Chilies and Rain

The Great Plotnik read a wonderful story by Roshni Rustomji called "American Dhansak and the Holy Man of Oaxaca." It is the story of Parsi women living in Mexico and the life lessons exchanged by two neighbors, one Parsi and one Mexican. It is about the healing nature of good food. It is about love, and it is about chilies, the hotter the better, and it is about cultures intermingling across a bowl of dhansak, a plate of mole, a platter of crispy tortillas covered with curry and avocadoes.

The Great Plotnik knows about cultures intermingling, life dancing on a spoon of desire, spinning on the juice-filled tip of an overripe lime, heat and moisture and migrations across the earth.

We of the thousand generations of wanderers, of countless meals eaten on the hunt and on the lam, of sharing events of the day around campfires and cookstoves, in kitchens and dining rooms and in hovels and palaces and on dirt floors and mosaic tiles and in peace and in war. Migrations move us, improve us, keep us strong. We bring with us what we love best.

Our food. As we share meals around our favorite tables, we tell our best tales. The sweeter the sauce, the spicier the story. We learn about ourselves as we eat the foods of others. And then, when our friends' stories make us cry, when the hardships we have all endured become too much to bear, then we put down our spoons, hand our new neighbor our glasses, wipe our eyes on our sleeves and shake our heads, and in an obscure corner of some dry desert on Earth -- it rains.