This space, while to theme, is a space for me to talk about formative issues that affect you as students and a take on current issues that may be affecting the student population. With that being said, let’s discuss the politics of food, and how that affects different cultures. While I can only discuss this from my perspective, I still want to open that kōrero.
Growing up for me meant simple meals, made for survival. It was never big kai or going out because we lived well below the poverty line. What does that mean you ask? Well, bread was and is a meal and it’s not something that you could be picky about. You realise quickly that you’re eating to survive when glasses of water replace nutrients needed to grow into a strong rangatahi, but is that the problem of your parents, or the society they’ve been thrust into?
I have a very hearty Māori father who did all he could with the sudden arrival of 2 growing boys, and he made meals seem more exciting than they actually were. Things like make your own kai night, consisting of eating tomato sauce and some onion and calling her gourmet. While I may not always see eye to eye with him, my dad always tried as hard as he could with what we had. Growing up Māori means, for me, big kai when we’re on the marae. It means eating as much as you can because you’re uncertain where your next meal will be coming from. I’m not attempting to garner sympathy from you, dear reader, but help you understand the privilege of food.
I didn’t realise how divisive kai could be until I was in the dating world, navigating through privilege, understanding how that worked for me, and opening up with potential partners. For me, food isn’t something I care too much about – I’m not picky, and I certainly don’t care about ‘textures’ or ‘flavour profiles.’ This is why going out to eat ‘someplace nice’ doesn’t thrill me. An ex of mine had chastised me for choosing to eat Vegemite sandwiches as a birthday dinner option, without understanding the luxury that is spread on bread. For no apparent reason, their decision to tease and ridicule a decision for putting Vegemite on bread has stuck with me. Making someone feel less than for valuing simple pleasures just does nothing for the world; so why fucking do it?
The way that I make my editorial space into such a sad diatribe about the harsh realities of growing up is far too much, but here’s what’s important for you to take-away (hah, food joke) from this: food can be the biggest nostalgic weapon in your life but it can also, like me, be the reason you are the way you are. Food is just food, but the memories attached to food can be some of the most formative. Remember that when you’re cooking a huge pot of spag bol and laughing with your flatties – those are memories you’ll cherish.
