Being in the food business was never supposed to be about the food. This was supposed to be a classroom for the wolf cubs—my daughters. It was grown out of a hope to instill traits that I thought valuable. Traits that I hope to possess even as an adult.
Farmers must be so many things to be successful. They must be hopeful, diligent, patient and tenacious. In that fabric of character is a learned gratitude when things go well. Woven in the opposite direction is a sense of resilient humility when things do not.
The wolf cubs and I have a secret handshake. It starts with a question. We put our hands on each other’s hearts. We close our eyes. We take a deep breath. Then I ask “Why do I love you?” The response comes back in unison. “Because I’m kind and humble, strong and beautiful.” In that order. Kind first.
Everyone is carrying a heavy load. Pain shared is halved. Joy shared is doubled. The hope is that they are kind enough to do both. Humble to know that you are great. That seems counter-intuitive. It is not. It is the humility to know that no matter how great, you are not greater than anyone else. Strong enough to be kind. To be both of the characteristics that preceded it. Beautiful. In your heart and in your manners. That is beauty.
It is important that they hear it first from their father, so that when they do hear it somewhere else, which inevitably they will, it is not the first time they hear it. It will not be a new sentiment or realisation.
At first, our table was small. It was only us. Then our table grew. It got bigger to accommodate our family. Then our friends. Then our family friends. Then the family of our friends. You get it.
And while the table got bigger, the proverbial classroom did too. How to be gracious, how to be welcoming and accommodating? How could you possibly teach that in a real classroom on a chalkboard. Before people came, we would put our aprons on. Secret handshake. Showtime. All of a sudden, there is no classroom or lesson. It is the work being done.
Multiply that by the amount of sandwiches we’ve served, add the chickens we’ve raised and the tomatoes we’ve grown, subtract the hard times, divide by us. The sum is two proud Muslim Arab girls who will one day represent all three of those descriptors and inshAllah represent them well.
Barbecue – which is at the core of what I do – is so closely tied with America in pop culture yet in its philosophy it is ultimately Arab. It’s strange to use barbecue as a tool to discuss the esoteric. But, because it is so unassuming, and so unapologetically simple, it does the trick.
The Arabs of yore travelled from what is present day Yemen to trade with the Byzantine Empire. To make that arduous journey, they needed to stop along the way across the peninsula to rest and replenish—their strength, their supplies and their resolve. It was customary to stop at a stranger’s house to be hosted. The desert is a harsh and unforgiving environment in any season. A stranger’s hospitality was not a luxury. It was a lifeline.
The host, out of a gracious respect and sense of chivalry, would not ask who they were, their business or where they came from. For three days they could stay, unbothered. The guest, following the same unspoken rules, would volunteer that information if they stayed past the third day. It was incumbent on them on the fourth day, having “worn out their welcome.” As you can imagine, guests usually stayed no more than the 3 days. The hospitality of the Arabs was based on this. Graciously giving and opening up to people you know will most likely never be able to repay the kindness. They came and went. The hospitality of the Arabs became something of global repute. Strangers hosting strangers.
Barbecue is that. You barbecue to celebrate—never alone. It helps you replenish. You spend weeks, days, hours making this simple food. Making a meal, for strangers whom you know will never reciprocate the time you have spent making them feel cared for. We, as a family, treat it as such. Hospitality for the sake of it. We will never get that time back. It is a fair exchange and we are happy to do it.
We are humbled that people come from far and wide to be hosted, albeit briefly. Heritage. Fire. These are the common elements of the world. A seat for everyone. We are proud to do it because of the fabric of our characters. The characters we wove in the classroom in the backyard. Our backyard has gotten bigger. Bigger than we could have ever imagined–with crops and lessons to harvest. Barbecue is going to save the world. When the garden got bigger, we didn’t built a higher fence, we built a longer table.