Culinary Miscegenation

It is perhaps something about the nebulousness of American identity that leads to our obsession with tracing national origins. It doesn’t matter whether or not these designated origins have any relation to actual history. Witness French fries, which are actually Belgian; Chinese apples, which are actually Middle Eastern; and Chinese parsley, which my mother has only vaguely heard of, even under the name “cilantro.” (If Americans think something is Chinese, the only thing you can be sure of is that it is not Chinese. Fortune cookies? American. Charlie Chan? Various white guys. Sharon Valerii? Cylon.) In fact, such inaccuracies only underscore the intensity of this desire — a desire so impatient that we hurtle past complex histories in our mad dash for the beginning, any beginning.

Things that lack a single point of origin drive Americans crazy, as we multiracial people learn long before the thousandth stranger demands, “What are you, anyway?” as if expecting an apology. (One young man was so unable to think beyond single national origins that he bet his friends that I was from Guam. As of July 2007, Guam has an estimated population of 173,456, which puts my chances of being Guamese at approximately .0026%. I hope he didn’t need that $5.)

Thus it surprises me that “fusion” cuisines have become so popular. I imagined that the first bite of curry chicken bao would send the typical diner into a wild-eyed existential crisis. “Is it Chinese? Is it Thai? Who am I? Why am I here? There is no God! … Hey, this is pretty good.” Apparently, it is the “Hey, this is pretty good” that lingers.

Or maybe, as the cynical part of me insists, Asian Fusion has been such a success because the ever-generalizing American mind can just categorize it as “Asian”; after all, isn’t that what they already do with Asians of the human variety? A similar theory explains the popularity of Latin Fusion: in America, all Latinos are “Mexican,” even the ones who speak Portuguese.

Clearly, a better measure of how much we’ve come to accept culinary miscegenation would be cross-continental fusion cuisine. (Americanized cuisine, which I covered in an earlier post, doesn’t count.) A brave few have already tested these waters, like the owners of the Lao/Thai/Soul Food place on Solano, which is delicious. However, their pad thai and fried chicken share only a roof. It would be even better if they shared a plate. Imagine the possibilities. Coconut milk biscuits? Mashed potatoes with peanut sauce? Curry barbecued ribs?

Here is one of my contributions to the great American melting plate:

Fajita Pizza, affectionately known as Fajizza

• one raw pizza crust, purchased from Trader Joe’s if you’re as lazy as I am
• one medium white or red onion, sliced into half-rings
• one medium bell pepper, sliced
• one large tomato, sliced and seeded
• one garlic clove, minced
• 1/4 cup corn kernels
• 1/2 cup shredded monterey jack cheese
• 2 tablespoons cilantro, chopped
• 1/4 cup salsa of your choice
• salt, pepper, and olive oil to taste

1. Preheat oven (and pizza stone, if using) to 450ºF.

2. Prepare pizza crust on generously floured surface.

3. Spread salsa lightly on crust.

4. Sprinkle on garlic, then evenly arrange vegetables and cilantro.

5. Drizzle on olive oil, then add salt and pepper to taste.

6. Cover with cheese.

7. Transfer to baking sheet or pizza stone and bake until crust is cooked and cheese bubbles, about 15 minutes.