clusters, then remove the peppercorns and use them whole.

Other Names

Ashanti pepper, Benin pepper, West African black pepper

Local Names

Edusa (Ibibio), Eti-nkeni (Efik), Uziza (Igbo), Iyere (Yoruba)

Flavors

Floral, herbal, peppery, and resinous. Think floral and black pepper.

Uses

In soups and rice.

Historical Uses

“Although one of the early spice grains brought from the Grain Coast (Liberia) in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, it does not appear to have at any time been accepted in Europe as a substitute for ordinary pepper (P. nigrum) which is more aromatic.”

Grains of Selim

Xylopia aethiopica

These brown-black pods — between one and three inches long — have dry, ridged skin shaped by the pod’s seeds, which they hold fast to. They are in the Annonaceae family, like calabash nutmeg, custard apple, American pawpaw, and ylang-ylang. To use, bruise the pods and add them whole to soup or sauce (remove before serving), or remove and discard the seeds, then roast and grind the pod skin.

Other Names

African pepper, Guinea pepper, Ethiopian pepper

Local Names

Urheri (Urhobo), Unien (Bini), Attasoursop (Yoruba), Uda (Igbo), Eeru (Ibibio/Efik)

Flavors

Smoky, musky, and peppery, with warm notes of cloves and nutmeg and a hint of bitterness. Think black cardamom and black pepper.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; in drinks, blended with coffee beans to make Senegalese café touba, added to water to purify it, or added to palm wine for flavor. Also great in tomato and red pepper sauces.

Historical Uses

“As a flavourer and spice, at one time similarly used in Great Britain.”

Grafilo

Botanical name unknown

This spice is a singular kernel housed in a brown, egg-shaped shell that’s about one or one-and-a-half inches long. Shake it and you might hear the kernel move inside. The brittle shell has the texture of sandpaper, and when cracked it reveals an oily kernel that resembles cocoplum. The kernel has flavor notes reminiscent of nutmeg. To use, break the shell and use only the kernel, raw or toasted, then ground.

Local Names

Gbafilor (Itsekiri)

Flavors

Nutty and slightly bitter. Think nutmeg and tonka beans.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup.

Alligator Pepper

Aframomum melegueta

With knobby skin that resembles an alligator’s, each pod contains at least two seed clusters, wrapped in papery, lacey skin. The skin is broken to release brick reddish-brown, pyramidical seeds, which are used across West Africa, particularly in traditional ceremonies.

Other Names

Grains of paradise

Local Names

Ehie ado (Bini), Ntuen (Efik), Ose oji/okwu oji (Igbo), Atare (Yoruba)

Flavors

Floral, bright, citrusy, and spicy, with peppery hints. Think cardamom, black pepper, and citrus. The seeds have a tongue-numbing effect, like Sichuan peppercorns.

Uses

Eaten whole as a snack alongside kolanut; ground seeds are added to soups and stews.

Historical Uses

“Was at one time important in trade with Europe…. It was in demand as a spice… in liqueurs and alcoholic beverages.”

Cocoplum

Chrysobalanus icaco

Cocoplums are brown, hard-shelled “nuts,” less than an inch long, with striations and honeycomb patterns. They are somewhat aromatic, in a light but complex way, similar to the tonka bean — nutty (almond with hints of walnut) and vanilla. Each one contains an oily kernel whose essence is similar to nutmeg in flavor, ranging in color from cream to brown and purple. To use, crack the shell and use only the kernel, raw or toasted, then ground.

Other Names

Coco plum, cocoa plum, fat pork (Lesser Antilles), icaco (Puerto Rico)

Local Names

Omilo/Umilo (Itsekiri)

Flavors

Nutty, slightly bitter. Think nutmeg and tonka beans.

Uses

In soups; in spice blends for pepper soup; roasted and enjoyed as nuts; pressed to extract oil.

★ All historical uses are sourced from The Useful Plants of West Tropical Africa, J.M. Dalziel, 1937.

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

CHINO/LATINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, June 28th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Chino/Latino breakfast from Arroz & Fun and A Manos. We’ll be offering two time slots: 9:00AM and 10:30AM.

Get your tickets here

🌈Hecho by Caye will be hosting a community dye workshop.🌈

Fiber-reactive dyes in chartreuse, turquoise, fuchsia, and deep yellow.

👕Bring your own items to revive solid or tie-dyed (T-shirts, pillowcases, lounge shorts, napkins, etc.).

Items must be small in size and medium weight. 100% natural fibers or high-fiber-content (cotton, linen, rayon, hemp, bamboo).

Pre-washed. All materials provided.

$20 per 2 items to be dyed (No need for a ticket to participate in the dye workshop!

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

at Chifa

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH ARROZ & FUN AND CIPOTA COFFEE

CHINO/LATINO BREAKFAST

Sunday, June 28th is the next installment in our International House of Breakfast series. This time, we’re bringing you a Chino/Latino breakfast from Arroz & Fun and A Manos.

Tickets go on sale Wednesday, June 10th at 9am.

We’ll be offering two time slots: 9:00AM and 10:30AM.

Arroz & Fun, created by Jarod Wang, first opened as a cafe in Lincoln Heights before moving its residency to its sibling restaurant, Chifa, for morning and daytime service. Drawing influences from Taiwanese, Peruvian, Chinese, and Salvadoran food traditions, Jarod blends it all together with bolo bao breakfast sandwiches and porridge. His love of cooking traces back to his Popo, who taught cooking classes at his elementary school, and to his dad’s home cooking. Shaped by surf, skate, and punk culture, his food is an ode to Los Angeles.

Agua Lemus launched her pop-up A Manos out of a desire to serve and nourish community. She wants to show that Salvadoran food can go beyond pupusas. She cooks for community and herself and is very intentional with her work. Her food reflects life in Los Angeles while remaining deeply rooted in her Salvadoran heritage.

Agua and Jarod have cooked together at pop-ups before, most recently at the El Sereno Community Garden, and they’re teaming up again for our next IHOB this June.

And Hecho by Caye will be on-site with a community dye workshop. Fiber-reactive dyes in chartreuse, turquoise, fuchsia, and deep yellow.

👕Bring your own items to revive solid or tie-dyed (T-shirts, pillowcases, lounge shorts, napkins, etc.).

Items must be small in size and medium weight. 100% natural fibers or high-fiber-content (cotton, linen, rayon, hemp, bamboo).

Pre-washed. All materials provided.

$20 per 2 items to be dyed.

Tickets on sale now.

• July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair in CDMX! Save the Date!

Other news to share from the community!

• READ: Texture by Osayi Endolyn, We’ve love reading Osayi Endolyn’s newsletter all about pop culture, art and media, and food and drink.

  

• GO: (LOS ANGELES) Armenian Supper Club at Sooki Studio on Sunday June 14, 6-8pm.

• GO: (AUSTIN) En Vivo! Black & Indigenous Mexicans: A coming together of food, untold history, and rich history. A Juneteeth celebration. June 18, 2026 | 6pm-8pm.

• PARTCIPATE: Híjole y Café: A 3-week food storytelling workshop with Issue 01 contributor and author of Salvi Soul, Karla Vasquez. ​A 3-week food storytelling workshop which will take place Thursdays at 6pm (June 18, June 25, July 2) online (join from wherever you are). Space is limited, so sign up!

KEEP PRINT ALIVE

_{And now, onto the story.}

Buy Issue 04

NUMBER ONE

By Frank Shyong

Photos by Bethany Mollenkof

It’s safe to say no one has ever waxed poetic about Los Angeles chili. You know the kind: served as condiment, not quite stew, more of a mortar for welding burger buns to patties and cementing fries into bricks, crowned with a snowdrift of orange cheese, the shade found at construction sites.

Chili never makes anyone’s Instagram in this town, not even Stories. For me, it is more often the last regrettable decision in a night of them. Especially because chili entrées are almost always served in amounts impossible for a sane and sober person to attempt.

But sanity and sobriety are not always within reach, and it’s in those moments that chili finds us. I once lived down the street from the original Alhambra location of The Hat, in Southern California’s San Gabriel Valley, and I still indulge in their pastrami chili fries a few times a year. Ordering a tamale from the Original Tommy’s—submerged in a paper boat of chili thickened with masa harina, capped with a slice of American cheese and round of tomato—is a canonical L.A. experience.

I’d recommend some other places, but if you live here long, chili will appear, like magic. You’ve probably passed a burger spot with chili on the menu dozens of times on your commute. You go there even though the fries aren’t that good—always that thick, soft kind that doesn’t taste like much—because they all possess that all-important Southern California commodity: They are on the way. It was a five-minute stumble from my first college apartment in Westwood to a burger stand students called Buck Fifty’s, served swimming in a vermilion slick of grease that stained every surface that came close. Since then, I’ve lived in a dozen different zip codes in Los Angeles and Orange Counties, and this Mexican burger stand menu has always been within reach.

The history of chili in America is one long shouting match that everyone enjoys too much to declare a winner. As the food scholar Charles Perry put it: “Chili is a vernacular dish, and one that was long considered rather déclassé. It was not born in the spotlight, and its history is bound to be hazy.”

Still, politicians in Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico have all attempted to pass resolutions making it their state dish. (Only Texas succeeded, in 1977.) The late Arizona statesman Barry Goldwater once rose to denigrate Texas chili in a speech on the Senate floor, a conflagration that culminated in an official senatorial chili cookoff and a cookbook collecting the recipes.

Southern California chili heads are much more relaxed: less talking, more eating. There aren’t really hard rules for what constitutes Los Angeles chili. You can find chili with all kinds of regional influences here; our recipes are so glibly transgressive, so liberal with thickeners and beans, that they unite chili purists from all major regions in disdain.

Elizabeth Taylor helped make the chili famous at Chasen’s, a Hollywood haunt owned by David Chasen that shuttered in 1995. But Frank Tolbert, a newspaper columnist and house stylist of the Texas chili establishment, was firm if diplomatic: “A real chili buff wouldn’t give Dave’s product a passing grade. It is actually a fine stew, scented with chili powder.”

At El Cholo Mexican Restaurant, the oldest still-operating restaurant in the city of Los Angeles, it’s on the menu as chili con carne, though the server also referred to it as chile Colorado when he set the plate down. In either case, the menu suggests the restaurant began serving it in 1927. Chili con carne, most associated with Texas, is believed to have originated with Mexican women running open-air food stands in San Antonio in the 1880s; their colorful, bold entrepreneurship earned them the moniker Chili Queens. This style shuns beans and thickeners, instead relying solely on meat and simmered chile peppers. El Cholo serves the dish as a main course in a bowl, with a side of tortillas, much like they do in Texas.

Midwestern chili variants abound in Southern California as well. “Chilli,” Illinois-style, dates back to 1909, incorporates beans, and is spelled with two l’s, the second of which stands for love, according to Springfield restaurant lore. The dish was the creation of Greek immigrants influenced by a spiced, minced meat called kima, which traveled to South Asia via keema curry, a Burmese version I first had in Culver City.

Around the time chilli was created, Greek restaurateurs in Michigan pioneered a seasoned, minced meat gravy called Coney sauce to accompany the eponymous hot dogs, an example of which is served at Pink’s Hot Dogs in the Fairfax neighborhood of Los Angeles. A Greek immigrant opened Skyline Chili in Ohio in 1949, and his recipe, much like the Greek dish makaronia me kima, is often served over spaghetti, a dish you can find at Bob’s Big Boy or Chili John’s in Burbank.

But there’s really only one kind of chili found in all over L.A.: a smooth, rust-red gravy of finely ground beef thickened with flour or maseca and seasoned with some mix of cumin, paprika, allspice, cinnamon and chile powder, what Tolbert called “the dreadful stuff masquerading as chili in 9 out of 10 cafes.”

So why did chili become one of this city’s most ubiquitous foods? I guessed the answer lay somewhere within the tangled genealogies of Southern California’s named burger stands. Could they all be related somehow?

The more of them I visited, the more similarities I spotted, like a small town where everyone has the same kinds of noses and jawlines. Drive around a lot and you’ll notice these burger stands all use the same set of names. A lot of them have numbers in the name, indicating a franchise, but most of the other numbered locations seem to be missing. All the menus have chili and pastrami. And they usually serve some of the best Mexican American food—specifically, breakfast burritos—around.

I followed the trail to an unusual density of burger stands in a concrete quadrangle bordered by the 105 and 110 freeways and the Los Angeles River, an industrial wetlands south of downtown Los Angeles once known as the city’s Rust Belt.

It turned out this region is home to the number-one stores of the burger chains like Jim’s, Apollo’s, Troy’s, Dino’s, Chris’s, Gus’s, and Douglas Burger.

When I began listing the names of all the original stores to Tommy Karmos, 55, the owner of Jim’s Burgers Number 1 in the city of Cudahy, he laughed.

“Yep, recognize a lot of those names. A lot of those guys used to work for my dad,” Karmos said.

Karmos and his father took over Jim’s Burgers in the 1970s. The restaurant was founded in 1958 by Jim Angelopoulos, a Greek immigrant who came to America at the age of 15 and found work at a soda fountain in Decatur, Illinois.

Chili and burgers featured heavily in Angelopoulos’s eponymous restaurant. He was a shrewd businessman but generous with his recipes, said Georgia Alevizos, his daughter. There’s even a family legend that the burger recipe at In-n-Out was influenced by Jim’s.

When they came west, their generous, satisfying food quickly caught on in neighborhoods where everyone was shouldering long shifts and lengthy drives home. Angelopoulos felt there was enough opportunity to go around, Alevizos said. He always gave his blessing to employees who wanted to start new restaurants and didn’t charge a fee to use the name. He didn’t care if new franchisees changed a letter, picked a name that sounded similar, or even if they picked a new name.

“My dad just gave it to them. He just believed that there’s always enough business to go around if you’re a hard worker and if you’re honest,” Alevizos said.

The burger stands were an open-air redesign of the Greek diner concept, according to Alevizos. But they never saw themselves making Greek chili or any other kind of Greek food, said both Karmos and Alevizos. They wanted to create a successful business, which meant serving American food, Karmos said.

“We were Greek inside the house, but not really out,” he said.

But there are still hints of Greek identity at many L.A. burger stands if you look. At the Jim’s Burger location two blocks over, next to the register, there is a stack of distinctive blue Greek diner cups next to the soda machine and a Greek salad on the menu. And Chris’s Burger down the street serves a chicken tzatziki burrito.

Chris’s also serves a chili burrito, perhaps a reflection of the fact that the city of Cudahy is now 96 percent Latino. At Douglas Burger, a nearby burger chain started by a former Jim’s employee, they serve an old dish called chili size, essentially an open-faced hamburger topped with chili. Chili size was popularized at Ptomaine Tommy’s Chili Parlor, a Lincoln Heights restaurant that was one of the first—if not the first—to serve it in Los Angeles.

Each time the burger stand changed owners and neighborhoods, it absorbed a different group’s ideas about what American food should be. And today no two Tim’s, Jim’s, Tom’s or Tam’s are exactly alike.

Greeks opened many of the first locations, but as Los Angeles grew more diverse, so did the ownership of its burger stands. Today, many are run by Mexican, Central, and South Americans. Fatburger is under corporate ownership now, but it was started by a Black woman, Lovie Yancy, in 1947. And the other day I visited Peppi’s, a Korean-owned burger stand in Fontana that opened in 1946. Chili and pastrami are on the menu, but it’s best known for beef bulgogi.

I like to imagine all these burger shops are related. If you look at their distribution across Southern California, it’s clear that Angelopolous’ generosity was catching; that his former employees and fellow franchise owners passed on the recipes just as freely as he did. What if L.A.’s named burger stands aren’t copycats but kinfolk? That’s what L.A. chili tastes like to me: a big, complicated family recipe

.

Thanks to everyone that came out for our very first International House of Breakfast with Chef Diep Tran. Special thanks to Neighborhood Seed Exchange for providing seeds and seed talk. An another appreciation note to Koda Farms, Autonomy farms, Yao cheng farms, The Garden of, and K&K ranch.

Sunday, June 28th: The next one will be with Chef Agua Lemus of Amanos and Chef Jarod Wang of Arroz and Fun for a Chino/Latino breakfast. As usual, Cipota coffee will be making a special drink for this one (how about those oro blanco cordials??)

Community dye bath by Hecho by Caye, more info soon.

Tickets will be released June 10th and this time with slotted times. Stay tuned.

July 30- Aug 02: We’ll be at Hardcore Art Book Fair in CDMX! Save the Date!

Other news to share from the community!

• Híjole y Café: A 3-week food storytelling workshop with Issue 01 contributor and author of Salvi Soul, Karla Vasquez. ​A 3-week food storytelling workshop which will take place Thursdays at 6pm (June 18, June 25, July 2) online (join from wherever you are). Space is limited, so sign up!

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Written and photos (below) by Rawah Badrawi

When news broke of a London restaurant opening by chef Meedu Saad evoking his personal journey and Egyptian heritage, I knew that something big was about to happen.

For too long, Egyptian cuisine barely made a dent in the culinary consciousness of Western societies. Outside of a koshary shop here, or a ful and ta’amiya stand there, Egyptian food seemed inaccessible, mysterious. Unlike its Lebanese and Turkish counterparts, whose food spread like wildfire through restaurants and ocakbaşi grills around the world, the Egyptian diaspora kept its food to itself—recipes were family heirlooms, rather than edible exports. When I ask my London friends what they think of Egyptian food they shrug: “It’s not your strongest suit,” they say. This misguided comment shows they haven’t been to the home of an Egyptian who knows how to cook.

Enter Impala. The brainchild of Meedu Saad—he of Kiln fame—it may just be what many of us have been patiently waiting for all this time. London is buzzing with talent—a fantastic cohort of young chefs are cooking up food so beautiful it breaks hearts. When I tear a piece of Guinness bread at Max Rocha’s Cafe Cecilia, which is an ode to the Irish food his mother Odette made, or when I inhale Dara Klein’s pasta e fagioli at Tiella Trattoria, I am transported to a joyful place created from personal histories. Their food moves me because it is so clearly rooted in identity, memory, and story. In a world torn apart by war, dispossession, exile, and separation, food stands as a witness and guardian, assuring us that certain moments and places existed—they are not a figment of our imagination. Food, as a storyteller of peoples’ lives, travels, and cultures is the most powerful plate on the table, immortalising the things that count.

In the same vein, Meedu Saad outlined his mission to the press: dishes will lean on Egyptian and North African flavours, they will be cooked on a killer open fire, and presented in an entirely personal way. In other words, this is not Egyptian food as much as it is a British chef referencing his Egyptian heritage, culinary journey, and individual style. His memories of driving around Egypt in a Chevy Impala with friends come up as touch points in the discussion around his solo debut. The Sinai Peninsula, a land of roseate peaks and azure waters, gave him a canvas for his first brushstrokes with cooking—fishing in the Red Sea, grilling outdoors. I noticed a piece in Stone Magazine about his more recent research trip to Egypt to explore food in Cairo, Port Said, and Ismailia. His field notes from that trip, as well as his Sinai memories, all sounded like déjà-vu. My co-author Suzanne Zeidy and I had taken the same road trips for our upcoming book Egypt: Recipes and Stories from an Ancient Land, out in September 2026 by Nourish Books.

Meedu Saad’s father comes from Ismailia, in the northeastern region of the Nile Delta. On the recce trip to his ancestral home, Meedu encountered the industrial version of the old mud brick ovens that are the golden thread of the Egyptian hinterland. He calls them “community ovens”—what an apt label! Suzanne and I have fond memories of sitting with the rural women of the Nile Valley and Delta at their ovens, watching everything from aish (bread), feteer meshaltet (layered pie), ruz muammar (cream rice), and tagin (vegetable bakes) go in and out. In Luxor, mud brick ovens are used to make the local shamsi (sun) bread, believed to be the world’s first leavened bread, dating back to pharaonic times.

(Luxor Mud Brick Oven)

Up on the coast, Meedu made the essential pitstop at Port Said’s fish market; a bustling hub of fishermen, vendors, and cooks engaged in a daily dance around the customers. A 96-year old Port Said native was our guide there; he picked a selection of freshly caught fish and shellfish for lunch including sehleya (keeled mullet), sardines, crab, and bouri (grey mullet). Lightly spiced sardines and crab hit the open fire grill, while the bran and rock salt–covered mullet fish entered a volcanically hot oven for a blackened finish. After devouring the seafood feast with our bare hands, we asked our host a simple question: How come more people don’t know about this? A wistful smile spread across his face, “People don’t come to Port Said anymore,” he said. The cosmopolitan, glitzy town that flourished after the construction of the Suez Canal in the late 1800s, fell into a steady state of distinguished decay after the Suez Crisis in 1956. Be that as it may, Port Said is still the top purveyor of batarekh (bottarga) in the Arab world.

(Blackened Mullet from the Port Said Fish market)

The obsession with heat and smoke is an ancient, time-honoured tradition in Egypt. Meedu’s decision to reference it at Impala with a high, central fire–grill adorned with hanging ducks, is a mise en scène of visual genius. Birds are an Egyptian national dish, especially stuffed pigeons, roast ducks, and grilled quails. Last October, we made our way to Alexandria to catch the city’s famous quail season, where every autumn thousands of quail fly over the city from Central Europe on the way to their winter habitat in the Sudan. The long journey forces the birds to land on Alexandria’s coastline where nets laid by Bedouin trappers await them. We rolled into a restaurant called Malek El Seman (King of the Quails), an institution, and feasted on Levantine-spiced quails that had been grilled to perfection on an open fire. The veteran grill master stood over multiple rows of quails, flapping a palm-leaf fan, keeping the heat steady and the birds juicy.

(Grill Master in Alexandria with Palm leaf fan)

By the time I take my seat at Impala I feel emotionally invested in its mission. The beating heart of the restaurant is its central open plan kitchen—run by Head Chef Adam Smith—featuring a sleek oven on one side and an impressive fire grill on the other. I smile when I see a few palm-leaf fans hanging by the grill—the details are intentional, sharp. Ben Chapman—co-founder of Super 8 Restaurants, the group that owns Impala, Brat, Smoking Goat, and Kiln—described the design approach on Instagram: “Lots of concrete and render, referencing those giant community ovens in Ismailia.” I take a close look at the menu, decoding the Egyptian references right away: aish baladi, white beans and bottarga, squid salad with cumin seeds, sheep cheese, bird’s tongue pasta with oxtail, duck roasted in molasses, bream baked in bran, monkfish wrapped in vine leaves. We order as many dishes as the table can hold and sit back with perfectly crafted cocktails.

(The concrete oven at Impala)

As I wait for the food to arrive, I walk over to the grill to see what’s cooking. One of the sous chefs points at a piece of meat sitting on a mesh iron basket over the embers. “Feather blade,” he says, “make sure you order it.” Next to that is something even more decadent: sweetbreads. Nose-to-tail eating is a culinary tradition in the Egyptian countryside. Life is hard for farmers, and with many mouths to feed the matriarch makes use of every part of the animal. One of my favourite dishes at Impala turns out to be buttery oxtail meat tossed in lisan asfour—a pasta that resembles orzo and typically appears in soups across Egypt. Delicately spiced, with a hint of sweetness, it takes me to the fields of clover in the Nile Delta where the ox tends the fields with his farmer—a viewscape highly symbolic of rural Egypt. In that same field we sat down for lunch with a local family and had tagin akkawi (oxtail tagine), sweetened by pearl onions, tenderized by a long cook.

(Sweetbreads on oven at Impala)

Every bite I take at Impala takes me somewhere special, because there is a story behind it. The bread that comes out of the wood oven, fluffy and slightly charred, could have come out of a traditional mud brick oven in my hometown Abu Sir outside Cairo. The dandelion salad has the rustic feel of the foraged rigla (purslane) salad loved by Egyptians in the countryside. The bream baked in bran echoes the specialities of the frenetic fish market in Port Said. The sheep cheese, wild herbs, and olive oil bring back memories of a Bedouin breakfast spread in the Sinai. The spice blends are more sweeping, traversing the Egyptian Mediterranean coastline and across the Maghreb, with playful concoctions of harissas and chilli sauces.

Some dishes have a spicy kick and big personality, such as the feather blade and beef tartare, the latter being some of the best I have had anywhere. As for the duck, well, Impala treats it like a national dish, marinating it with molasses and black lime paste, roasting it to perfection, and serving it with a fancy fig sauce. The thread of French influence in some of the dishes is undeniable, an influence that exists in the Egyptian culinary canon as well. During the monarchy (pre-1952), French chefs ran the palace kitchens and trained a cadre of Egyptian sous chefs in the same style. One would think the appearance of so many concepts at once would be chaotic, but somehow Impala pulls it all together in a seamless way, marrying contrasting flavours and cuisines with enviable confidence. Dessert is equally confident because there is only one: a date and pistachio tart of rare and special beauty.

(Hanging Ducks at Impala)

Impala has many sublime, whimsical and unforgettable dishes to name, but it’s a simple ftira that makes me sigh out loud. The fried, doughy bread with a jammy egg in the middle, flavoured by harissa, is an absolute showstopper. When I bump into Meedu Saad at the staircase I tell him how personal the meal felt to me after all the road trips, research, and writing, then ask him about molokhia (jute mallow), Egypt’s leading leafy green. “We don’t have it today, but I make it in the Tunisian style, braised with mutton,” he says. Molokhia is versatile. In Egypt’s coastal towns it is a deep green, viscous soup made with shrimp; in the mainland they opt for chicken or rabbit; in the desert they enjoy it with lentils. I make a mental note to come back again and try Impala’s version. I tell Meedu that having just finished the book, I am in awe of Egypt’s rich and vast culinary heritage. He smiles knowingly and asks, “How do I even explain to people the food in a place like Ismailia, with its lakes, the nearby Suez Canal, Nile Delta, the Mediterranean Sea, and countryside?” He doesn’t need to explain, I think, Impala does all of that for him.

International House of Breakfast

A summer series with some of LA’s best — and we’re doing it at the back patio of Chifa in partnership with Cipota Coffee and Arroz and Fun.

Each month, a different chef takes over the morning. Here’s the lineup:

Vietnamese Breakfast by Diep Tran of the legendary Good Girl Dinette

Get your tickets!

MAY 30 · 9am–12pm

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will have a table with anyone wanting to do a seed exchange!

SATURDAY, JUNE 27th

Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

SUNDAY, JULY 19th

Filipino Breakfast by Ako (Chef Nico de Leon) & Nananu Ka (Chef Otto Markel)

AUGUST

TBD (trust us)

Every penny supports us!

If you’re familiar with Los Angeles, you’ve heard of Good Girl Dinette. Back in the day, we used to visit when we lived in Highland Park—going for dinner occasionally but frequently going for breakfast. It was special: Maggi steak and eggs, porridge, roasted pork hash, and oh, those GGD tots!! Damn, we miss those days. Luckily, Diep does a number of pop-ups, and we’re lucky enough to host one this month in Los Angeles. She’ll be our inaugural chef for International House of Breakfast on May 30th, 9am–12pm.

Tickets are encouraged but walk ins are welcome. Tickets go on sale Wednesday, May 13th at 9am PST. (ON SALE NOW!)

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will be hosting a seed exchange and we’ll, of course, have a table with some new merch and all our issues!

A little about Diep:

Diep Tran is a James Beard Award winner and former chef and owner of Good Girl Dinette in the Highland Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. She is also the founder of The Bánh Chưng Collective, an annual event celebrating and communing friends, family, and chosen family for Lunar New Year by making bánh chưng together. It was initially created to celebrate and affirm community among LGBTQIA, women, and people of color. You can hear her talking about the collective here on Heritage Radio.

She has been featured in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Lucky Peach, Saveur, the Netflix series Ugly Delicious and KCET’s Migrant Kitchen.

Diep has been a longtime advocate for workers’ rights in the restaurant industry. She’s co-written The Red Boat Fish Sauce Cookbook and won a James Beard Award for her article in Food & Wine title “The Day My Cooking Ambitions Got the Best of Me.” She’s had her writing published in the Los Angeles Times and New York Times.

We’ll leave you with some interviews Diep has done with Thao Nguyen (of Thao & the Get Down Stay Down) and Dave Chang.

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST continues

• JUNE
  Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

• JULY
  Filipino Breakfast by AKO & Nananu Ka

• AUGUST
  TBD

HARDCORE ART BOOK FAIR in CDMX

More info to come

July 30-Aug 2

🍳 Save the date 🍳

Synonym is launching International House of Breakfast, a summer series with some of LA’s best — and we’re doing it at the back patio of Chifa in partnership with Cipota Coffee and Arroz and Fun.

Each month, a different chef takes over the morning. Here’s the lineup:

MAY 30 · 9am–12pm

Vietnamese Breakfast by Diep Tran of the legendary Good Girl Dinette

Neighborhood Seed Exchange will have a table with anyone wanting to do a seed exchange!

JUNE 28

Chino/Latino Breakfast by Amanos & Arroz and Fun

JULY 12

Filipino Breakfast by Ako (Chef Nico de Leon) & Nananu Ka (Chef Otto Markel)

AUGUST

TBD (trust us)

Tickets are encouraged but walk ups available. BUY YOUR TICKETS HERE.

Of course, we’ll have a table with new merch and magazines!

By Neema Syovata

Illustration by Tina Tona

Sound is perhaps the most underrated sense when it comes to the consumption of food and, even more so, its processing. We use auditory cues when cooking but seldom explore them, though sound is deeply embedded in the prep and harvesting practices of many cultures. Every sound tells a story, so what meaning can be derived from its contemplation?

In a small village in the town of Masii, about an hour and a half outside Kenya’s capital, Nairobi, an age-old method is used to process a variety of common beans. It’s a practice that takes place several times a year on a multi-generational homestead with women at the helm.

To harvest the beans from their dense, leafy clusters, the pods are broken off at the stem—snap, snap, snap—and gently dropped into burlap sacks, landing with soft, muffled thuds before being laid on tarps to dry. After several days under the hot African sun, the brittle pods are spread into a single layer, the crunch of the leaves and the rustling of the stalks so crisp it can send tingles down one’s spine.

Using a long, thick, weathered stick, the matriarch sets a tempo that others soon follow. It begins with a delicate tap, gradually building to a firm yet gentle strike, a necessary balance that keeps the beans whole while cracking open as many pods as possible. The rhythmic whack! whack! whack! of the group’s alternating strikes transforms the task into something of a musical performance. Music, you see, is inextricably woven into the fabric of African culture, and it elevates this mundane undertaking into a symphony of harmonies.

Credit: Neema Syovata

Once the beans are shelled, the performance continues with percussion produced by shallow, woven winnowing baskets that remove debris and chaff from the beans. As women shake the baskets from side to side, the beans create a shuffling sound—shuh, shuh, shuh—reminiscent of maracas. As the beans rise and fall, they collide with the woven fibers of the baskets, creating hollow rattles and a fitting finale.

Credit: Neema Syovata

Sounds are both practical and culturally significant. Here among the beans, they showcase communal cooperation as villagers come together to carry out the harvest, reinforcing familial bonds and honoring long-standing traditions. By paying closer attention to the noises we so often take for granted, we uncover deeper connections between our sensory experiences and the rituals that shape them, nurturing a greater appreciation of the symphony of sounds that enrich process and culture. Let’s listen.

Additional video and audio recordings of the harvest below the paywall.

Sharing this here to amplify this and hope many of you are able to apply!

The Vilcek Prize for Creative Promise

The Vilcek Prize for Creative Promise supports immigrant professionals who have demonstrated exceptional early career achievements.

• Nine $50,000 cash awards;

• Young immigrant research scientists and culinary professionals are welcome to apply.

In 2027, prizes will be awarded in Biomedical Science and in two categories in Culinary Arts: Food & Beverage and Media & Storytelling. Applications are open through May 4, 2026.

More info and apply here!

Read more

Why, you may ask? We’re doing everything we can to make this a sustainable project and keep the project in print. We’re a small (but mighty!) volunteer-run team with hopes of paying everyone equitably including ALL of our team, which we hope to grow so that we can bring you more stories.

This year, we’re focusing our efforts on making an amazing issue in addition to evaluating resources. This is why you’ll see an uptick in events, merch, and soon, a Summer fundraising campaign. Our efforts are to serve the immigrant diaspora and third culture community and we want to keep giving those stories a platform. Any way you can support us; by word of mouth, picking up a print copy, grabbing some merch, asking your bookstore about us, or making a donation is all helpful in every way. And let us know how best to serve you! We love to hear from you!

We love being able to share some of our contributors and artist’s work like Sandy Christ’s work from our latest issue (04!). This illustration spread was for our “Snack Break” column. In creating this illustration, she describes it as a “magical entryway” into Nigerian/West African markets of London (like “Little Lagos” in South East London/Peckham) and how these enclaves create a replica of home but in a different surrounding country/place.

Food in Print Magazine Fair

Speaking of London, over the weekend, we were able to participate (in magazine only) in the first ever Food in Print Magazine Fair put together by Vittles Magazine, The Pit, and Fat Boy Zine. Thanks to all who stopped by, we wish we could’ve physically been there! It looked like a blast.

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Support Us!

Fiscally sponsored by

a 501(c)(3) charitable organization

Do you work at a corporation that matches your donations? You can now donate to us and have your employer match the donation. Look for Tiny News Collective and make sure to notate Synonym Magazine!

Photo credit: Doaa Elkady

Eat, Drink, and Be Myrrhy

Ifrah Ahmed on cooking authentically as culinary cultures evolve.

By Abena Anim-Somuah

Photos by Celeste Noche

Prop Styling by Nidia Cueva

Special thanks to Goodies in Seattle

Photo credit: Celeste Noche

Eaters lucky enough to score a coveted seat at Milk & Myrrh, Ifrah Ahmed’s pop-up restaurant, are treated to a bevy of East African flavors from the Somali American writer and chef. Menus in Seattle, New York City, and Los Angeles have featured signature dishes like coconut soor ( corn grits) with xawaash-braised short ribs, crab sambuus, mussels in dalac bilaash (tomato stew) served with traditional corn flatbread called muufo, and upside-down banana cardamom cake. Every meal is accompanied by a vibrant Somali soundtrack.

Raised in Seattle in a prominent Somali community, Ahmed transitioned out of law school to create these culinary experiences rooted in her heritage. These dishes serve as a great introduction for those new to this East African country’s fare. Somali cuisine is a product of trade and commerce, as well as rich diversity among the regions scattered across the expansive landscape. Distinct flavors include cardamom, cumin, coriander, and cilantro—you can find most of these in the staple spice blend xawaash—alongside ingredients like tamarind, mango, banana, coconut, and camel meat and milk.

In Los Angeles, Ahmed hatched the concept of the anjero burrito, inspired by her memories of eating the fermented crepe-like bread at the breakfast table and her love of the Tex-Mex classic. She wrapped xawaash-spiced mushroom, kale, and sweet potatoes or egg and fuul (fava bean stew) in anjero and served them with basbaas, a green hot sauce. The burritos sold out every week of the inaugural six-week run.

If you haven’t had a chance to try Ahmed’s food, you will soon: Soomaaliya, her debut cookbook filled with recipes, interviews, and stories paying homage to Somalia’s distinct culinary culture, will be out next year. Here, she talks about the connective nature of cuisine, her first American food experience, and what it means to be culturally authentic when creating dishes from home in a new one.

How did you and your family end up in Seattle?

We were resettled by a refugee agency coming from Somalia, by way of Tanzania and Kenya, before we were resettled in the United States.

Growing up in Seattle, how did food play a central role in your life?

Somali food was a big part of maintaining cultural connections and ties to our heritage. I didn’t think of it that way, but looking back, this was an intentional act that my mom was doing to help us remember home. For American food, it was more a source of curiosity and a way to understand a new environment. My first instance of American food was on the plane. I have this distinct memory of being served cake. I remember my mom saying in Somali, “It’s dolci, it’s cake,” and then me spitting it out because it was too intense and didn’t resemble the cake that I knew.

Exposure to American food was mostly through television and school lunches. At home, my mom would make American foods but with a Somali variation. If we wanted something like hamburgers, she would add xawaash spice mix to flavor the meat. So it would taste distinctly Somali, but it was a burger.

Read more

Special thanks to Jon Pacio for the video intro!

NEWS & EVENTS

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Support us!

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a 501(c)(3) charitable organization

Do you work at a corporation that matches your donations? You can now donate to us and have your employer match the donation. Look for Tiny News Collective and make sure to notate Synonym Magazine!

A special thanks to those who donated to our giveaway: Cipota Coffee, Burlap & Barrel, Van Van, Na Sung, Our Lady of Shallot, Hecho by Caye, Masienda, Happy Organics and Newlin House.

Stay tuned later this week for the full video interview with Frankie and Abi!

For Asian Americans who grew up first-gen, it’s not unusual to have Southern barbecue on the table next to scallion pancakes or to snack on Yan Yans alongside Hot Cheetos. Influenced by that dichotomy of cultures, Abi Balingit and Frankie Gaw create wildly innovative takes on what food can mean, when your family’s flavors become your own.

Photos by Jennelle Fong

Prop Styling by Samantha Margherita

Special thanks to 99 Ranch Market and the Pollack Group

Halo-halo baked Alaska, strawberry shortcake sapin-sapin, ube macapuno molten lava cake—the recipes in Abi Balingit’s repertoire are a sweet tooth’s fever dream, packing Filipino flavors into traditional American desserts and vice versa. Her book, Mayumu: Filipino American Desserts Remixed, is as much an exploration of her cultural identity and the heritage that shaped her as it is the flavors she grew up loving and eating. Frankie Gaw’s First Generation: Recipes From My Taiwanese-American Home does something similar, so that culinary crossovers like lap cheong corn dogs and Cincinnati chili with hand-pulled noodles make perfect sense. Here, the two home cooks talk canned-food breakfasts, third-culture pantries, and making space for the in-between.

Frankie: So, where are you based?

Abi: I’m in Brooklyn. You’re on the West Coast, right?

Frankie: Yes, in Seattle. I’m originally from Cincinnati, Ohio. I went to college in Pittsburgh for design, then I was in San Francisco for seven or eight years, and I moved to Seattle three years ago, right in the pandemic. Do you live in Crown Heights?

Abi: I actually live in Bed-Stuy. I’m originally from California. I lived in San Jose, moved to Stockton when I was six, and then I went to UC Berkeley, graduated 2017, and moved to New York right after. Do you still feel connected to the Midwest?

Frankie: It’s weird, sometimes I feel more American, and other times I feel more Asian. But innately I do feel very Midwest still. A lot of my values came from living in the Midwest, just hanging out with my friends’ families and growing up in the suburbs. I think that shaped a lot of who I am today, both in terms of how I go about the world and my cooking. A lot of my formative years were based in this very Midwestern upbringing, of trying to fit in with everyone else, where I was the only Asian kid.

Because my parents were immigrants, our pantry was a mix of things they grew up with that they would get at the 99 Ranch, and then the things that I would want—all the processed American foods like Cheetos, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Gushers. It was very much a visual representation of the generational gap between me and my parents. Also, my grandma would live with us four months out of the year when I was a kid, so she would stock our pantry with so many dried mushrooms. I’d be trying to get my cereal, and I’d just see boxes of dried mushrooms. I was like, What are you dealing here? [laughs]

It seems like you had a really strong connection to your Filipino heritage, even as a kid.

Abi: Yeah, I felt connected to a lot of Filipinos growing up, just because it was a built-in community of people—my parents’ friends’ kids and then people at school. It was definitely easier to come to terms with, Oh, yes, I am Filipino first before I think of myself as American. But it is a push and pull. With my parents, there was more generational tension in life things. I remember when I was going to college, they were like, “Do you want to be a nurse? Do you want to be an accountant?” I was like, No. I still don’t necessarily fit all the boxes they would have wanted, but I just had to accept that. Moving away helped, and being able to be my own person outside of family has been so important to me. Do you feel the same way about moving away?

Frankie: I always knew I wanted to leave because I felt different, but it was never like I wanted to leave my family. When we immigrated, my family didn’t move to a single location; everyone dispersed. My friends would have generations—their grandma would be down the street, their aunt would be over there. And I always kind of envied that, like, Oh, it’s so nice that they have these big giant family dinners. I’m an only child, so I only lived with my mom and dad and a wiener dog. It was this feeling like there’s something more out there. I also loved watching MTV, so I would watch Laguna Beach and Gossip Girl and be like, Oh wow, there’s so much out in the world. And that, for some reason, shaped my perspective of what I wanted my future to be like—I’m going to go out to the big city, and I’m going to become somebody.

Abi: Do you find yourself craving specific dishes or foods when you’re missing your family?

Frankie: Yeah, totally. I crave very traditional Taiwanese food that my grandma would make for me—steamed buns with pork and cabbage. But then I also crave junk food, like McDonald’s. Whenever I’m exhausted, I just Uber Eats McDonald’s, or a Chipotle bowl [laughs]. That to me is just as comforting, weirdly enough. Do you have any sentimental, nostalgic dishes?

Abi: Yeah, I think about all the canned food we would eat. I don’t know if you ever ate canned corn beef as a kid. I don’t know why this is a Filipino thing—I mean, American occupation and all that. But it was a breakfast thing to have sauteed corn beef with onions and tomatoes over rice. And then we’d have Spam with fried rice, and insert whatever side of egg you want—fried egg most of the time. I always reach for dishes that are “easy” Filipino cooking. A lot of people think Filipino food is like kare-kare, these stews that take so long. That’s what you get at a party. People think it’s everyday food and it’s not, really. American-wise, I love Hot Cheeto puffs. I’ll dip them in cream cheese.

Frankie: Oh my God, I have to try that. One of the things I really admire about your sweets is that you are not afraid to incorporate savory pantry items into your desserts. Do you have a favorite?

Abi: Yeah, it’s funny, I just mentioned kare-kare—it’s a peanut butter oxtail stew with annatto seeds and fermented shrimp paste, bagoóng. I have a cookie recipe that is kare-kare embodied—a peanut butter cookie with a fermented shrimp paste caramel on top. It has the flavors of everything I love about eating that dish without having to make an eight-hour stew. Do you have a dish that embodies savory and sweet?

Frankie: Yeah, I do a Cap’n Crunch miso shortbread. I love Cap’n Crunch, but it’s very sweet, so bringing umami into the mix is a nice balance. I grind up some Cap’n Crunch, mix that with flour, and add pecans and miso into the batter. Then I roll the shortbread in demerara sugar and Cap’n Crunch. They’re these very salty, sweet, kind of nostalgic cookies.

Abi: Can we do a cookie swap?

Frankie: Yeah! That’d be amazing. Do you find that you incorporate Filipino pantry items and ingredients into American desserts? Or more American ingredients into Filipino forms?

Abi: Both. Because I grew up in the States, I know cakes and cookies and Western desserts very well, so it’s easier for me to translate Filipino flavors that way. Sometimes I end up doing the reverse, but there are some things I just don’t know how to do. We’d have steamed rice cakes, kakanin, and my parents would just buy from the store, because they’re so time-consuming to make. There are so many things that I have to demystify in terms of Filipino cooking and desserts, because I take it for granted that you can go to a store or bakery and get these things.

Frankie: What is your relationship like with the Philippines? Do you feel connected to Filipino culture?

Abi: Growing up, I only got to go twice to the Philippines. It’s just so far, it’s so much money. When I think about my immediate family, I think of my mom’s extended family who was also in the Bay Area with us. My dad’s family is more dispersed around the world, and a lot of them still live in the Philippines. So it’s a global identity. I love the Philippines. I wish I could be there more, but I’ve established a whole life here, too. I think there is a conflict; for me, at least. I am Filipino American in the sense that I definitely still care about what is happening in the Philippines, but there are certain ways that I don’t completely fit in there—people can tell a mile away. How do you feel?

Frankie: My initial relationship with Taiwan stems from my parents’ relationship to Taiwan. I only went back maybe once in my childhood, and I think that was because my parents, when they came to the States, they came with the mentality like, We are going to completely conform to American culture. They weren’t erasing their Taiwanese heritage, but they were definitely doing all they could to be as white as possible, basically. We didn’t talk about Taiwanese food or culture that much. I only got that through visiting my grandparents on holidays. They were the portal to being able to connect my identity on paper with my actual heritage. A lot of that was through food and the things they would cook.

When I was on my book tour, I would feel this imposter syndrome because I just wrote this book, it’s Taiwanese American, but I still feel very uncomfortable claiming that I’m an expert. The whole reason I wrote the book in the first place was to basically say that it’s okay to be in-between and not feel like you fit completely into your Taiwanese or Filipino or whatever heritage that you’ve grown up with. Especially as first-, second-generation kids who have grown up in a different environment from their families. It’s a complex relationship, but I’m still very proud of it and happy to be Taiwanese.

Abi: I feel that so much—the expectation that you have to be an expert because you wrote a book about the subject. Of course, you have to be knowledgeable, but I’m pretty sure someone in the Philippines can say more about the native produce and plants there. But it’s like, Okay, yes, I am Filipino enough. And I think about this a lot, too, of presenting Filipino and what does that mean? It’s difficult for me when people say, “Oh, you’re whitewashing our own food.” And it’s like, But I’m not white. I am American. I think that’s what they mean. But I hope the reverse is that people see that I’m just taking it in one direction and there are so many paths you can take your own food and your own culture.

Frankie: It’s really cool to see people like you and all these other Asian Americans really embracing this in-betweenness that we kind of exist in and how that shows up through food— dishes that blur the lines of Asian and American. I think it shows that it is a valid identity in itself, and that food is valid too.

Abi: Putting aside Taiwanese and Filipino things, you’ve lived so many places. Where do you lean in terms of American regional influences?

Frankie: A lot of my Asian American cooking definitely leans Midwest, like comfort food—chilis, corn, mac and cheese. My grandma on my dad’s side immigrated to Memphis, Tennessee, from Taiwan, so I have a lot of nostalgia for Southern barbecue too. On Thanksgiving we would have very traditional scallion pancakes and steamed buns and dumplings, but then we’d also have beef brisket and baby back ribs and green bean casserole. It’s such a core memory for me. The West Coast has informed my cooking in subtle ways, I feel like I never had a good vegetable until I lived in San Francisco.

Abi: That is so real. The Chez Panisse effect of farm-to-table is so Californian.

Frankie: Where does your American regional situation fit into your cooking?

Abi: Growing up in California, there’s such a big Latinx community—Mexican food, specifically. And the most mind-boggling thing for me in moving to New York is, the grocery stores are just completely different. There’s so much more Puerto Rican and Cuban and Dominican kinds of items. And that’s the thing: You just cannot homogenize anyone’s food and culture. It makes me think of the ways that I was introduced to things from [other parts of America] like red velvet cake—I remember getting it at California Pizza Kitchen. I think it’s just having an open mind about the people [you meet] or stories you hear. Even specific to you in Ohio, I made a Buckeye recipe with a Filipino traditional egg custard. I have a fascination with food that is so American. I’m like, What are casseroles like? I want to know. But the nice thing about living where I was in California was the globalness of it. That’s such a lucky luxury.

Frankie: I think that’s so special that that’s your version of regional American influence, the fact that in California you have access to so many different cultures. That’s just as American as the canned corn and green beans I grew up with.

ABI’S KARE-KARE COOKIES

Makes 36 cookies

Creamy peanut butter flavors these chewy, thick cookies. The dough is rolled in an annatto-sugar mixture before baking to give them a burnt-orange color. The centers of these cookies are filled with spicy bagoóng caramels, which get slightly melted in the oven, so you get a taste of sweet, shrimpy goodness with every bite.

Ingredients

8 Tbsp. (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature

½ cup creamy peanut butter

1 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 large egg plus 1 large egg yolk, at room temperature

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1¼ cups all-purpose flour

¾ tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. baking powder

½ tsp. kosher salt

¼ cup granulated sugar

2 tsp. annatto powder

36 Spicy Bagoong Caramels (see recipe below)

1. Position an oven rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with silicone mats and set aside.

2. Place the butter, peanut butter, and brown sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat together on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, 3-4 minutes.

3. Mix in the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla until the mixture is well combined. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

4. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt until well combined.

5. Adjust the mixer to the lowest speed and gradually stir in the flour mixture until it forms a dough and there are little to no flour streaks.

6. In a small bowl, mix together the granulated sugar and annatto powder.

7. Using a 1-tablespoon cookie scoop, portion the dough into 18 balls and roll them twice in the sugar mixture. Place the dough balls on one of the prepared baking sheets, making sure to leave at least 1½ inches of space between the balls.

8. Bake for 6 minutes. Take the baking sheet out of the oven and insert a spicy bagoóng caramel in the center of each cookie. Immediately return the sheet to the oven and bake for an additional 3-4 minutes, or until the edges of the cookies are golden brown. Before taking the cookies out of the oven, drop the sheet against the oven rack a couple times at a height of about 4-5 inches to create outer ripples in the cookies. Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool completely.

9. Repeat the process with the remaining cookie dough and the other lined baking sheet until all the dough is baked. Store any leftovers in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days.

Spicy Bagoóng Caramels

Makes 96 caramels

Ingredients

Nonstick spray

½ cup heavy cream

2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

¾ cup packed dark brown sugar

2 Tbsp. light corn syrup

1 Tbsp. spicy sauteed bagoóng (go for the sauteed shrimp variety labeled as ginisang bagoóng alamang or salted shrimp fry, not bagoóng isda, which is made from fermented fish)

1. Using nonstick spray, grease a silicone mold that has at least 96 square cavities. Each square should hold 2 milliliters’ worth of caramel.
2. Place the cream, butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, 2 tablespoons of water, and the bagoóng in a medium saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring frequently with a rubber spatula, until the mixture reaches a boil, 3-4 minutes.
3. Clip a candy thermometer to the saucepan. Continue stirring until the mixture reaches 240°-245°F. This can take 8-10 minutes.
4. Remove the pan from the heat and remove the candy thermometer.
5. Pour the caramel into the prepared molds, using the rubber spatula to evenly spread the mixture. Let the caramel squares cool to room temperature.
6. Cover the mold with a sheet of parchment paper and chill in the fridge overnight before wrapping each caramel in a square of wax or parchment paper. Store the caramels in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 1 month.

Recipes excerpted from Mayumu by Abi Balingit. Copyright © 2023 by Abigail Balingit. Reprinted by permission of Harvest, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

FRANKIE’S CAP’N CRUNCH AND PECAN SHORTBREAD COOKIES

Makes 20 cookies

Ingredients

3½ cups Cap’n Crunch cereal

1¾ cups all-purpose flour

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature

½ cup granulated sugar

1 cup light brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 Tbsp. white miso

1 cup chopped pecans

½ cup demerara sugar

Flaky salt

1. In a food processor, finely grind 2 cups of Cap’n Crunch; you should end up with 3 cups ground cereal. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the ground cereal with the flour. Set aside.

2. In a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, vanilla, and miso. Using a hand mixer or the paddle attachment of the stand mixer, beat the mixture on medium-high speed until it’s smooth and fluffy, around 3 minutes or so.

3. With the mixer on low speed, slowly incorporate the Cap’n Crunch–flour mixture until combined. Add 1 cup Cap’n Crunch and the chopped pecans, and mix on low speed until incorporated.

4. Remove the dough from the mixing bowl and divide it in half. Place one half on a large piece of plastic wrap. Fold the plastic wrap over the dough and roll into a log approximately 2-2½ inches in diameter. Repeat with the other dough half, and then place both halves in the fridge and chill for 1-2 hours, until completely firm.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. In a small mixing bowl, crush the remaining ½ cup Cap’n Crunch into small pieces. Add the demerara sugar to the bowl and mix to combine. Transfer the mixture to a large plate. Remove the dough from the fridge, unwrap, and brush with water. Roll each log in the Cap’n Crunch–sugar mixture to create a crust. Slice each log into 1-inch disks and place the disks onto the baking sheets 1 inch apart.

6. Sprinkle with flaky salt and bake for 16 minutes, until cooked through and the edges have browned, swapping the baking sheets at the halfway point so the cookies bake evenly. Transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely, then serve.

Recipe excerpted from First Generation: Recipes from my Taiwanese-American Home by Frankie Gaw. Reprinted by permission of Ten Speed Press.

NEWS & EVENTS

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

NEW YORK:

• We’re so excited for our interviewee from Issue 01: Pantry: Ifrah F. Ahmed’s new cookbook, Soomaaliya: Food, Memory, and Migration: A Cookbook, debuting March 24. New Yorkers, you got a real treat as Ifrah is reintroducing her pop up Milk & Myrrh at Rhodora Wine Bar on Wednesday, March 18th. Make your reservations here.

  

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Support us!

Yasmin beautifully explores subcultures and how people come together to form networks of connection. Her goal is to tell stories as authentically as possible to their essence, with integrity towards those that invite her into their lives, in the tradition of her East African oral-storytelling heritage.

We asked Yasmin to share some images and words about Minneapolis.

Minneapolis is a city of neighbors. Neighbors with stories. I joke a lot that it’s really a small town sometimes disguised as a bigger city, we really do know one another. In times of resilience like this, this small town feel is what makes it truly a special place.

I write so many visual love letters to this place. It’s a city that took me in as a naive scientist who wasn’t too sure about her art, and continues to challenge and inspire me to this day.

One thing that makes us so cool and I think the world is seeing now (and again), is how on a larger scale, we really are connected and resilient on a smaller level. From city to neighborhood level too. Neighbors helping neighbors, and our individual stories reflected above and beyond. It’s kind of fractal in a way. And that’s why I love it here.

Peel back the layers of this city, and there’s always another interesting story to tell.

-Yasmin Yassin

Yasmin has a new short film debuting called “Woman Land” about two Somali-American sisters who run a secret matchmaking service who navigate cultural expectations with their ambition.

“Set against the backdrop of a Minneapolis winter, the film explores topics around the expectations around tradition, the tug-of-war between parental pressure and that of society amongst young women finding their own voice in the modern digital age.”

We want to share this story from Issue 04, about a family-owned Somali restaurant on Lake Street, to put names, faces, and community stories to these devastating statistics. Over the next couple of days, we’ll be sharing additional words and photos of what life in Minneapolis has been like from Yasmin Yassin, who photographed this story.

By Amina Isir Musa

Photos by Yasmin Yassin

I ripped apart the malawax, a soft, crepe-style pancake, and dipped it into the hearty chicken suqaar, a thinly sliced, spiced meat dish prepared with vegetables, and revelled in its deliciousness. Accompanied by sweet Somali shaah—black tea with milk, cardamom, cloves, and ginger—the combination satiated my stomach and heart simultaneously. I first visited Minneapolis restaurant Hufan from my home on the East Coast, as part of my unofficial Somali cultural tour through the Twin Cities, home to one of the largest Somali diaspora populations in the United States, and left not just impressed but also hooked, already craving my next taste of its unforgettable flavors.

Hufan Restaurant and Cafe is in the heart of South Minneapolis’s vibrant and diverse Lake Street district. Above the storefront is a mural that pays tribute to the many immigrant communities that call the neighborhood home. Among its figures are a Somali auntie and uncle—cultural signposts and reminders that places like Hufan are more than restaurants; they are part of the fabric that sustains Lake Street’s identity. And just like visiting Auntie’s house, I know I’ll be fed with heart and soul.

Hufan’s physical presentation is very humble, but what it lacks in aesthetics, it makes up for with substance. I, like many other Somalis in Minnesota, have found belonging in this quaint spot. It’s more than just familiar food; it’s a sense of welcome. Many of the local Somali restaurants are gathering spaces, where traditional social and cultural Somali norms take over the dynamics. Hufan is a space where any customer can feel comfortable. “Most young Somalis in the area frequent our restaurant,” says Abdiwahab Abdi Mohamed, who, along with his wife, Fardowsa, owns Hufan. The youth presence is a telling sign that the establishment and its menu reflect the times. After all, Hufan, and the family behind it, is nothing if not adaptable.

Diners are usually greeted by Abdiwahab and Fardowsa’s sons. Although they were born in America, the sons carry on the legacy of their paternal grandfather, Abdi Buur Mohamed Ahmed, who opened the original Hufan in Somalia. A poster features a picture of Abdi Buur and a map marked with Hufan’s travels across East Africa and to the U.S.—a reminder that speaks to family and tenacity.

“Hufan was my paternal grandmother’s name. It means ‘cleanliness,’” says Abdiwahab. “As a young man, my father left the nomadic life he was raised in to work at a restaurant in the nearest city, Galkayo. Years later, in 1961, he opened the first iteration of Hufan there, in the north-central Mudug region of Somalia.”

When Abdi Buur received a lucrative opportunity to cook for laborers building the road from Burco in the Togdheer region to the seaside city of Berbera in the Sahil region, he reopened Hufan in Sheikh, Sahil. This experience made him realize the importance of preparing meals for laborers, with foods that would sustain them. As political tensions rose in the north, the family left Sheikh in the mid-1980s and opened the third Hufan in Mogadishu. When the Somali government collapsed in January 1991, the family went to Utange Refugee Camp in Kenya. “We opened another branch of Hufan and it was very popular,” Abdiwahab says. The camp closed in the mid-1990s, and though many refugees were moved to larger camps—Dadaab and Kakuma, which are still open today—Abdi Buur moved his family to Nairobi, where they opened the restaurant’s fifth iteration.

In 2000, Abdi Buur and his family were resettled in the United States, in Minneapolis, where they once again opened a Hufan. The restaurant moved to its current location in early 2020, just before the COVID-19 pandemic and the murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer. Lake Street bore the brunt of the protests that followed, and like most of the establishments in this area, Hufan sustained thousands of dollars of damage. Local nonprofits have helped Hufan and other businesses in the area rebuild, thankfully, or I may have never discovered it.

I first experienced Hufan a couple of years ago, when I spent a summer in Minneapolis, reconnecting with family and friends in the area. I have been going back ever since. Amidst the growing pains of adjusting to a new place, however temporary, Hufan became my anchor. Every weekend, I’d start my day there, each time bringing a different friend. It was a grounding experience, reminiscent of how Somalis would come together back home: eating with your hands, sharing a meal, and having the quintessential Somali “shaah iyo sheeko,” or teatime conversations with friends. I was an American-born kid who loved cereal and Pop-Tarts, but gathering at Hufan with my friends as their kids eat goat meat or laxoox with tea, like my aunties would prepare, reminds me that culture will always be passed on as long as it’s available.

For me, Hufan’s breakfast is the biggest draw. Building off their experience serving laborers in Sheikh, the owners serve breakfast all day “to accommodate the variety of work schedules people manage in the United States,” Abdiwahab says. Diners can choose from organ meats like goat liver and kidney, or beef and chicken suqaar, and delicious fuul or a veggie omelette with malawax, chapatti, bread, or muufo. Somali shaah completes the meal.

The rest of Hufan’s menu is marked by the changes it’s withstood, reflecting the family’s experience and ability to adapt. “We carry everywhere that we’ve been with us,” Abdiwahab says. “We offer rice and haniid prepared the way Somalis in the north are used to. We offer isbeso, a thick broth made with potatoes, vegetables, and meat, made the same way we used to make it in Galkayo. From our time in Mogadishu, we offer pasta and busketti—thinly sliced steak, a regional speciality. We offer mandazai and ugali from our time in Kenya. For the young kids, or those more akin to American tastebuds, we have chicken nuggets, chicken wraps, and Philly cheesesteak. There’s something for everybody!”

Many Somali restaurants close just a few years after opening or undergo staff changes that affect food quality and service, but Hufan has remained a steady constant. In a community and space marked by frequent change and fluctuation, it’s a reliable and nourishing presence. Abdiwahab says Hufan is appreciated by many non-Somalis too, who are just as devoted: “One of our regulars shared that for his last meal, he would like to have beer [goat liver] and laxoox!” This is where I found a home away from home. And I’m not the only one.

NEWS & EVENTS

Submission news! We got over 100 pitches, the most we’ve ever had! We are assigning stories in the next 2 weeks and everyone will hear back from us shortly!

Thanks for your patience, the next issue is gonna be the SWEETEST!

LOS ANGELES:

• Cookbook Swap: Bring a book to swap, make a dish, come and gather together!

  Saturday, March 7th. 11am-3pm, in East Los Angeles.

  Got cookbooks collecting dust? Let’s give them a second life! For every cookbook you bring, you can take a cookbook home—so bring as many as you’re ready to swap. All cuisines and styles welcome. Please make sure books are in good condition (no missing pages, excessive stains, or damage).
  
  Come hang out in community with your fellow food loving Angelenos. It’s a chance to talk shop, exchange favorite recipes, or tell someone all the changes and substitutions you made to that one recipe that turned out "terrible!" (shout out to the NYT recipe comment readers!)

  Coffee and cookies available for purchase. Check back for the menu!
  This event is free, but a cookbook is required to participate in the exchange.

  
  Saturday March 7th, 2026
  11:00am-3:00 pm
  3731 E Olympic Blvd Unit 102, Los Angeles, CA 90023

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

That being said, we also have an equal appreciation for eating the customary cuisine of a region and for trying spots that work hard to seamlessly meld the foods of two cultures into something new. So we tried to strike a balance in our planning and choices and came out feeling very satisfied.

1. Tacos Del Valle – Our first night, we landed pretty late. Once we had dropped our bags, we needed a quick bite to eat and didn’t want to go too far. Luckily, our place was right around the corner from Tacos Del Valle. It’s an Instagram-famous taco spot with a Michelin Bib Gourmand recommendation. We know the city is absolutely brimming with incredible tacos, so waiting 30 minutes in line is a little silly, but we wanted to know if it was worth all the hype. Plus, the place is so cute and inviting, with good vibes practically spilling out onto the street. Fortunately for us, it was. We drank mezcalitas, had some really delicious tacos de trompo, and were blown away by the potato and cheese flautas. Oh, and don’t skip the whole roasted onion, which is served in its juices and topped with, of all things, lemon pepper.

2. Panadería Rosetta – After stuffing our faces the night before, we just wanted a quick bite before heading into our first day at Zinedex. We grabbed some pastries from the famous Panadería Rosetta. Since we were just grabbing pastries, it was less than a 10-minute wait despite the long line. Although they’re known for their guava cheese roll—which was really good—when we took a bite of the pan de elote, we did a little happy dance. It was somewhere between cornbread and custard and was full of fresh corn flavor. A perfect pairing with coffee.

   (Just a side note: by far the best coffee we had on the trip came from a little café called Cumbé Coffee Roasters, which we stumbled upon while looking for a quick bite before our travels home. We weren’t able to get pictures, but the shop is so cute and their pastries were outstanding. The guava cheese roll at Cumbé was one of the best pastries we’ve ever eaten!)

3. Jowong – A Korean-Mexican fusion restaurant located in Colonia Condesa. The menu features dishes like kimchi carbonara, crispy esquites with stracciatella cheese, and gimbap rice with a variety of vegetables. The banchan were all delightful, including a jicama kimchi that we loved and the most delicious eggplant that melted in your mouth.

4. Tamales Madre – Stepping through the doors of Tamales Madre is like being instantly transported into someone’s home kitchen. The tiny space is so cozy and beautiful that you immediately feel at home. Seating is very limited inside, as there’s just one long, wide table where patrons sit on two sides while the chefs prepare the food on the other. Located in Colonia Juárez, the Tamales Madre team works every day making nixtamal, grinding corn, and preparing masa to create a unique variety of tamales. Using only heirloom corn and fresh, local ingredients, their tamales evoke authentic Mexican flavors and traditions. Each tamale we tried had a different texture, which kept us exclaiming “wow, oh, hmm, wow” as we plowed through most of the menu. Hot tip: do not miss ordering a cup of café de olla to round out your meal—it was the cherry on top of our very corny cake.

5. Maizajo – Located in Condesa since 2023, Maizajo started in 2016 as a mill for maíz criollo (native, non-hybrid corn varieties). Chef Santiago Moctezuma has dedicated his life to preserving the knowledge and importance of native corn in Mexican cuisine. The restaurant space is beautiful if you’re looking to sit down, or you can visit the taco stand downstairs for something quick. As for the food, we think the photos speak louder than words—just take a look at that tamal de hongos and you’ll see why this is a must-try.

6. Alfil – Located in Roma Norte, this restaurant was a bustling, energetic spot packed with a hip crowd. The menu expertly blends Lebanese and Mexican cuisines, which truly complement each other so well. The hummus was topped with salsa macha and the tzatziki with salsa verde, which made us all question why we hadn’t been doing that before. The barbacoa rib was so tender, falling off the bone with a crispy, salty topping, that we had to order another basket of their fresh flour tortillas to wrap up every last bite.

7. Comal Oculto Itacate – We heard about this small café in San Miguel de Chapultepec from an episode of Where the Chefs Eat, which featured Saqib Keval and Norma Listman from Masala y Maiz. They mentioned that this charming little spot offered well-executed and lovingly sourced versions of Mexican classics, all hot off the central comal. We loved the gordita especial, packed with chicharrón and tender, shredded carnitas, and the quesadilla with grilled mushrooms. They had two salsa machas on the table that had us reaching for more, even though our mouths were on fire.

After a few decadent meals, we decided we really needed some fresh produce, and where better to go than our neighborhood mercado (Mercado Medellín)? We plopped down at a smoothie, juice, and fruit stand and ordered a big plate of mixed fruit. You honestly can’t go wrong doing this at any mercado—the produce is just so fresh and ripe. It really put a pep in our step. We spent some time wandering around, looking at all the stalls and soaking up the vibrant colors. You can find all kinds of great stuff, like spices, candles, bags, little souvenirs, and, of course, candies and treats. We always love to grab at least one meal at the mercado; the atmosphere alone is worth it.

Another fun stop one day was the flea market in Jardín Ignacio Chávez. It happens both Saturday and Sunday and is a great way to spend a lazy weekend day browsing all kinds of treasures. There are clothes, jewelry, furniture, art, books, posters—the list goes on and on.

On Sunday, we happened upon a farmers market called Mercado El 100 while we were ambling down the street. We were lured in by the beautiful produce, the sound of soft music, and the sight of people carrying plates of tacos. It happens every Sunday from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. at the northwest corner of Jardín Ramón López Velarde. After browsing the booths and smelling the flowers, we picked one of the food stalls and grabbed some tacos. There were so many cazuelas with different options that it was hard to choose. One of the highlights was a taco made with aloe flower—a wonderful, unique taste we hadn’t had before. The whole vibe and atmosphere of the market was just picturesque.

Well, that about sums it up. We loved the people we met at Zinedex. We loved the food we ate all over the city. We loved the vibe of the city enjoying its weekend. We hope this guide was fun and helpful, and if you have any recommendations, send them our way—we can’t wait to go back!

Written by: Jessica Darakjian (Synonym’s research editor)

What a way to start 2026! In early January we were so lucky to participate in Index art book fair in Mexico City. This year they expanded to include a new section, Zindex, which is where Synonym popped up for our first ever event in Mexico. And truly we had the best time! It was an amazing event, hosted in a beautiful space, packed with inspiring art, and full of friendly people. Hi! to any new friends we made there, hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.

The amount of creativity in the building was honestly overwhelming. Every time you turned around there was something new and exciting to see. We took many laps around the space and might have done a bit (a lot) of shopping.

We loved talking to all the other vendors, chatting with anyone who stopped by (I mean Mexico City, you really showed up!), and just enjoying the good vibes of the event. We cannot wait to come back, so here’s to more events in Mexico in the future.

Of course we didn’t spend every minute of our trip at the event. We also spent a good amount of time walking, shopping, sipping coffee, and most importantly eating! So where do three people who treat eating as a full time hobby go when they are in one of the best food cities in the world? It’s partial planning and partial spontaneous, “What’s this? Should we try it?” while wandering through the streets. And honestly don’t skip doing just that, the architecture plus jungle foliage is enough to take make you never go back home. Check out the next newsletter for a rundown of how we satisfied our insatiable appetites.

REMINDER! SUBMISSIONS CALL!

A reminder that the deadline to submit any pitches for our next Issue:05, SWEETS is Friday, February 6th.

We’re still looking for pitches on the following prompts:

• Dominican Cakes!

• The Chinese or Levant (Palestinian, Syrian, Lebanese) diaspora in the Caribbean from a food

• Profiles of immigrant/third culture food makers, restaurants, chefs, someone’s mom or dad, etc.!

• More art pitches: collages, illustrators! All of it!

NEWS & EVENTS!

LOS ANGELES:

• Bahn Chung Collective: Saturday, Feb 14th at Alma Backyard Farms

• SAVE THE DATE Lunar New Year Pop-up: Gu Grocery x Senses x Synonym

  Tuesday, Feb 17th. Info to come.

• Cookbook Swap: Bring a book to swap, make a dish, come and gather together!

  Saturday, Feb 28th. 4-6pm, in East Los Angeles.

AUSTIN:

• SXSW: our editor-in-chief, Caroline Hwang, will be speaking on a panel at SXSW.

  Print’s Edge in a Culture of Immediacy Panel

  Jennifer Prohov of Noema Magazine and Kyle Tibbs Jones of Bitter Southerner. Moderated by Vico Puentes from Tomo Mags.

  March 18th

Do you want to collaborate with us? Advertise with us? Do an event together?

Reach out! info@synonym-mag.com

Actionable items against ICE

There is nothing we can say about what’s going on here in the States with ICE that would make anything better. So we’re putting action where our mouth is. Here are some resources and actionable items that you can do to support the community. We only have each other.

• Coyote Media Collective put together this great guide in getting started in your local mutual aid group.

• Support Street Vendors impacted by the Los Angeles ICE raids

• Help Twin Cities Spreadsheet

“There are so many ways to help, so don't worry about the "right way" or the "best way" to help. Just help. We need all of us.”

If you have any tips for us to add to this list from your city, let us know!

By Zahra Al Asaadi

Photos by Safia Shakarchi

Photo of Qidreh by Ashley Lima

In London, on a quiet and picturesque Notting Hill road lined with pastel-colored terraced houses and restaurants, Akub is distinctly olive green—a seemingly deliberate choice for the Palestinian restaurant and a nod to that region’s most significant agricultural product. The menu is made up of dishes that marry ingredients from different cultures, such as British strawberries with sumac, a fennel maftoul salad, and squash shish barak. Akub is the latest venture of Fadi Kattan, a Palestinian chef born and raised in Bethlehem whose name has become synonymous with modern Palestinian cuisine.

After training in hotel management in Paris, Fadi opened Fawda in 2015, a restaurant in Bethlehem that showcased local produce with a constantly changing, seasonal menu. In 2023 he opened Akub to rave reviews, and this year he released Bethlehem, a cookbook that celebrates his hometown. It shares stories of the farmers, artisans, and producers keeping the traditions and culture of Palestinians alive despite near-constant turmoil and conflict in the region. On a breezy summer Saturday in September, during lunchtime at Akub, Fadi sat down with us to discuss his background, the inherent challenges and resistance of being a Palestinian chef, and how he showcases his home culture’s food using British produce while keeping its identity firmly Palestinian.

Childhood photos courtesy of Fadi Kattan

Can you tell us a little about your childhood and background?

I come from a Palestinian family. I was born and raised in Bethlehem, but my paternal grandparents moved to Japan at the turn of the 20th century. They had to leave Japan in 1943 during the war, and they ended up in Bombay, where my father was born, and lived in India until 1954 before returning to Palestine. On my mother’s side, my grandfather was born in Bethlehem but raised in Paris and later returned to Palestine. I had influences from France and India growing up but with a very strong Palestinian base.

How do you think those influences have affected your cooking?

My consciousness about the importance of locality comes from growing up with my grandmother, who sourced everything very locally. In Bethlehem, before the farmers would go to market, they would pass by my grandparents’ home and say, “Today we have lubia—green beans—or eggplant,” and that would be what my grandmother would cook that day. I also had a consciousness of the importance of seasonal produce from French culture. Even though it was something we practiced daily in Bethlehem, when I trained formally in France it was the start of an awareness of sourcing produce and celebrating local traditions, which influenced a lot of my cooking. In terms of Indian influence—normally in Palestinian food when we make a stew, you add the onions and garlic and then the meat and spices. In the Indian way of cooking, you start with the spices first, and that has influenced the way I cook. From French culture, I took on the use of butter within my cooking. If I’m cooking in a place that has a very strong dairy tradition, then I would integrate that, so it very much depends on the local produce.

In terms of the origins of ingredients, how have British ingredients affected your cooking at Akub?

In the sense that seasonality and timing are different in Britain, and the quality of the ingredients will make certain recipes different. For example, for summer we are doing a filo pastry containing strawberries compressed with sumac. British strawberries in summer are some of the best strawberries in the world. I can allow myself to do that compression with sumac because the strawberries are so flavourful. If they were tasteless strawberries, I would think of another fruit. I do an arak-cured monkfish—we don’t have monkfish in Palestine; we would normally use sea bass. But we use monkfish because we work with a fisherman in the Bay of Rye and monkfish is in season now. We use British fennel in a maftoul salad, the hand-rolled grain that comes from Palestine, which we get from Jenin. British fennel has a beautiful flavor that is different from Palestinian fennel. I will still be faithful to the flavor profiles that are Palestinian, but it is important we, as chefs, respect the locality of produce. I can’t be defending Palestinian farmers if I don’t defend British farmers when I am cooking in London.

Photo Credit Safia Shakarchi

You mentioned your grandmothers, which reminds me of your YouTube series Teta’s Kitchen, featuring you cooking with Palestinian grandmothers. Do you think that way of inheriting culture and cooking techniques from elder generations is at risk? Is that why you documented it in this way?

Yes, it is. In the Palestinian scope, specifically, we have to remember there has been a series of catastrophes, and those catastrophes have led to people’s movements and have led to people adapting in circumstances that were not their habitual ones. For example, all the towns that were displaced in 1948 from the coast, their inhabitants ended up no longer living on the coast. Who preserved the knowledge of their relationship with the sea and the fish? It was the grandmothers. Even though they were in a refugee camp in Jordan or a camp in the West Bank where there is no access to the sea, that culture was preserved by the grandmothers.

Moreover, as a chef I don’t preserve Palestinian cuisine—none of the chefs do, and we have to have a moment of humility and understand this. The ones who preserve are the grandmothers who cook every day, who transmit every day. They don’t do so formally. You know how when you cook with a grandmother, what they are giving you is way beyond a recipe. It’s a hand movement or describing the sound made while cooking, or what we in Arabic call nafas [a concept referring to the spirit or unique quality that makes a person’s cooking taste exceptional]—it’s a whole experience and the most beautiful way of transmitting food.

Photo Credit Safia Shakarchi

How can you bring that way of cooking or nafas into your food?

I am not an instructor that will put a recipe in front of you and say, ‘That’s how you cook it.’ I will cook with you. Until October 7, I didn’t think this style of cooking featured in Teta’s Kitchen was disappearing. Today I fear it is disappearing. My book was never supposed to be a documentation of something that was disappearing. I was sharing my story and my recipes—some traditional and some with a twist. I didn’t know my paternal grandmother, as she passed away before I was born, but my maternal grandmother had a big impact on me with regard to food, culture, and love of Palestine. I regret that I postponed becoming a chef until after she was gone, and I also regret that I hadn’t documented everything she did when she was still here. Today I live off memories, some of her cookbooks that had annotations on the side, some of her recipes I found, and my mother’s memory of her. That’s why I encourage people who still have their grandparents and great-grandparents to make the most of them.

It may sound trivial, but it’s so important in the face of the disappearance and a systematic erasure of a people. Every single memory is important. When you look at second- or third-generation Palestinians in the diaspora, they may have lost language, may not speak Arabic, and lost a lot of the social construct, but what they do have is food. Food is still being cooked at home every day that is Palestinian, and that is powerful.

With the current situation in Gaza, as well as the West Bank, which we don’t hear about as much, people are referring to the destruction of educational institutes and archives as scholasticide. Do you think something similar is happening with food culture in Palestine, with agriculture being destroyed or the way the coast is inaccessible for fishermen?

I think what we are seeing between Gaza and the West Bank is very different, and I will never compare what is happening now, but what is happening in the West Bank is terrible. The organized Israeli settler attacks on farmers in the West Bank, the regular burning down of olive trees in the last 40 years, the burning down of vineyards, and the horrible genocide in Gaza is erasure. Not erasure of people only—it’s archives, it’s stories, it’s the agricultural realities. The Israeli government has just announced a new settlement between Battir and Bethlehem on what is a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its agriculture. This will destroy part of an agricultural tradition. I use the word terroir—terroir encompasses the land, the agricultural practice, and the human tradition of food preparation of that area. We are seeing Palestinian terroirs being demolished one after another.

The people responsible for the destruction of the land and the food producers are the same people who claim these foods as their food, as part of their culture and traditions. How do you reconcile the two?

It doesn’t reconcile—it is the same thing. How do I uproot you from your land? First, I steal your land. Second, I make it impossible for you to farm your land. Third, in parallel to this I create a narrative that links me to the land. I will give you an example. Sabr, the prickly pear, historically grows in Palestine. It was planted a bit like a hedge. In 1948, when the 580 villages and towns were destroyed and occupied, sabr grew again

because it was a very resilient plant. If you listen to what the Israelis say, they call the first generation who was born in Israel sabra. They use that symbol of the prickly pear—it is soft on the inside and has thorns on the outside. And I think, Wait a moment, that is a plant that you demolished because it is a reminder of where Palestinian villages were, and now you appropriate it.

What we have to remember is, before 1948 we had Palestinian Jews, who became Israeli after 1948. When those people make hummus, of course it is theirs because they are Palestinian like me. It doesn’t make hummus Israeli. The worst bit of it, I expect this behavior from the Israeli occupier because an occupier is not benevolent. But when people abroad accept it de facto while at the same time, when they go and eat other foods, they will ask about the origin of those products. If you care about Italian food and where it comes from, you should care about your Palestinian food and where it comes from. You should care as much about Nabulsi cheese as Parmigiana cheese and its origins.

You wrote your book before October 7, and in it you documented the destruction of Palestinian traditions. Do you think the situation now is more urgent?

I did not try to document something—I told a story. I am not an archaeologist. I want the Palestinians to go on living on the land, to go on making wine and food, and to go on fishing and celebrating what we are. There is an urgency for the world to stop the horror. I will not embrace documenting because I still have hope that we can stop this madness. At the same time, what we are seeing in Gaza is beyond everything we can describe. And I was very conflicted after October 7 because I thought, How can I be talking about food when my people are being starved? I think it’s one of the most difficult positions to have today, which is, we are celebrating life but, at the same time, we are mourning the loss of life.

It’s interesting how being a Palestinian chef—or singer or model—instantly becomes political in a way, while being a Ukrainian chef, for example, doesn’t. Nigella Lawson, the food writer and cook, recently featured a recipe from your cookbook on her site and social media and got significant backlash for it. How does that make you feel as a Palestinian chef?

The backlash and the violent comments to Nigella were scary. I find it shocking that people allow themselves that type of violence. It seems that as soon as you are Palestinian, it allows people to unfurl all their ignorant, uncultured hate. But wait, I cook, so why are you doing this? I am very at ease with who I am. I feel bad when I see people lashing out at those who share my book. I feel even worse for people whom I would expect to share my stuff but they don’t because they are scared. I think we, as humanity, should have learned from all the horrors of the last hundred years.

I have trouble thinking of another culture or nationality where the mere act of saying, “This is Palestinian” unleashes such hatred.

I think it is more than that. It is the fact that we exist, the fact that we cook, we sing, we dance. I think most of the hatred comes from people who are comfortably silent about the genocide. The fact that I get a recipe published in a supermarket magazine disturbs the ones who are silent, because if you are an Israeli general, I know what to expect from you. My problem with what is happening now is the ones complicit in silence. If you fight for Ukrainian rights, if you fight for the rights of the environment, how can you stay silent about Palestine? If I claim I am a progressive person but then am disturbed by the existence of the Palestinians because they cook and live, that is dangerous. Maybe by telling our story, by having people come here and eat Palestinian food, people will go home with more questions about Palestine and make more positive decisions for humanity.

Qidreh

Serves 6 – 8

This lamb and rice dish is the quintessential centerpiece for family celebrations in Palestine. Many will spice the meat and rice and then send it off to the wood-fired oven, where the ingredients are placed in a copper pot to cook slowly, releasing the flavors of garlic and coating the rice with the richness of the lamb meat.

Photo by Ashley Lima

INGREDIENTS

Meat

2-3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

8¾ lb. / 2 kg bone-in lamb shoulder roast, cut in ¾-inch / 2 cm-thick slices of approximately 9 oz. / 250g each

2 bay leaves

4 cardamom pods

1 cinnamon stick

1 onion, halved

1 Tbsp. coarse sea salt

2 qt. / 2 L of water

Rice and chickpeas

2½ Tbsp. ghee (clarified butter)

1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

1 onion, finely chopped

10-12 peeled garlic cloves

1 tsp. ground allspice

1 tsp. ground turmeric

¼ tsp. each ground cumin, cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, nutmeg

2½ cups / 500 g medium-grain rice

1½ cups / 250 g dried chickpeas, soaked overnight and drained

Garnish

½ tsp. extra-virgin olive oil

½ cup / 60 g slivered almonds

½ cup / 60 g pine nuts

INSTRUCTIONS

To prepare the meat, in a large pot, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat and brown the meat on all sides, 5-8 minutes. You may have to work in batches, adding the additional tablespoon of oil as needed. Add the bay leaves, cardamom pods, cinnamon stick, onion, and salt. Add the water and bring to a boil. Decrease the heat and cook for 1½ – 2 hours, until the meat is tender.

Transfer the meat to a plate, strain the broth into a bowl, and discard the solids.

To prepare the rice and chickpeas, in a large pot, heat the ghee and olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until golden, 3-5 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for 1-2 minutes. Add the allspice, turmeric, cumin, cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, and nutmeg and sauté for 1 minute. Stir in the rice and chickpeas. Add 4¼ cups / 1 L of the strained lamb broth, bring to a boil over high heat, then decrease the heat to medium-low.

Cover the pot and leave to cook until the broth is absorbed, about 45 minutes. Add the meat to the pot with the rice and chickpeas and set aside for 10 minutes.

To prepare the garnish, in a small frying pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the almonds and toast for 3 minutes. Add the pine nuts and toast for 1 minute more, until golden.

Transfer the rice and meat to a serving tray, and sprinkle with the toasted almonds and pine nuts.

Recipe excerpted from Bethlehem by Fadi Kattan. Copyright © 2024 by Fadi Kattan. Reprinted by permission of Hardie Grant North America, an imprint of Hardie Grant Publishing Pty Ltd.

As always, your donation of any amount, helps us make this magazine and publication possible (and is tax-deductible!)

Support Us!

"The sweet venders, Kingston, Jamaica," Graves, C. H. (Carleton H.), -1943 | Library of Congress

drumroll please!!!

ISSUE 05: SWEETS

If food is the constant, comforting through line of the immigrant story, sweets are the literal icing on our diasporic cake. Every hotteok, pan dulce, and knafeh tells a story, and for Synonym’s fifth issue, we want to explore them all. Do you have a sweets story to share? Think: The Cambodian history of the pink donut box. The way bakeries can act as anchors for diasporic communities. The reverberations of cultural commodification when your favorite traditional treat goes viral. Or what about the ties between Mexican buñuelos, Sri Lankan Kokis, Indonesian/Malaysian kembang goyang/kuih loyang, and Dutch rozetten/rozetkoekjes? (We really want someone to write about this!)

As always, we are especially interested in the third culture space. Maybe you or someone you know has a new iteration of a family tradition and wants to share the recipe and history with us. We love personal essays, reported stories, historical takes, interviews, photo essays, and whatever else you’ve got cookin’! If your story comes with a recipe, even better. Though we are based in L.A., we are telling a global story, and welcome pitches from and about anywhere in the world.

“The Birthday Cake” Harry Whittier Frees, 1914 | Library of Congress

Here are a few subjects we want to feature, if any feel like a story you’d like to tell:

• Dominican cakes!

• The Chinese or Levant (Palestinian, Syrian, Lebanese) diaspora in the Caribbean from a food perspective.

• Profiles of immigrant/third culture food makers, restaurants, chefs, someone’s mom or dad, etc.!

• Birthday cakes, and their role (or lack thereof) in your family celebrations.

COLUMNS

We’re looking for a subject for Give & Take, our column that highlights the items you transport when you travel from “home” to “home.”

DEADLINES AND CONTACTS

• Please send pitches by Friday, Feb 6th for Issue 5 consideration

• Send your pitches to info@synonym-mag.com

• We will assign stories by Feb 16th, and aim to reply to every submission.

• If you are pitching multiple stories, please send all your ideas in one email.

• If pitching an interview, we request that you have access to the subject you’d like to cover.

• Please no attachments.

• You do not need to be a food writer, but keep in mind that all of our stories are told through the lens of food.

  

  Zesto ice cream sign, West Columbia, S.C. Photo: John Margolies. Library of Congress

  ---

  As always, your donation of any amount, helps us make this magazine and publication possible (and is tax-deductible!)

  Support us!

By Lisa Butterworth and Caroline Hwang

Portrait of Ethel Shayne by Brian Guido

Still life photos by Joyce Lee

Prop styling by Aneta Florczyk

Food styling by Caroline Hwang

Photos of young Ethel and family courtesy of Stephanie Shayne

Throughout time, history repeats itself. Many groups of people are displaced from their homelands, whether because of conflict, persecution, economic opportunity, or, increasingly, climate change. The diaspora of a community transforms as its members migrate and assimilate, blending their lifestyles and culinary traditions with elements of their new environment.

Ethel Shayne, a 100-year-old Jewish woman living in Los Angeles, shares her family’s story of escaping persecution in Baghdad by migrating to Kolkata (formerly known as Calcutta), India, where her family built a life within a Jewish community. With the help of her daughter Stephanie Shayne, who has researched and transcribed her family’s history, Ethel tells us how she inherited parts of their newfound home and has passed on those tastes and flavors to her children.

When and where were you born?

Ethel: 1924, in Calcutta. It was a very glorious place. We had a very good life in India. My parents came from the Middle East. Most of the Jewish people that were in Baghdad and Persia left and came to India.

Stephanie: The Jews [in Baghdad] were prosperous merchants. Unfortunately, as the story goes, they were shunned and eventually forced to leave. There was a big diaspora of Baghdadi Jews that left at the beginning of the last century, and they went to India. The famous Sassoon family and the Ezras [prominent, wealthy Jewish families] started leaving Baghdad as early as the late 1800s and set up a silk trade in India. They would travel between China and India and Baghdad, and there are some who say that they may have been involved in the opium trade, but that is a story for another time! They made a lot of money trading and selling goods.

Stephanie, what drew your family to Calcutta? Did your great-grandparents go there because there was already an established Jewish community?

Stephanie: It was more about survival than anything else. The Jews were leaving [Baghdad] in droves because they were being murdered. They weren’t welcome anymore. A lot of the people that fled to India either went to Calcutta or Mumbai, which was Bombay at the time. [India] really welcomed the Jews because they were great merchants—they came and traded, and it brought prosperity to the country. The Jews that came first, like the Sassoons and the Ezras, had the means. I think they were helping their families and friends get out of Baghdad, because they could afford to.

My great-grandparents came and brought their children; my grandmother was only 16 when she came. They eventually set up a giant synagogue in Calcutta, Maghen David, where my grandfather [Albert Morris] was the cantor and the rabbi. It is now a protected site, and is maintained by Muslims, which is really interesting and wonderful. The Jews, the Muslims, the Hindus—there was a period of time where they all lived quite peacefully side by side. The Hindus, Muslims, and Jews lived in Calcutta, and the Hindus and Muslims also lived in what is now Pakistan, which was a separate region at the time, but it wasn’t a separate country. Eventually, after much turmoil, the Hindus would leave Pakistan, and the Muslims would—for the most part—leave Calcutta and live in the newly formed country of Pakistan. I’m not sure how it came to be, exactly, but I do know that things got very intense when the British started to divide India and ramp up their exit strategy. In the time leading up to the unrest, the Jews were there, living a very peaceful life. They mixed with other people, but they had their own tight-knit community.

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