Mom was Pennsylvania Dutch through and through. Dad, too, except that his Pennsylvania Dutch parents traveled to India where they raised seven children and worked as missionaries for 20 years.
The result: our comparatively bland Pa Dutch diet was occasionally infused with eastern spices, the names of which did not fit on the tiny spice jar labels.
Despite the early introduction of exotic flavoring, it wasn’t until well into adulthood that I embraced the joy of cooking with spices.
I learned to cook with spices in church.
Little Redeemer in the East Falls neighborhood of Philadelphia has roots among Pa Dutch traditions, except that a good number of founding members shared a mongrel Scotch/Irish/English heritage. Still, the typical pot luck dinner at Redeemer was decidedly bland and heavy on meat, potatoes and pastry.
Then, around the turn of this latest century, we enjoyed having a student vicar from Puerto Rico. When he was about to leave, we planned a farewell party. “Any requests?” we asked.
“I’m really hungry for sancocho,” he responded. “Puerto Rican beef stew,” he translated. He waxed nostalgic at the thought of the peppery stew. When he noticed the horrified faces, he assured us. “It’s not spicy, just tasty.”
I googled sancocho and found a recipe with a lengthy list of ingredients, many of which were unfamiliar.
I have a basic rule in cooking. If I don’t know what it is I don’t put it in the pot.
I pared down the ingredients to the familiar, made some substitutes for convenience and filled a large pasta pot with the diverse ingredients: beef, spices, a ton of vegetables, lemons, bananas and burgundy. As I prepared to transport the pot to the church. My teenage son came running to help. “What smells so good?”
Once at the church, I did what any cook does. I stood back and watched. The pot quickly emptied. The vicar went back for seconds. Thirds, too. Success.
But sancocho was just the beginning of a new world of cooking.
It was at about the same time that our membership began to pick up among East African immigrants. Their cuisine was similar to the Puerto Rican fare I had just conquered. I learned still more about curries, garlic and fresh ginger.
And it was fun.
Savory soups and stews soon became the hallmark of Redeemer fellowship. Food was becoming a catalyst for change in our church.
Cultures began to blend with every stir of the pot. Changes which had been unimaginable a decade ago, were happening — under our very satisfied noses.