Every Dish We Put on the Table Opens a Door to Our Culture

How the foods we grew up with carry memories, identity, love, and a sense of belonging. (and I share a secret)

Bosnian coffee is a whole culture devoted to slowing down. Photo by Dagmara Jadach on Unsplash

Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It’s inseparable from those from the get-go.

Anthony Bourdain

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I took a slice of raw onion off the plate, dusted it with salt, and bit into it, letting the layers crackle between my teeth. The sharp tang and a hint of spice hit my tongue, the edges tingling, the aroma curling upward. That bite came right after Cevapi, a meat sausage dish served with homemade bread and onions.

My dad picked up a glass of pale, salty liquid from the jar of pickled cabbage and drank it slowly, smacking his lips in delight.

I look to my right and find my non-Bosnian friend, culture-shocked.

Growing up between cultures, food was always the first language my worlds used to communicate. If you are sitting with me at a dinner table with Bosnian food, you will either be eating, staring, or politely ordering DoorDash delivery under the table.

Which one would you be?

I left Bosnia as a child, but I still crave our food and love to eat it whenever I get the chance. Sadly, my grandma's and aunts' traditional Balkan dishes now only appear at holidays or birthdays, or it costs me thousands of dollars to fly over and eat my heart out.

Speaking of how food shapes us, do you want to know a secret? We all know Mediterranean and Asian "diets" have become super popular during February and March when everyone suddenly needs to shape up for the summer. Our food is lighter, yes. But that is not the secret. Everyone knows this already.

There is another little psychological trick at play here that the dieters are unaware of that makes them gravitate towards our dinner tables in search of Ozempic effects. Here, I will tell you.

My favorite childhood dish is Sataraš — pronounced sa-ta-rash. How pretty? If I had another child, I would name them Sataraš.

It's just sautéed onions, peppers, and tomatoes, served with bread. That's it. But it's the meal I always look forward to when I visit Bosnia. When I make it for friends in America, they usually laugh and ask,

'Is this our appetizer?' (Pay attention, we are getting to the secret.)

How dare they! A dish with a name like that deserves to be the star, not a sidekick.

Let's get to the secret.

If you've ever tried dishes like Grah in Bosnia, Gallo Pinto in Costa Rica, Mujaddara, or Okonomiyaki in Japan, you'll notice one thing they all have in common.

They carry a pretty little name.

They are not just "bean soup," "beans and rice," or a pancake. With names like Mujaddara, they have identity, presence, and main-dish energy. They won't be anyone's sidekick.

That's the whole secret, a psychological trick right there. Name that dish. Light dishes that might look like just soup or a side dish, but with names become main characters. Americans don't give simple dishes names, so they end up as sidekicks: "sautéed vegetables" that need a main caloric bomb to feel complete.

It is all in the name. I haven't reviewed psychology papers on this, but it makes sense. Yeah?

I once saw someone put their Baba Ganoush on a burger, and if I had a way to hand out a hefty police ticket for that offense, I would have. Does a dish with that name deserve to be a topping?! squished between two buns, eaten like someone's chasing you? Tragedy.

I overheard American tourists (I love you, but you know how some are) in Balkan restaurants asking, "What else comes with this?" or "Can you bring this back and have the chef top it off with melted cheese?" Yeah. That ain't happening.

The dish is perfect the way it is. If you want to avoid being haunted by the chef's dead grandmother, you should enjoy it as it's served.

Food has always been our language, our love, our survival, our identity.

People traded spices, grains, and preserved foods across continents, using them as currency and as a connection. Black pepper traveled from India to Europe on old trade routes. Chilies, tomatoes, and potatoes crossed oceans from the Americas to kitchens around the world. African foods such as black-eyed peas, rice, and peanuts were brought to the southern United States by enslaved people. Worth celebrating, cherishing, and respecting.

Every culture has found a way to turn the foods around them into something meaningful, enjoyable, and nourishing.

What food brings you back to your grandma's kitchen?

To me, brine, spices, homemade white bread, fermented vegetables, and a million different desserts that look nothing like cupcakes all hold joy, stories, and memories. That craving for salted onions isn't just nostalgia. It's a signal of my body and mind recognizing comfort, familiarity, and belonging.

In the end, these foods invite us to understand, taste, and connect. The world's culinary diversity shows our creativity, resilience, and curiosity.

So, if you see me eating raw onion, join in. It's easier to be around someone who smells like you, and you'll be sharing a 'salad' that has been enjoyed in the Balkans for centuries.

I might also share with you homemade alcohol that, shhhhhh, don't tell ICE at airports, gets smuggled in aunties' bags directly from the source in Coca-Cola bottles.

Every dish tells a story of identity and memory. Through food, we share who we are. What is your favorite dish from your or another culture?

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