Ethnic recipes throw me into the same sort of quandry as that proposed “interracial” box on the census form: the concept seems so historically vague, so cheerfully openended, as to be virtually meaningless. Everyone I know has at least three different kinds of cheese in their fondue. I suppose I could serve myself up as something like Tragic Mulatta Souffle, except that I’ve never gotten the hang of souffles. (Too much fussing, too little reward.) So as far as this world’s concerned, I’ve always thought of myself as just plain black. Let’s face it: however much my categories get jumbled when I hang out at my favorite kosher sushi spck in a regional sense, since most blacks in the United States until recently lived in the Southeast. He loves pig. He uses lard.
