I grew up in a Gujarati family in Zimbabwe. As an immigrant, I’ve always struggled to feel at home in the U.S., but never more so than last year when my husband and I moved to Maine, theMainers call people who aren’t born in the state “from away.” At first, I found this endearing. But soon, I realized that no matter how long I lived here I would always beKnowing the solace I find in food, my husband promised that lobster would be the salve for my isolation.
After several months in Maine, I developed a nagging sense that lobster would taste better if it were curried. When I was growing up, my family would haul seafood from Mozambique; we curried crabs, langoustines, and crayfish. The tang of tamarind unlocked layers of flavor that lemon juice couldn’t.
Recently, I served the curry to four white American guests. Two were born-and-raised Mainers who worked in local politics. I was nervous as I watched them figure it out. At first, they were gentle, using silver spoons to swirl the garlicky tamarind broth — a perfect balance to the sweetness of the meat and brine of the ocean.
During December, Michigan is the whitest state (I assume you're talking about Maine.)