Food Literacy: From Food Map to Food Poetry

Throughout 2019, Food Literacy entered my life. Last year, Ruth Reichl's Save Me the Plums topped my favorite books of the year. Through various unknown circumstances (kismit, I believe they call it), I ended up reading a number of gourmet memoirs (Notes from a Young Black Chef by Kwame Onwuachi, The Monk of Mokha by Dave Eggers) and even other books I loved circulated around food (Wild Game by Adrienne Brodeur, With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo). During NCTE's #WhyIWrite month, a variety of people talked about food writing in the classroom and beyond.

Food is at the center of what we do, and (in honest transparency here) I'm a bit of a food nut. It's not just that I like eating, it's that I care a lot about what enters my body. Maybe it's my part time work in the fitness industry, maybe it's the copious amount of food prepping I do on Sunday nights, or maybe it's all the Netflix and Hulu cooking shows I binge-watch on any given weekend, but I love to talk about food.

I knew I wanted to do something with food in my classroom. I knew I wanted students to talk about food, present food, and maybe enjoy food. It felt wild and innovative, and I drafted a rough outline of what I was thinking about doing with my freshmen.

"Their book... has become my bible"
Link to the text.

Then I went to NCTE 2019 in Baltimore, and everything changed. This idea, which popped up in the periphery of every single day, came into focus when I went to a session titled Say Yes to Pears: Food Literacy in and Beyond the English Classroom. Here I heard Joseph Franzen and Brent Peters speak passionately about how food literacy changed their classroom. We were soon writing, mapping and drafting ideas.

For years, I've tinkered with a poem about my father and plantain, but in this short, magic session wiith Franzen and Peters, I produced what's been simmering inside me for years. Attendee after attendee spoke passionately about food, and I realized, my scope for food literacy was too small. 

Rather than do a small cookbook with my freshmen, I aimed higher. My upper level elective this spring is American Dream / American Nightmare. I love the class, and I love the texts. But the problem with the class is, how much can you talk about the American Dream? Especially since if you talk to any of my students, they usually can answer the problems with the American Dream in the first five minutes. There's the talk of "money can't buy happiness" "white picket fence" "poverty" "disparity" "the immigration issue" "politics." I know it sounds riveting. But trust me here: this class hits the same note every day no matter how you gloss it up.

Enter food literacy. My thought was: instead of talking American Dream through the usual avenues, why not examine American Dream through food. Let's experience tea and lemon cakes while reading Gatsby (something Franzen and Peters pointed out) or Jewish cuisine while reading Kavalier and Clay or how about Mary Janes while reading The Bluest Eye! The field was open, and it's changed everything.

So what have we done so far?

We started with food maps. Franzen and Peters talk extensively about this process in their book which, in no time, has become my bible. While writing our food maps, students engaged with community beverages. Since Day 1, these maps fueled our inspiration. 

From there, students did Ignite presentations on food in their life. It was great way to get to know my students. I learned about the lava cake from Domino's, how to make perfect dumplings, and the dozens of different kimchi. I heard about the best bubble tea places, the must go to restaurants locally, in Martha's Vineyard, and in Paris. I saw pictures of the best dive fast food place in Florida. The guilty pleasures of chips and mayo on bread. And many, many students admitted to their "ice cream problem." 

It was joyful. 

Simultaneously, we also were involved in an American Poet author study, examining authors who wrote about food in their lives—sometimes in cursory ways, other times in more substantive ways. We looked at what these authors did: enjambment, conceits, alliteration, assonance. To call it my most successful teaching of poetry would be an understatement.

If you're thinking about this, here are a number of authors we looked at:
Having a Coke With You - Frank O'Hara
Blackberry Eating - Galway Kinnell
Persimmons - Li-Young Lee
Everything On It - Shel Silverstein
Vespers - Louise Gluck
Potato - Jane Kenyon
A Miracle for Breakfast - Elizabeth Bishop

Here's a link to a quick write we did. For each author, I created a quick write that went over a different skill.

And what my students created (emulated) was powerful, personal and, most importantly, well crafted. Here's some of my favorites:

Will L created this beautiful poem from memories with his grandmother, titled brilliantly, "One Ton of Love." Here's an excerpt:

I season the ground pork like I remember
my grandma would—
a little sprinkle of salt,
a little pinch of sugar,
a little drizzle of sesame oil.
Ginger, scallions, mushrooms, bok choy
minced, mashed and mixed—
a moist, marvelous sensation between my fingers.

Forefinger and thumb
peel each delicate white sheet
of dough from the stack.
Spoonfuls of fresh, fragrant filling
fixed in the center.

Grandma's invisible hands
gently guide mine—
a fold, another fold, a twist, and a pinch,
a finger lick of water to seal the edges.
Careful not to crease too hard
to split the skin, as grandma would say,
but just enough
to seal in the flavors—
a treasure within
a fragile chest

One by one
wontons line up
in uniform rows from edge to edge
on the flour-dusted glass table
like the robust Terracotta soldiers.

Valerie L's Early Morning Reverie gripped me with it's gorgeous opening imagery:
The steam lags and curls up towards my
open palms — open to the offering
of warmth, of some semblance of slumber
and its comforts. The wisps doodle lazily
in the air, coiling and crimping
until they finally fade into the pores

of my fingertips, which eagerly slide down along
the sides of the newly scorching mug.
They tingle.

Norah K recalled Silverstein's use of comedy in her poem Hold the...

Loud, noisy and disruptive
we waited. Two of them came by locking
eyes with each of us, notepads and pens at the ready.

Down the table they went as it got quiet. Two
voices spoke at a time, making the harder
decisions. Pens scribbled faster
than a turkey running on Thanksgiving, scrawling
the vital instructions for success.

I asked them to “hold the sauce”
“Hold the cheese” was heard further down,
“Hold the dressing”
“Hold the bread”
“Hold the lettuce”
“Hold the tomato”
“Hold the...”
“Hold the...”

Hold the.

Holding the clumps of cheese
and tons of tomato with the collection
of condiments and the slew of sauces
dripping down her arms,
the waitress toppled over with a slap and a squish.

Eyes widened, mouths dropped,
someone tried to hold in a snicker,
a smirk and a small shriek,
a girly giggle and a grin,
a chortle and a chuckle.

A “Sorry,”
finally choked out through tears,
“No sauce please.” 

This is just the start of our food journey. Next we're headed down the path of food narrative and dining days. What I can say is food allowed my students to open up to me from day one. We found common ground, we collaborated and created together. Soon, we'll be cooking. I can't wait to see where I will bring my students; more importantly, I can't wait to see where my students will bring me.

Daniel Valentin teaches American Dream, British Literature and English 9 at Horace Greeley High School. He is currently reading Apeirogon by Colum McCann and is listening to Hamilton: The Revolution by Lin Manuel Miranda. He wants his students to feel empowered through books. Follow him on Twitter @DanielJValentin