Food Narratives, Life Journeys, and Mussels Mariniere

Or how can you evolve if you are born evolved enough to love mussels?

Often, I have metaphysical questions about food beyond just thinking about how I’m always hungry. Often, I also have metaphysical questions about raising my 13 year old son beyond just thinking I’m probably not raising him well enough. Sometimes these questions collide like neutrinos in a particle accelerator - releasing quarks of thought that spin wildly in every which way. One of these recent quarks is about what my son will remember about food growing up and whether those memories will follow a storyline.

Much of my identity is rooted in food. And much of my food identity is wrapped up in my family’s immigrant journey. Each new food experience for me, as a kid and into early adulthood, was a stop along my family’s generation long march towards integration into American society. When we first came to America, Bengali food was all we knew. My dad used to tell stories about how he had pizza the first night he spent in America and was…dismayed. (He ended up loving pizza.) Many of my early memories are of us traveling god knows where searching for ingredients or suitable substitutions so we could approximate what my parents were used to eating back home in India. Back then there weren’t Asian grocery stores in every other suburb. The struggle was REAL.

My tastes evolved over time - from predominantly Indian, to my mom’s “Indian-ized” versions of American food (spicy pizza!), to the globalized tastes I developed as an adult. That evolution correlates to my identity morphing from Indian to American (causation is another story entirely, of course).

Will my son have a similar narrative? Either in his life or in his food habits? At the tender age of 13 his tastes are already as sophisticated and cosmopolitan as mine are. What will his evolution narrative be? Does he even need one? As he travels the world, he will surely develop nuance - a baguette is a baguette until you’ve had a baguette in France. But when you are born of the world, what drives food evolution? How do you evolve if you are born evolved enough to love mussels?

The first time I tried mussels was soon after I graduated college. I was with a friend I had just met in England and when I told her I had never had shellfish before, she was flabbergasted and took me straight to her family home in Normandy. I had only known her for about two weeks at that point. I had never traveled on my own before and India aside, I had never been outside of America. And I had certainly never followed through on such a big whim of hopping on a ferry to cross a rough channel just to eat something new with strangers. Everything felt foreign and new and it was all transformative.

The windswept coast, the grey sea, the smell of salt in the air, and my friend’s weathered parents all carried the gloss of magic that coats everything when you are experiencing something that you didn’t know you had been forever waiting to try. Reality and perception blur. And what you wanted something to be are so intricately entwined with what they actually were, it is meaningless to try to tease them apart in your memories. My memories of Calais are not, to say the least, objective.

But even now, years later, I can definitively say that the moules mariniere were sensational. With buttered baguettes it was love at first bite and was a definite stop on my food journey.

As I am apt to do in the summer, I had Lillet in the fridge. And as summer winds down I am trying to finish the bottle. As I am also apt to do in the summer, I decided to make mussels mariniere and on a whim I swapped out white wine for Lillet Blanc. To balance the sweetness I added red chili flakes before the garlic. To up the acidity I added tomato paste which I browned before adding the Lillet and some lemon.

This was a revelation - sweet and briny and spicy. Making mussels is incredibly easy. As the mussels steam and open up, they contribute their brine and basically do the cooking for you. Everything transforms as they do their thing and you have virtually nothing to do with it. After the mussels open up, I take them out and let the broth reduce slightly to concentrate the flavor. If any don’t open, toss them aside.

Perhaps these constructs of food journeys and life stories are an anomaly, to be experienced by only a few generations. As the world gets smaller everyone is born more cosmopolitan. Immigration is no longer the metaphysical journey it used to be. I see young people coming over from India now and they are more worldly than I am. Perhaps food journeys take on other dimensions that I haven’t had the luxury of experiencing but that my son will.

As for that bottle of Lillet, its journey is almost over. A martini or two is all that’s left. But that’s a whole other post.

Do you have a food journey? What is it about?

Moules With Lillet Mariniere

A few more mussels than you can possibly eat
1 medium yellow onion
As many cloves of garlic as you want, chopped
1/2 cup Lillet Blanc
1 Tbsp tomato paste
1/2 a Lemon

Mussels are impossibly easy to make. And incredibly delicious. And surprisingly affordable. It deserves all the superlatives. Make sure your mussels are debearded. You can gently scrub them and just pull any strands out with your fingers. I like to pack the mussels in as much ice as I can when I buy them, and I generally buy mussels the same day I use them. Although a day in the fridge isn’t a great tragedy. I submerge them in ice water for about thirty minutes before I cook them.

Start by adding olive oil to a large dutch oven or a heavy bottom vessel with high sides and add red pepper flakes to taste. My tastes correspond to a lot of red pepper flakes. Let them sizzle for just a second or two and add onions and garlic. Once the onions are soft, add some tomato paste (perhaps a tablespoon) and let it brown - 2 minutes or so. Deglaze with Lillet and let the alcohol burn off (a minute or so). You don’t need to add much liquid because the mussels will generously provide.

Cover and let steam for about 5 minutes or until all the mussels have opened up. Discard any that don’t open. Squeeze in half a lemon. And some herbs if you have them around and are so inclined. Cilantro works great. So does parsley. At this point, you can serve or, as I like to do, take the mussels out, and let the sauce reduce by 25% to concentrate the flavors. Season at this point with salt and pepper too. Some people add cream, or creme fraiché just before serving. I find that just gets in the way of the taste. Serve with bread. Preferably something crusty like your soul.