A Place at the Table

by Saadia Faruqi

  We get back to the Pakistan table as Chef Morgan is announcing the winning recipe. I stand with Elizabeth on one side and Rabia on the other, holding hands like some sappy team on America’s Got Talent. “After much deliberation, we have decided that the prize goes to Maddy Montgomery and Stephanie Tolleson for their Raspberry Ginger Scones!”

  Everyone claps. I let go of Rabia and Elizabeth’s hands and slowly applaud. Rabia reaches over and says, “I’m still proud of you,” and I blink away sudden tears.

  Maddy and Stephanie are screaming like lunatics, hands on their cheeks. They scramble to the podium and shake hands with the judges. Then the microphone bursts into life again. Chef Morgan looks straight at me and announces, “Also, we’d like to award honorable mention to Sara Hameed and Elizabeth Shainmark, for the most inventive recipe. Your fusion ice cream has potential.”

  Elizabeth gasps and hugs me. Then Rabia hugs me too. I’m crushed between them and I can’t breathe, but it’s a good feeling.

  “Thank you, Chef Morgan.” Principal Harrison takes the microphone and looks around. “Time for some acknowledgments.”

  The entire gym groans.

  He holds up his hand. “Thank you to the volunteers and teachers who worked so hard to make this event a success. And a special thank-you to parent Hina Hameed, who’s taken charge of our afterschool cooking club and prepared our students for this showcase. I’ve had the pleasure of tasting some of Mrs. Hameed’s cooking, and let me tell you, it’s delicious!”

  Mama is beaming so proudly, I think her jaw might break. I reach over and hug her. “He’s right, Mama,” I say. “You’re an amazing cook. Shaandaar!”

  She hugs me back, then faces the crowd of parents forming a line for samples of her food. “Take a flyer, please. My daughter designed it,” she tells everyone.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Congrats.” It’s Maddy, with Stephanie standing behind her, all grins.

  “Thank you,” I reply, and the smile that comes to my lips surprises me. “Congrats to you and Stephanie, too.”

  I want to be mad at Miss Perfect, but I can’t. She’s nicer than I’d ever imagined she’d be. And an awesome baker.

  Maddy bites her bottom lip. “Listen, I want to tell you I’m sorry about what I said at the mall. It was horrible of me.”

  I can’t believe she’s doing this now, in her moment of triumph. I look down at my palms, noticing the pattern of lines. “It’s okay.”

  “My parents wouldn’t come today,” Maddy continues, her tone low. “They said our school shouldn’t celebrate foreigners and their food.”

  I’m not sure why she’s telling me this, but Stephanie’s nodding along, so I say, “That’s too bad. Foreign food can be pretty good.”

  She gives me a proud look. “That’s exactly what I told them. We shouldn’t judge food until we try it. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s less delicious. Same goes for people.”

  “You said that? To your dad?” Ever since Elizabeth told me Mr. Montgomery’s nickname, I can’t help but picture him as a truck with a narrow, expressionless grill plastered on its front. I’m amazed that Maddy stood up to him.

  She nods. “He was pretty shocked.”

  I lean forward and touch her arm. “I forgive you.”

  She lets out a breath with a whoosh. “Can we be friends? I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  I look up to see them all watching me, Mama, Baba, Elizabeth and her mother, even Rabia. Waiting for me to decide how I want to live the rest of sixth grade. Maybe all of middle school. “Yes, I think we can do that,” I finally reply.

  34

  Elizabeth

  OUR MOMS’ CITIZENSHIP CEREMONY is on a school day, but we all get permission to go—David, me, and Justin, Sara, Tariq, and Rafey. It’s the perfect opportunity for me to break out the red, white, and blue outfit I wore on Election Day. Sara is wearing jeans and a blue-and-white tunic with lace on the neckline. We make a big group at the local community college, all of us kids, Mr. Hameed, and Dad, who took a personal day off from work. Even Bubbe is here, wearing a navy-blue poncho and a red silk scarf.

  We sit in the theater and wave small American flags. There are tons of other families who came to support their moms, dads, grandmas, brothers, and friends. Nearly fifty people become citizens. We all rise to say the Pledge of Allegiance together in one loud voice that swells and echoes around us. The judge tells us that the new citizens on the stage represent more than thirty nations. She reads the names of every single country. Sara and I cheer when the judge calls out “the United Kingdom” and again when she says “Pakistan.”

  “You are a mosaic of people from all around the world,” the judge says. “You are adding color to that mosaic, sharing your traditions, your art, your food. Especially your food.” Everyone in the audience laughs. “As you become U.S. citizens, don’t lose who you are. Our differences are what make America great.” There’s lots of hugging and balloons and so many pictures! Some people cry. David records it all on Mom’s phone so Aunt Louise can watch.

  That night is our big party. Sara and I spend the afternoon with Bubbe in the kitchen. Mom and Mrs. Hameed are not allowed to help, since they are the guests of honor, but we give little jobs to Justin, Rafey, and Tariq—setting places at the table and mashing potatoes for samosas. Bubbe’s going to supervise the frying.

  “That was us, a few months ago,” I tell Sara as we watch our brothers get a little too enthusiastic with the potato masher. “Do you still hate cooking?”

  “Not as much,” Sara admits. “I still don’t like that our house always smells like onions and spices, or that Mama runs her catering business out of our kitchen.” Sara chatters on, nothing like the unfriendly girl I met three months ago. “We have so many orders since the festival. I’m glad your mom is helping. Mama needs someone to keep track of everything so she can focus on cooking.”

  It’s the perfect job for my mom. She set up spreadsheets and trackers, and even made Mrs. Hameed a shopping list so she simply checks off the items she needs to restock. It’s only a few hours a week, but having a job makes Mom happy. And her pay, at least for now, is free dinners a few times a week. Even my brothers have to admit that Mrs. Hameed’s food is better than Hot Pockets.

  Sara says, “I can see how some people think that cooking is fun.”

  “Like when you get to make an ice cream machine out of a bicycle?”

  “Or like making Mrs. Kluck’s clumpy strawberry jam in FACS class,” Sara teases. “That sounds super fun.”

  “Ugh! Don’t remind me.” When the second semester of sixth grade starts later this month, I’m taking FACS with the plaid tyrant. “Good old Mrs. Kluck,” I say. “What if I sneak some ground coriander into my jam?”

  Sara puts on her mock-serious face. The one that reminds me of Mrs. Hameed scolding our class. “You’d better be a model student,” she warns me. “Mrs. Kluck will have her eye on you.”

  I wish Sara were taking FACS with me. I’m going to miss having her as my kitchen partner. But she got special permission to take an extra semester of art. Mrs. Newman is helping her put together a portfolio so she can apply to a summer art program. And Sara’s been sharing her awesome design skills with our friends, like Stephanie, who begged Sara for a complete redo of her cupcake logo.

  As I roll out dough, I run through the list of treats Sara and I are making for the party. Samosas and other finger foods, cupcakes frosted like flags, and of course our Halwa Cuppa Tea ice cream.

  I wanted to invite the whole cooking club to the party, including Maddy and Steph, but Mom said the townhouse would have enough people in it without eight extra middle-schoolers piling into our kitchen. Plus, it’s a school night.

  I wouldn’t have minded the crowd. I’ve figured out that I’m a lot like Bubbe. I love baking, and dressing in loud colors, and being at school, where there are tons of kids and there’s always something going on. Sara is more like my mom, only instead of knitting when sh
e gets overwhelmed, Sara has her sketchbook.

  We have a surprise for Sara’s mom tonight. Mom took me and Sara to the print shop and had food labels made that say HAMEED’S KITCHEN in brown swirls that begin as steam and transform into henna designs. We wrap the labels in a little box with a bow on top. Sara draws multicolored patterns on it. That girl will draw on anything.

  Because they are the tallest, Dad and David hang red, white, and blue streamers all around the townhouse. It’s like celebrating Fourth of July in January.

  When we’re done cooking and it’s time to put out the food, Sara puts a hand on my arm. “I never thanked you.” She says it so quietly, I lean over the tray of cookies I’m holding to hear her.

  “Thanked me for what?”

  She pulls at the sleeve of her tunic. “For being my friend.”

  “You did the same for me,” I tell her.

  I told Maddy that starting Poplar Springs Middle was tough for Sara, but the truth is, it was hard for me, too. I was so worried about Mom, and sad about losing Nan, that I didn’t know who I wanted to be in middle school. Sara reminded me that I’m goofy and I love trying new things, especially in the kitchen. I needed Sara as much as she needed me.

  I expect Sara to cringe, because I’m being totally sappy, but she nods. “I think you’re right.”

  Then we walk out of the kitchen carrying trays of our families’ favorite foods, ready to start the celebration.

  Halwa Cuppa Tea

  Earl Grey Tea Ice Cream with

  Chunks of Doodh Ka Halwa

  There are two stages to Elizabeth and Sara’s recipe: preparing the halwa and making the ice cream. Doodh Ka Halwa takes time to cook and set, so you may want to make it a day ahead. It will keep in the refrigerator for several days.

  NOTE: This recipe requires the use of a stove and hot liquids. Make sure an adult is supervising, especially if you have not used a stove on your own before.

  Doodh Ka Halwa

  Halwa is a group of dense, sweet confections eaten in South Asia, the Middle East, and other parts of the world. There are several different types of halwa, such as carrot, lentil, or nut. A variety of bases are used to create halwa, such as semolina, milk, or butter. The base determines its consistency, which ranges from pudding to cake. This is a milk-based halwa. It will be the consistency of a thick porridge after heating, but once it’s chilled for several hours, it will resemble a soft bar like a brownie.

  COOKING TIME: 1–2 hours

  CHILLING TIME: 4 hours +

  SERVINGS: 2 cups

  This makes more than you’ll need for the ice cream recipe. Cut the leftover halwa into squares and enjoy!

  Ingredients:

  1 tablespoon water, more as needed

  1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice, more as needed

  8 cups (2 quarts) whole milk

  ½ cup sugar, more depending on desired sweetness

  2 tablespoons ghee (clarified butter), plus more for greasing pan

  ½ teaspoon ground cardamom

  ½ cup unsweetened shredded coconut

  ½ cup pistachios, finely chopped

  Preparation:

  Grease a 13x9-inch (3 quart) brownie pan with ghee and set aside.

  Combine water and lemon juice and set aside.

  Pour the milk into a large saucepan, keeping in mind it will bubble up the side. The wider your pan, the shorter the cooking time will be. Bring the milk to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon to keep it from burning, until it is reduced by half, approximately 30 minutes. Adjust the heat as needed to keep the milk from boiling over.

  Stir the water and lemon juice into the milk until the mixture starts to curdle (it will form soft solids on your spoon). If it doesn’t curdle, add more water and lemon juice until you see curds. Continue stirring over medium-low heat until the mixture is the consistency of soft scrambled eggs, about 25 to 30 minutes.

  A few tablespoons at a time, stir in the sugar. Add the ghee and cardamom. Turn the heat down to low, and stir until the mixture comes away from the side of the pan. Remove from the heat and mix in the coconut and pistachios.

  Transfer the mixture into the prepared brownie pan. Using a spatula, press the halwa flat. Cover and chill it in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours, and up to overnight. Cut the halwa into gumdrop-size chunks and refrigerate until ready to use.

  Earl Grey Ice Cream

  NOTE: You can make Earl Grey ice cream using any vanilla ice cream recipe. Simply steep Earl Grey tea bags in the milk or cream until the tea flavor is to your liking.

  COOKING TIME: 30 minutes

  CHILLING TIME: 1 hour

  SERVINGS: About 8 half cups

  Ingredients:

  2 cups whole milk

  ½ cup heavy cream

  7 Earl Grey tea bags

  5 egg yolks

  ⅓ cup honey or ½ cup sugar

  ¼ teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 cup Doodh Ka Halwa chunks

  Special tools:

  Ice cream maker

  Preparation:

  Pour the milk and cream into a large saucepan. Stirring constantly so it doesn’t burn, bring the milk mixture to a boil over medium-high heat.

  Remove the saucepan from the heat and place the Earl Grey tea bags in the milk mixture. Cover and steep the tea for 5 minutes. Remove the tea bags and discard them.

  In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and honey or sugar.

  The next step is called tempering. This is a method used to combine the heated milk with the egg mixture to make a custard—without scrambling the eggs! Slowly add a small amount of the hot milk, about ¼ cup, to the eggs, whisking gently. Once the milk is incorporated, add another ¼ cup of milk to the eggs. When at least half of the milk has been added to the eggs, pour the custard back into the saucepan.

  Add the vanilla.

  Over medium heat, stir constantly without letting the mixture boil, until the custard passes the spoon test: Dip a spoon into the hot liquid. Using a fingertip, carefully draw a line across the back of the spoon. If the line through the custard stays, it is ready.

  Take the saucepan off the heat and let it cool.

  When the custard is at room temperature, place it in the refrigerator to chill for at least an hour before churning.

  Churning:

  Using the chilled custard, follow the instructions on your ice cream maker. When the ice cream has thickened to milkshake consistency, stir in the halwa chunks. Continue to churn until the ice cream is semi-solid.

  Enjoy right away or freeze until the ice cream is firm enough to scoop.

  For additional recipes, please visit

  www.saadiafaruqi.com or www.laurashovan.com.

  Authors’ Notes

  &

  Acknowledgments

  Laura Shovan

  This book began with a question: What does it mean to be an American when your parent is not one?

  Growing up, I often felt the way many bicultural children do. The mannerisms, habits, love of tea and Doctor Who I’d picked up from my British family made me a bit of an oddball in New Jersey. Yet, I wasn’t quite at home in England either, where my brothers and I were jokingly referred to as Yanks.

  I began to form an answer to the question of my Americanness when my wonderful agent, Stephen Barbara, suggested writing a collaborative novel. (Thanks, as always, for the great advice, Stephen!) Right away I knew which author I’d reach out to—my friend Saadia Faruqi, whose work as a writer and interfaith activist I admired.

  It is my great good luck that Saadia accepted the invitation to write this book together. The candid conversations we had about race, immigration, food, mental health, and families are woven into Sara and Elizabeth’s story. Without Saadia’s encouragement, I would have been less brave about examining my own life as the child of an immigrant. Saadia’s agent, Kari Sutherland, gave us wonderful early feedback on each draft.

  There are commonalities among
first generation Americans, but our experiences differ widely depending on our culture of origin, legal status in this country, and whether we are refugees or chose to start a new life in the United States. I interviewed many new citizens and first generation “kids” for A Place at the Table. Liz Dunster, Marc Liu, Samantha M. Clark, Christina Soontornvat, and Laura Yoo’s insights and openness enriched this story.

  Huge thanks to Nikki McGowan and the young chefs at Dunloggin Middle School’s cooking club. It was informative and fun to sit in on your class. Plus, I got to eat homemade spaetzle.

  I am indebted to several readers for their feedback. To the ladies of the MG All Stars critique group—Margaret Dilloway, Karina Glaser, Leah Henderson, Janet Sumner Johnson, Casey Lyall, Ki-Wing Merlin, Timanda Wertz—I know you have my back. Thanks to the following authors and educators for their reads on specific content: Carole Lindstrom, Naomi Milliner, and Aliza Werner.

  Our editor, Jennifer Greene, has loved this novel and trusted me and Saadia to do our best with it all along. That has been a real gift. We appreciate you, Jennifer. Thanks to the entire team at Clarion Books, especially Anne Hoppe, Amanda Acevedo, and Samantha Brown for making us feel like part of the HMH family.

  This book is about family, and I couldn’t have written it without mine. My brothers Rex and Jason Dickson continue to be important people in my life. Special thanks to Jay for reading drafts of all my books. My parents, Franklyn and Pauline Dickson, have been stalwart supporters of my writing since I was small. It was my mother who taught me that making art is a necessary part of life, and for that I am forever grateful.