Date me, Baby...It's Fast Breaking Time

The weirdest potluck that I have ever been to started like this:

We all gathered in a gigantic circle of the grassy lawn in front of the host’s home, cradling our dishes that we had brought. Then the introductions began, innocently enough at first:

“Hi, my name is Raven.”

“Hi, Raven.” (Yes, it felt a bit AA, but in fact it was just New England hippy).

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“To share with all of you tonight, I have brought a potato salad.”

Oh, that’s nice, I thought. I’d never been to a potluck where we identified our food before people started to eat it but it was New England. Here’s where it gets weird. “My salad contains potatoes, so if you’re allergic, don’t eat it. Oh, and it has mayonnaise which is soy-based, so if you have an intolerance, don’t eat it. And I put onions in it. And salt.”

My thought: people have potato allergies? And who DOESN'T know that potato salad has potatoes in it?

At Southern pot lucks we always just plunk our dishes on the long table with the crepe-papery covering in the social hall and maintain a quiet vigilance over whatever we’ve brought. It’s a matter of church lady pride to see your mac-n-burger casserole go first and then hear the Preacher call out, “Now who brought that mac-n-burger? That was delicious!” The anonymity is a sacred Southern ritual within the potluck itself.

But back to New England and on to the next person in the circle. “Hi, my name is Ocean Leaf Lovesalot.”

“Hi, Ocean Leaf Lovesalot.”

“I brought a roast chicken that I raised myself on organic, vegetarian feed, but if you are vegetarian, you should not eat it. I seasoned it with salt and pepper and garlic.”

From the crowd comes, “Now, Ocean Leaf, did you use ethically raised garlic this time?”

“Oh…oh…I’m sorry. The co-op was out. It's conventionally raised...”

"Oh darn. No chicken for me tonight."

And on we went around the circle with each person warning us of gluten, dairy, soy, sugar, seeds, garlic, spice, gelatin, honey, nuts, and non-vegetarian-compliant foods. I was half starved by the time we were allowed to eat, so I ate a bit of everything, but not before others went through the line, discussing their limitations as they went.

“I’m not eating gluten now. I really feel like I have so much more energy these days.”

“Oh, yes, I also am gluten free. And I have read about soy and its hormone level link so I have cut out soy. My moods feel so much more stable.”

It was something akin to miraculous that this gathering had gotten off the ground at all because how do you throw a New England hippy party for a largely vegetarian crowd with a high incidence of Celiac’s disease that will not eat anything processed or containing sugar or dairy? Or that is unethically raised?

This all comes to mind because it is Ramadan. As I write this, we have just finished up the second week and are into the third. While I thought in the first week about getting arrested, in the second week I have thought a lot about food because, in spite of Ramadan being a fasting period, this month is still very much about food. But it is about what we eat, but it is also about when we eat and how.

Ramadan’s fast exists in part to encourage patience, purity and modesty. It also serves to heighten people’s awareness of the plight of the poor. By forgoing food and water from sun up to sun down, the feeling of desperate wondering about the timing of one’s next meal should trigger a feeling of empathy for those who go without every day. In that way, people will give more freely to charity in order to support those less fortunate while developing patience, purity, modesty, and a closer connection to God.

At least that’s what Nasser told me.

And yes, I have seen people giving to the poor in the streets, as well as free meals distributed in the evenings by mosques throughout Muscat, so it does work. But more interesting to me has been to watch how people eat at Ramadan.

Iftar, the evening meal that breaks your day’s fast, begins at 7:03 p.m. but in actuality, even if you are eating your iftar at a restaurant, it starts earlier. We attended iftar recently and found that it involved a lot of staring at plates of food between 6:40 and 7:03 p.m. Everyone arrived at the restaurant a good 30 minutes before the maghrib prayer call sounded in order to secure a table. A miniature table off to the side was loaded with dates, yoghurt drinks, juices, water, and fried tidbits like eggrolls and samosa.

Everyone took a small plate of these things and placed it at their seats. Then they all went back and loaded up plates of dinnery foods so as to be ready when the maghrib went—chicken, rice, mutton, dal and salads all featured heavily at all three iftars we attended. And nobody said anything about allergies or ethics. Imagine.

 After all drinks were arranged neatly and the dates were in the optimal position, everyone commenced with the sitting and staring portion of the evening, except for Tehva and the other under 10s. They all quietly snitched little pinches of food and sipped from the tops of their cups while asking frequently about the time.

And then the moment of release—the prayer call. With the first Allah akbar, everyone silently picked up a date and broke their fast. After a slug of yoghurt drink and an egg roll or two, many men got up to go pray, and then returned to the table to join their families in seriously breaking the fast, shoveling in the chow as quickly as possible in order to go back for more. And, for some, this was followed by more. And more. And more. And all the while, the eating was accompanied by happy chitchat and some serious gustatory appreciation.

The iftar lasts as long as people care to eat and then the good times begin, lasting until the pre-dawn meal, the suhoor, which is hearty and meant to carry you through the day until your next iftar.   

In this context, the dietary restrictions of that potluck of yore seem vapid and superficial. At Ramadan, everyone is so happy to break the fast and so prayerful as they proceed through the process of fast breaking that you can’t help but pick up a date and joyfully join in. To speak up at the serving table and question whether something has garlic or gluten or dairy would be to break the spirit of iftar. The whole idea, I think, is to have an enlarged sense of God’s bounty and the patience to wait to enjoy it.

And that is something to take to your next hippy potluck--a big dish of potato salad, a part of God's bounty, made with immense patience, and sprinkled with gratefulness and happiness just to be eating.

Ramadan Week One

I received this message via email a week ago:

“Beware those of you who will stay in Oman for Ramadan. If you are a woman, you must cover everything, from your ankles to your wrists, or risk flogging. DO NOT eat or drink in public at any time or you will be arrested.”

Yikes.

So naturally, with this type of fear mongering crowding my inbox, I was very eager to see what Ramadan would be like here. Based on the above message, my neurotic side, developed carefully and over many years through such venerable news outlets as CNN and FoxNews, was expecting a month of surreptitious sustenance seeking and sweatiness. The rest of me couldn't wait to see what would happen next. So here is what did happen.

In the expat community, the days leading up to Ramadan felt like an enormous hurricane churning off of the American East Coast. The dread amongst some was nearly palatable. Would we lose power? Would groceries be available? Would restaurants ever be open? OMG…would the windows break? What if I were to have my car break down? Or have a medical emergency? How earth shaking would this all be?

In fact, the days leading up to Ramadan in the local community were matter of fact. The landlord finally harvested the dates that have been ripening on the palm trees out front. Paper suddenly appeared over the windows and doors of food outlets that would stay open during the month. People started buying enormous quantities of yogurt drink. Pretty mundane stuff. None of it suggested impending imprisonment.

The night before day 1, we went out to do a bit of grocery shopping since rumors abounded as to when food and grocery outlets would not be open during the holy month. Imagine Black Friday bundled with the crowds that come out for the returns and sales of Boxing Day/December 26. Then infuse the situation with the panic of the approach of a major blizzard and mix in some uppers for good measure. 

That was pre-Ramadan shopping. To say the shops bustled would be an understatement. They nearly burst with the pre-Ramadan shopping.

So you're probably thinking that this was in the busy part of the store?
No, it was just the store. The whole store. Wall to wall people.

And everyone was buying like crazy. Of course there were dates (you need dates to break the fast at sundown), but there were also piles and piles of frozen chickens. People were walking off with two and three 25-kilo bags of rice. Fruit and veggies galore. I was endlessly impressed. 

But the the next day the unthinkable happened. I realized that I was out of vinegar and would have to go back to the store during Ramadan. I feared for my liberty. After all, that email had said! Remember? No ankles, no wrists, no food. Whatever would I do? 

I grabbed my camera of course! And here is what met me at 1:00 p.m.

It was like the zombie apocalypse had hit the mall and left me behind as the sole survivor. Of course the utter lack of people allowed me to see all sorts of decorations that were up for Ramadan all over the mall. 

The toy store had this promotion going on. 

Marks and Spencer had beautiful Arabic script painted across their windows, wishing me a "Generous Ramadan". 

Without three bazillion people at the mall with me, I could see all of this. And I could also see that no one was out to arrest me. In fact, during the first week of Ramadan I have been most impressed with how calm and quiet everything is. People are keeping their energy levels very low and are making extra efforts to avoid anything that requires putting out any extra effort beyond praying, fasting, and breathing. Perfect serenity.

I like it. But I still have all of my joints covered all of the time, even if the mannequins don't. More to report next week, at the end of week two of Ramadan.