My grandmother’s biryani,
a rice dish usually served with
rich meats and yogurt sauce,
is famous among my family
and friends. If anyone ever
pays a visit to Kolkata, a city in
the East Indian state of West
Bengal, they make sure to stop
by her apartment. And any visit
to my grandmother’s apartment
warrants a feast. Once, when
there was a gathering at her
apartment, I saw her wake up
at the crack of dawn to start
cooking. By lunchtime, colossal
dishes of biryani were taken
out from the kitchen, along
with equally large quantities
of chicken and goat meat. I
watched 30 relatives squeeze
into the small space, happy to
see each other but just as happy
to eat the food in front of them.
I’ve always been surrounded
by traditional Indian cooking
— specifically Bengali cooking.
I’m used to accidentally eating
a whole chilli pepper at least
once a week, and I know the
best remedies for this situation
(cold yogurt and sweet fruits,
but never water). I very rarely
eat dishes without two or three
different types of spices. Often,
one dish is so spicy that the
lingering taste makes the rest
spicy, too. My grandparents
always ask me if I can “take
the spice” in their cooking, as
if it’s a competition. Spice is
embraced in Indian cooking,
and I’m accustomed to my eyes
watering from the food I eat.
However, I’ve also grown up
in America my whole life. I’ve
eaten my fair share of B-Dubs
and Jimmy Johns, especially
since coming to college. But
when I’m eating these foods,
there seems to be something
missing from the mix. I love
my boneless wings as much as
anyone, but somehow it doesn’t
feel the same, even if I’m eating
with my family. After being a
college freshman for a semester,
I believe I understand why.
Indian cooking is integrally
different
from
American
cooking.
The
approach
to
cooking, the way it’s done,
how it’s eaten and so much
more
factor
into
Indian
dishes. But I think the biggest
component to Indian cooking
is the people surrounding it.
The social aspect of buying
the
ingredients,
cooking
and spending time together
make Indian food more of
an experience than an end
product.
To explain what I mean, I’ll
revisit my grandmother. Early
in the morning, my grandfather
stops by the outdoor market on
his daily walk through Kolkata.
When I walked through one
of these markets, I was struck
at the sheer amount of noise
there was. Merchants yell out
prices, live animals squawk and
rickshaws blare their horns in
the streets. I remember seeing
multiple chickens running on
the loose through the market
plaza. My grandfather always
barters for the prices until
he’s satisfied. He brings home
fresh vegetables and meat from
animals butchered that day.
Every single day.
Once the food is prepared,
which usually takes two or
three hours, we always eat
together. We use a central
carb, like rice or roti (a type
of flatbread), to eat all the
other dishes. The other dishes
are usually gravy based, with
a mixture of many cooked
vegetables, or meat curry. No
meal is complete without dal
(similar to lentil soup). Dal
never gets old — there are so
many types that I’ve barely
learned what they’re all called.
We eat together for lunch and
dinner. The times that we eat
are naturally correlated with
when we talk, tell stories and
laugh. The dinner table has
always been a lively place for
me — even after eating we linger
at the table for hours. If guests
come over, the whole evening is
spent around the table eating
endless food and chatting.
We tend to have one extra
meal for “tea time.” At five
in the afternoon, everyone
sits together to have tea and
samosas (a triangular folded
pastry with vegetable filling).
If we want to call guests over
in the afternoon, we ask them
to come have tea with us. If this
happens, “tea time” can last for
hours. If we call guests over
during meal times, three or
four new dishes are prepared.
It’s not uncommon for guests to
come over and even participate
in the cooking that the host
started. It’s the cooking process
and the interaction that comes
with it that makes it special —
not so much the end product.
Thus,
everyone’s
life
practically revolves around the
food they eat. If anyone stops by
for a visit, they have to be given
food first. It can be as small as
some sweets or a whole dinner,
but most times the first question
asked is, “Will you eat?” The
answer is always yes. If I’m at
home, I know what each meal
of the day will consist of before
I even eat breakfast. The house
perpetually smells like spices,
but most times I don’t realize
it until I leave the house and
am greeted by the smell when
I come back inside. When I
open my bedroom door, I know
what’s being cooked because
the whole house is filled with
the aroma.
Indian food cooked at home
brings a togetherness that I
just can’t seem to replicate
anywhere else. Stepping inside
my grandmother’s home in
Kolkata, or even my home in
MI, means that I’m immersed
in the art of Indian cooking
and the social bonds that come
with it. My grandmother offers
me a thousand different foods
when I walk through the door.
Feeding me is her priority
because she takes immense
delight in sharing her food with
others. And I wouldn’t want to
have it any other way.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
b-side
Thursday, February 1, 2018 — 3B
TRINA PAL
Daily Arts Writer
Nestled
on
Main
Street,
between
Shinola
and
Da
Vinci’s Salon & Gallery lies
Ten Thousand Villages. Carol
Grafton,
event
coordinator
and visual merchandiser for
the shop, tells me she loves
the location: in the heart of
downtown, next to plenty of
restaurants, bars and venues that
can get crowded during peak
hours. Grafton smiles when she
calls Ten Thousand Villages a
good date store, one that catches
the eyes of stumblers waiting for
open doors or a table.
It’s easy to see why she
thinks so — the interior of Ten
Thousand Villages is covered,
ceiling to floor, with works of
art for sale from around the
world. Some of them are more
marketable
than
others,
of
course, but it’s just enough to
get the cogs of the mind turning.
Maybe we could put this in the
kitchen? This would look great in
your bathroom. Move in with me.
Er, sorry, I’m getting distracted.
When I walk into the store,
however, it’s a rainy Tuesday
morning and I’m alone. A sweet
salesperson
named
Bonnie
greets me, telling me about Ten
Thousand Villages’s mission and
variety of artwork. We begin at
the middle of the store, perusing
some jewelry made of thick shell-
like discs and strung together
by a rustic cotton cord. Bonnie
tells me that the discs are made
from the tagua nut, which comes
from a South American palm
tree species. I turn the smooth,
sturdy sections of the necklace in
my hand — it feels high quality.
As Grafton takes the lead
from Bonnie and guides me
throughout the rest of the store,
she gives me the lowdown on
Ten Thousand Villages.
“We’re the oldest fair-trade
store [in the world], started by
one little woman: Edna Ruth
Byler,” she said. When Byler
visited Puerto Rico in 1946 with
her family, she was amazed at
the diligence and work ethic
of the women there. Struck by
the quality and uniqueness of
their textiles, Byler bought their
needlework and brought it to the
United States to sell. Grafton
also mentioned, “We started the
fair-trade federation.”
Since 1946, Ten Thousand
Villages
has
expanded
immensely. There are currently
52 locations across the United
States that carry more than
just Puerto Rican textiles. On
my way through the store,
I see necklaces made from
repurposed bomb casings in
Cambodia, coasters made from
newspapers in Vietnam and
wall décor made from oil drums
in Haiti. The necklaces are
stylish and fashion-conscious,
like something you might see
at Urban Outfitters, while the
coasters and wall décor are more
clearly designed with an eco-
friendly aesthetic and mind.
“Ten
Thousand
Villages
encourages
recycling
and
sustainable products,” Grafton
mentioned.
“We try to stay with the
trends,” she added. Grafton
shared
that
Ten
Thousand
Villages
works
on
a
more
personal level with their artisans
from around the world.
“We
work
and
cobble
together,” she continued. “It’s a
partnership. We have to make
sure it’s going to sell. It has to
be
readily
available,
unique
products that you wouldn’t find
in other stores. Something a part
of their tradition and part of
their culture.”
As
Bonnie
leads
me
throughout the rest of the store, I
see a good deal of other products
that resemble what you could see
at a Hallmark or a Home Goods.
Some of the seasonal goods
are very clearly commissioned
with a clear aesthetic in mind,
and marked down because it’s
past the holidays. I point some
of these out, wondering how
much the artisans are paid
after the markdown. Grafton is
nonplussed, and said, “When we
mark it down, people will come
in and ask, well, how much did
the artisans actually get paid?
We pay them half at the start of
the job, and half once it makes it
through customs, so the artisans
are paid in full before it even
sells here.”
I look around some more,
noticing that not all of the
products seem so idiosycratic.
At the back, on a wide table that
takes a good deal of floorspace,
are
beautiful
blown-glass
goblets, decanters, pitchers and
carafes from the West Bank.
Each of them has the faint opacity
and texture of sea glass, but with
wavy and intricate patterns. The
most arresting works of art in the
store are those that are tied most
closely to a region’s heritage, like
the baskets from Bangladesh
and Uganda or the singing bowls
from Nepal.
Ten
Thousand
Villages
usually
finds
their
artisans
through co-op houses around
the world.
“A lot of our artisans are out in
the country,” Grafton said. “We
provide health care and make
sure the tenets of fair trade are
being met. We’re very vendor
focused. We ask them what they
need to make a living and stick
with our artisans for 20 years.”
Unlike
some
other
retail
chains, Ten Thousand Villages
is devoted to strengthening
the communities from which
they are sourced. From the
beginning,
Ten
Thousand
Villages focused on supporting
the work of women — a goal
that they continue to strive to
meet. Women from around the
world are given the work skills
they need to be independent and
productive members of their
society.
Ten Thousand Villages also
relies on its rich history of fair
trade and international art work
with which the average customer
may not be so familiar.
“Ann Arbor is a very educated
community, but I don’t think
that was the case a couple years
ago,” Grafton said.
She goes on to explain that
much of their training deals
with
teaching
workers
and
volunteers about the tenets of
fair trade. I think back to when
I stepped into the store, and
Bonnie immediately opened up
to me about the principles of Ten
Thousand Villages.
Since Ten Thousand Villages
follows a non-traditional retail
model, many of their workers are
volunteers.
“I had been asked to be on the
start-up team,” Grafton said. “I
started as a volunteer for about
a year, and then I started doing
some visual merchandising part-
time.”
She has worked with the
downtown
location
since
it
opened 13 and a half years ago.
Both her lengthy tenure and the
quantity of volunteers leads me
to think that those who work at
Ten Thousand Villages really
believe in their message.
While Ten Thousand Villages
has found a home on Main
Street, they still struggle to
connect with the University and
student organizations. Grafton
makes a point of saying that “it
takes eight hours a month to be
a volunteer, and we’re always
looking for more, especially
students.”
Because of this, Ten Thousand
Villages has had to reach out to
the University, and on Feb. 6, they
will be hosting a book discussion
on Yaa Gyasi’s “Homegoing”
with
Brenda
McGadney-
Douglass, a social work professor
from the University of Toledo.
For those that can make it,
the store promises a bounty of
fair-trade coffee and chocolate
sampling. But for others, Ten
Thousand Villages will remain
cozy on Main Street, waiting for
a fortunate wanderer to come in
and seek shelter from the rain.
Ten Thousand Villages
brings art from around
the world to Ann Arbor
The art of Indian cooking
JACK BRANDON
Daily Film Editor
In the heart of downtown, a shop with art from all over the world
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
SINGLE REVIEW: ‘HOW SIMPLE’
On “How Simple,” Philly-
based indie rock band
Hop Along combines more
instruments on a single
track than they ever have
before. The single arrives
ahead of the group’s third
album, Bark Your Head Off,
Dog. Scheduled to release
in just over two months on
Apr. 6, the album is their
first since 2015’s Painted
Shut (though their 2012
debut, Get Disowned, was
reissued in 2016). The
track signals not a shift in
the quartet’s style, but an
elaboration upon the impec-
cable style they already pos-
sess. “How Simple” opens
with acoustic strumming,
Frances Quinlan’s singular
voice jumping in immedi-
ately, almost as if she’d been
waiting this entire time.
Soon after, electric gui-
tar, percussion and then
synthesizer enter the mix.
While Mark Quinlan’s
drumming propels the piece
forward for the majority of
its duration, other instru-
ments dip in for short bouts,
rarely remaining for more
than 25 seconds. The song
is just under four minutes,
but feels epic as it moves
through countless overlap-
ping but distinct motifs —
there’s even what sounds
like a hand-clap sample at
one point. “How Simple” is
a journey through various
stages of unrest, anxiety
and fear, though Quinlan’s
voice never quite cracks as
we’ve heard it do before.
Nonetheless, her perfor-
mance is emotive as ever.
“How simple my heart can
be / Frightens me,” she
sings during a section that
most closely resembles a
chorus. As the song draws
to a close, we’re treated to
a calming violin melody,
which pairs quite nicely
with Quinlan’s voice as the
two reach a disarmingly
content conclusion.
– Sean Lang, Daily Arts
Writer
Saddle Creek
“How Simple”
Hop Along
Saddle Creek
TEN THOUSAND VILLAGES ANN ARBOR
TEN THOUSAND VILLAGES ANN ARBOR