When baristas hand over your low-fat latte, you probably don’t consider the paths that brought them to stand across the counter from you. But at 1951 Coffee Company, the Berkeley café that opened in January and is staffed entirely by refugees, the baristas’ life journeys are actually the point.

A tall gentleman with an intense gaze and a quiet voice, David [not his real name] takes orders for coffee, tea and muffins from the line of morning customers. David left his home in Uganda when he feared persecution under his country’s repressive policies. The former lawyer escaped to Nairobi, Kenya, where he waited in a refugee camp for two years until the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) found a spot to resettle him in the U.S. But first, he had to successfully complete the vetting process, a subject he wants Americans to understand. “It breaks my heart,” he says, “that people think it is so easy to come into this country. It is very hard; it is definitely an ‘extreme vetting process,’ which can take many years and requires interviews by agents from the FBI, CIA and the Department of Justice.”

By the time he was hired at 1951 Coffee, David had almost given up hope of landing the job he so badly needed. He had already used up some of his limited funds to pay for clothes and transportation to 16 entry-level job interviews at hotels, nursing homes, and businesses. All turned him down, which left him deeply discouraged. He assumed that the combination of his skin color and accent led him to be judged and feared rather than given a chance. He now works at the café five days a week and is actively looking for a second job for the night shift to make ends meet. “As a refugee and a person of color in the Bay Area,” David adds, “I tremble all the time, worrying about my safety everyday. “But,” he adds, “I love this country and look forward to serving it in some way to thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Before founding 1951 Coffee Company with Rachel Taber, Doug Hewitt’s job as an employment specialist at the International Rescue Committee (IRC), included preparing refugees for job interviews. He repeatedly witnessed a disheartening pattern: on the way to the interview, the refugees would chat with him personably. “But when prospective employers started asking them questions, they would get nervous,” explains Hewitt. “Their English would become even more ‘broken.’” They also might lose points for the way they answered typical American job interview questions, such as “Where do you see yourself in five years?” While this sounds like a simple query, an honest reply is not necessarily what the employer is looking for. Digital barriers add even more challenges today, as most applications must be completed online. When it asks for previous job experience, the location can only be selected from a list of the 50 states. There is no field to enter international job experience and without the conventional list of references, most prospective employers just don’t want to take the risk of hiring a refugee.

Hewitt would discuss these concerns with Taber, a co-worker at IRC, over a cup of coffee. Their shared love for the caffeinated beverage led to charts listing their ratings of nearby coffee spots and a jointly owned espresso machine for their office. “Okay, you can call it an obsession,” says Taber, smiling. They began to envision a place where refugees could be trained and supported while gaining the experience that could further their work lives. Hewitt, who had experience working as a coffee roaster, imagined many opportunities this field could offer refugees. They agreed that refugees + café seemed like a winning combination.

Taber, whose background is in fundraising, saw the Bay Area as the perfect place for this kind of social entrepreneurism, with its longtime support for immigrants and refugees coupled with an appreciation of high-end coffee culture. Though they faced numerous hurdles, many organizations and individuals (including the First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley, who owned the space where their restaurant is housed and the Montaag design firm) appeared –almost miraculously– to offer support.

The year 1951 in the café’s name refers to a convention held by the UNHCR in Geneva in 1951. During that convention, the word “refugee” and the guidelines for protecting them were first defined. That fact and many other details about the long arduous journey that refugees face are illustrated with artwork that lines the walls of the café. “We want this to be a space for education and for starting dialogues, says Taber.

Another employee is slowly and carefully steaming milk. Nazira has a shy smile and a workable command of English, even though she has only been in the U.S. for two months. Before she left Afghanistan, she was a journalist for TV, radio and newspapers and also worked with the AJSC, an organization in Afghanistan that advocates for female journalists who face a special set of challenges. Her husband had applied for and received a Special Immigrant Visa, which is usually given to those who have provided valuable service to the United States Government.

Although in her job as journalist, Nazira spent one month traveling around the U.S. in 2014 to report on our midterm elections, that exposure did not prevent the difficulties she has had in adjusting. Leaving her home and family and the ensuing culture shock made her ill for the first three weeks she was here. She felt physically safe but mentally upset and cried often. The stress was extreme. “We had nothing here, “Nazira says. “I had so many things in my heart but no one to talk to about them.” She went to IRC for help and found Hewitt and Taber.

“I needed a job. I wanted to get out of the house and stand on my own two feet. When I met Rachel, she was so kind. I didn’t know anything about coffee, but she hired me.” Nazira learned how to prepare coffee plus the cultural code of American customer service. But she still finds many challenges in her new home, including transportation. “We wait such a long time for the bus every day. Why don’t the citizens try to do something about this?” Nazira asks. She wants to go to college, but cannot afford to do so until she has been a resident for one year.

“The people here are good, they have been so supportive to me,” says Nazira, “but not the system. In my country, we may be poor, but education is free. I don’t understand why the media doesn’t report on this, as well as need for better public transportation and health care. At home, we used to have as high as 85% illiteracy, but people still listened to the radio and were involved with the issues that affected their lives.”

The large diorama on the wall shows the refugee’s long path to resettlement, which can take from 5 to 20 years. That latter number was the case for 1951 Coffee’s senior barista, Meg, who is in a constant state of motion around the cafe, supporting other employees, checking the bathroom, making sure everything is running smoothly. When Meg was 2 years old, his family fled Bhutan and spent the next 20 years in a massive Nepali refugee camp with 1,400 other families. Life was hard: they were only allotted rice and a few vegetables and had to cover their flimsy huts with plastic to withstand the summer rains. In 2007, after a fire quickly spread through the thatched bamboo-covered huts in the camp, his family had to live in the jungle for two months. Meg went to school in the camp and became a teacher of English, math, and science. He probably never imagined that eventually, he would be teaching other refugees about coffee culture in the U.S.

Long before the birth of the 1951 Coffee concept, when Doug Hewitt was just volunteering with IRC, he hired Meg to occasionally package the coffee he was roasting for his job at Boot Coffee Consulting in Marin. He also saw how Meg tried to get steady work but was repeatedly turned down for his lack of skills. Finally, Chipotle, who had a relationship with IRC, decided to open several new restaurants, including one at 50 California in San Francisco. Since it was a new location they gave all their new hires, including Meg, a week of training. He became one of Chipotle’s best workers and was eventually offered a management position. Witnessing the way that training made all the difference, Hewitt asked Meg if he could recreate that experience for the refugees at IRC. Hewitt set up a volunteer “food service training” program at IRC, which only happened on intermittent Fridays. While he and other volunteers offered English classes, Meg handled the hands on training.

When Chipotle offered him a job as a manager, Meg had to turn it down because the long days required would not have allowed him to fulfill his other obligations, which included volunteering at IRC to help newly arrived refugees. He was also attending Laney College, taking classes in English, math and business, taking care of his parents and playing soccer. He recently married Indira, a woman he knew from the camp. But Indira lives in Vancouver, where she takes care of her parents, while Meg and his parents live here. The couple meets in Seattle when they can.

Meg’s goal is to open a restaurant or a non-profit that combines food service and refugees. In September 2016, he became an American citizen in an emotional ceremony with 1000 other new Americans at Oakland’s Paramount Theater. “It’s a blessing. I am so proud.” His message to other refugees is: “You have to believe in yourself.”

“Some groups try to raise money for refugees by only highlighting their vulnerabilities,” says Hewitt. “We were inspired by these amazing people, their resilience and determination to work through challenges together as a team.” He and Taber hope this model can be replicated across the country.

Listen to two stories on the California Report about 1951 Coffee Company:
• An overview of 1951 Coffee Company
• Interviews with Batool and her family, Syrian refugees, who have been here 2 years

1951 Coffee Company
2410 Channing Way [Map]
Berkeley, CA 94704
Ph: (510) 280-6171
Hours: Mon-Fri 7am-7pm, Sat-Sun 8am-7pm
Facebook: 1951 Coffee Company
Twitter: @1951coffee
Instagram: 1951coffee

They’ve won accolades for their silken hummus and rainbow of organic salads, but for the owners of Oakland’s Ba-Bite, the most precious thing the almost two-year old restaurant can display right now may be the Sanctuary Restaurant poster on their front door. (While “Sanctuary Restaurant” is not a legal designation, its slogan, “a place at the table  for everyone” signifies a growing movement for inclusion, diversity and dignity).

Ba-Bite is Hebrew for “at home.” Even though most of Mica Talmor and Robert Gott’s employees don’t speak Hebrew, (besides English, they speak Spanish, Maya, and Arabic) they completely understand the concept. The majority of them — like most food service workers in the Bay Area — are immigrants. After walking across deserts at night, being shortchanged or abused in other restaurants where they could not complain, working at Ba-Bite feels like they have found a family.

Russell Chable manages the kitchen at Ba-Bite and is responsible for set up, prepping, and cooking. He grew up in a tiny town in Mexico’s Yucatan. When he was 18, he set off alone on a journey to a new land. The oldest of 5 brothers, he was determined to make enough money to send to his parents so they could build a proper house of concrete, instead of the rickety wooden structure where they all lived. He accomplished that goal after three years working double shifts in Thai, American and Louisiana restaurants. He started as a dishwasher and worked his way up to his lead position in Ba-Bite.

After eight years away from home, Russell missed his mom. Sure, he would talk to her on the phone every week, but he wanted to see her face. So this determined young man decided to build his parents a cell tower so that he could FaceTime with his mom. Six months ago, he made contact with a man back in Mexico who outlined what would be needed: laptops, cables and a cell tower. Russell had his uncle check out the man and then sent money. Now he uses FaceTime to talk to his mom every week, and his parents have a small business renting out computer and internet time.

But given the recent actions of the new administration, Russell is scared and worried. He doesn’t feel welcome anymore. “When I walk on the street, I never know who is watching.” He has been working for Talmor and Gott for three years and feels like he has found another family at Ba-Bite. “Everyone cares about each other. The owners talk nicely to us. That is a different experience from the other places I worked. I feel so lucky. My message to other immigrants is ‘If you get the opportunity to come here, use it well.’”

Co-owner Mica Talmor was born in Israel and has tried to create a family feeling among her workers. “The day after the election was hard for all of us,” she says. “The workers were frightened. They have hard lives. We want to give them a place to work that’s nice, clean, happy and safe.”

“What do I tell my 90-year old Holocaust survivor grandmother who lives in Israel about what’s going on in this country with the current wave of hate crimes, threats and attacks against Jewish institutions? We have collective memory. Closing the door on refugees reminds me of family members who were detained as they left Europe for Israel after World War ll. Their boats were stopped in Cypress and they were put in refugee camps.”

Fatima Abudamos is from Jordan and works as cashier. She also holds the distinction as Ba-Bite’s best falafel shaper. As she stuffs the green balls with sheep’s milk feta, she says, “This is an amazing place, just like a family. I’ve worked here almost two years. Mica is not like a boss, she’s more like a friend. She doesn’t scream if you make a mistake; she explains things. I feel safe here; it’s my second family.”

Ironically, Fatima previously worked in another Middle Eastern Restaurant, but one owned by her uncle, where she did not feel appreciated. “Here, they thank me. They are nice and respectful. And,” she adds, “I love the food here; it’s organic and delicious.” Fatima’s father had lived in America previously and described it to his family before they moved here five years ago. “He told us it’s very clean. He explained about the lifestyle. You have to learn to smile at people and not stare at anyone too long. He also taught us that all people are human: white, black, Jewish.”

Gott points to the sign that states, “We stand with Our Muslim, Arab and Immigrant Neighbors.” We have gotten more pushback on this one than the Sanctuary sign. But the majority of customers have been extremely supportive. Some even apologized to one of our employees who wore a hijab, for the actions of the new administration. They hugged her, saying, ‘that doesn’t represent us’”.

His wife adds, “You only hate someone you’ve never met. The first time I met a Palestinian was here. My husband’s family was from Oregon. Then they moved to Idaho. I was the first Jew they had ever met.” Commenting on the tense developments that seem to be getting worse every day, she says, “If I wanted to live in a hateful society where half the people are treated unequally, I could have stayed in Israel.”

Talmor and Gott are no strangers to the food service business. A baker and a pastry chef who met in culinary school in 1998,  they have operated Savoy Events, a high-end catering company for more than a dozen years.

Not one to mince words, Talmor states, “It’s actually hard to hire Americans, because they generally don’t work as fast and they daydream. Probably they were coddled by their helicopter parents, ‘Oh, good job. You tied your shoes.’ The immigrants, who often grew up in large families, took on responsibilities from an early age, helping their families with laundry, cooking, taking care of younger siblings, all before they were 14. They had the personality, the drive and physical ability to walk across the desert for a better future. They have come here for the American Dream, to make a better life. And now they are excellent workers.”

“We pay all of our workers well,” says Gott. “Partly because we know how expensive it is to live here. My experience is that more often than not, immigrants are working multiple jobs or longer hours, and forgo taking time off at all costs, as they want to or need to make money. On the other side of the coin, most American workers I have hired over the years are much more willing to miss work for personal reasons. It could be that they don’t need the money, that they have busier personal lives or that they are not as invested in the businesses that they work for.”

“I understand why some people don’t want open borders,” Talmor says. “I can relate. I am a supporter of immigration reform and I think that if it wasn’t such a polarizing issue easily manipulated by our politicians, we could have a reasonable system that addresses our labor needs and the lives and dignity of immigrant workers. Like for example, in Canada.”

Kasandra Molina is 23 years old and has worked at Ba-Bite almost two years. She is a food runner and cleans up tables. She came from Guadalajara, Mexico with her mother, aunt and cousins when she was 7 years old. She remembers walking in the cold, sleeping in a hotel with a bunch of strangers, waiting for the “coyote” to tell them it’s time. They were picked up by immigration authorities twice, put in chilly cells without any blankets. When they finally made it, her father was waiting in a car. They came to Oakland. She started in a bilingual school in 4th grade. “But then we had to move and the next school was only in English,” she says. “The teacher was mean and always mad at me. She didn’t speak any Spanish, but the other students helped me and eventually I learned.“

“When I heard about the Dream Act, we went to meetings to find out about it and met with a lawyer. I had to show proof that I was here for 5 years, so we showed diplomas from school and medical records. Finally, about three years ago, I got my Social Security number and a work permit.” Kasandra is now going to college to become an RN. “I always liked medicine,” she says. “I’ve seen many babies born. It’s so amazing. And I always translate for my family in the ER.”

“The new president scares me. [Although the DACA program is safe right now] I’m worried. Seems like he can do whatever he wants. He changes his mind from one day to another. He has our number, and our address. I spent most of my childhood here. If we have to go back to Mexico, there’s nothing there, no house to live in,” she says. “Mica and Robert understand. This space here doesn’t feel like a workplace, it feels like home. We all get along. They care about our opinions and feelings. They don’t treat us just as employees; it’s more like a family.”

“This restaurant is my home and my family,” says Gott. “It just happens that most of my family are immigrants. We want to be a safe place and that’s why we joined Sanctuary Restaurants.”

Gott also helped out a longtime employee from El Salvador whose injury from stepping on a landmine never healed properly. “We gave him time off from work and money so that he could finally have the surgery he needed,” he says. “We wanted him to be here.”

“What will we do if ICE comes?” Talmor asks herself. ”We are one. If they come for one, they come for all. If you let one group be persecuted, it’s just a matter of time until they come for us all. It’s an erosion of values when the values are what we stand for. We will close the restaurant on May 1 so we can all go to the Day without Immigrants Demonstration in San Francisco together.”

Ba-Bite
3905 Piedmont Ave. [Map]
Oakland, CA 94611
Ph: (510) 250-9526
Hours: Sun-Thu 11am-8pm, Fri-Sat 11am-8:30pm
Facebook: Ba-Bite Piedmont
Twitter: @BaBiteOakland

Farid Rafaty dreams of opening a restaurant where he will cook dishes from his native Afghanistan. One of these would be the luscious mantu dumplings he recently made for a pop-up dinner sponsored by Oakland Bloom, an organization that wants to help him in his quest. It’s been a long journey. At age 14, Rafaty was walking home after getting a haircut when he was forcibly drafted by the pro-communist government as a soldier to fight against the Mujahideen and taken by helicopter to their army base. After spending three weeks trying to operate an anti-aircraft missile launcher, the determined young man escaped from the base and fled his country by walking all the way to Pakistan, where he eventually met up with his parents and eight siblings.

After several years living in France, Rafaty moved to Southern California, and ironically, got his wish to cook authentic Afghan food — for the U.S. Marine Corps training site in Twentynine Palms. The army had built a completely realistic Afghan town in the middle of the Mojave desert to train Marines before they were deployed to Afghanistan. “It had to be 100% accurate, from the shops to the colors of the clothing to the food,” explains Rafaty. “I was head of kitchen and cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for 220 Afghan ‘actors’ and 40 Special Forces soldiers.” Sometimes Rafaty was also assigned to act a role, such as head of the Secret Service, in exercises where American soldiers were tasked with finding “the bad guys.” The results were impressive. After a month living in the simulated Afghan village, the soldiers were ready. “I received many commendations, and the soldiers expressed their gratitude for preparing them so well, which was crucial to their survival,” says Rafaty. “Now, I want to give back to this wonderful country.” With Oakland Bloom’s help, Rafaty hopes to start a catering business and work his way up to a café where he can make real connections with his customers. “I want a place,“ he says, “where we all know each other’s families.”

Not all the refugees that Oakland Bloom mentors have as much food service experience as Farid Rafaty. Indeed, some have none at all. But the most important quality that Oakland Bloom founder Seanathan Chow looks for when choosing people for the training program is a love of cooking. After several years working to foster social entrepreneurialism as a start-up consultant and volunteering in a variety of non-profits, Chow switched gears to attend culinary school and then cook at Hawker Fare and Nopalito.

His “aha moment” came when he realized he could pair food and social impact to create economic opportunities for refugees and immigrants looking to start their own businesses. He founded Oakland Bloom in 2015. Now, he and his team run an intense two-week training program where refugees receive instruction in running a food business, operating a commercial kitchen, marketing, and testing recipes, all leading up to the Night Market, where they cook and serve their dishes to more than 100 guests.

These pop-up dinners, held monthly in the basement dining room of Oakland’s Clarion Hotel, give the emerging chefs an opportunity to handle a steady stream of customers and engage in conversation with them. Chow is still refining the structure and learning from each event. At the second dinner on March 12, he was dismayed to find that by the time the last two ticketed customers appeared, a couple of the chefs had run out of food. “It was a learning experience for us all,” says Chow, “I want to improve these events each time and use them as a testing ground for a permanent space.”

The next pop-up dinner on April 9 will feature timed seatings to more evenly distribute diners. Besides allowing the chefs to practice feeding people at these events, Chow’s vision also includes encouraging conversations about culture and inspiring guests to volunteer their skills (say in marketing or graphic design) to help these budding entrepreneurs succeed.

The youngest chef in the March 12 Night Market line-up was 23-year old Sara Tebege, who served home-style Eritrean foods atop discs of a dark flatbread. But this flatbread was not injera which is the large spongy crepe-like circles made primarily of teff flour that is a staple in Ethiopian and Eritrean meals.

Tebege featured a unique twist on another traditional flatbread that she calls anababiru, which is usually served in layers. Her dish featured smaller rounds upon which she spread awaze (spiced butter) and piled her doro tibs (spicy chicken) and misr wot (red lentil stew). She explained the significance of this “bread” to some of her customers, explaining that since it has a shorter rising time than injera, it was made every morning in her household and marked the start of the day.

Tebege is Eritrean. Since coming to the U.S. she has been working hard to improve herself and start a new life. When she connected with the International Rescue Committee (IRC) in 2014, she met Seanathan Chow who was then a volunteer. In 2015, Sara participated in Oakland Bloom’s food business training program (then in partnership with IRC’s New Roots Program), where participants were introduced to basic business concepts and various types of food businesses through guest lectures, field trips, and workshops.

Through the IRC, Tebege also met Doug Hewitt and recently completed the training program for 1951 Coffee Company. Although she hopes to start working at the café, quickly whipping up lattes for Berkeleyites on the go, her ultimate wish is to have her own café where she can offer the slower-paced, traditional Ethiopian/Eritrean coffee ritual that involves roasting the beans, grinding them, mixing the ground beans with water, then boiling and serving three rounds of coffee with snacks like popped sorghum. The daily ritual emphasizes slowing down and encourages participants to really talk to each other. Through her time with Oakland Bloom, Tebege came up with a name for her café: Mahaza, which means “friend” in Tigrinya, her native language.

At his recent pop-up dinner, Seanathan Chow contributed his own Burmese-inspired tamarind ginger soda. He explains that his motivation for establishing Oakland Bloom was personal: “My parents were immigrants from Burma, where my mom grew up in poverty. My uncle hid on a boat to get here, with only $10 in his pocket. I grew up hearing stories about what it took for my family to come here, and even more so how difficult it was upon arriving. Now my mom and uncle are both successful entrepreneurs,” says Chow. “They sacrificed a lot, but they’re proof that anything is possible with a little help from the community and loved ones. It’s heartbreaking when I meet immigrants who feel like owning a business is simply out of their reach. I want my participants to know that Oakland Bloom will support them for the long haul. We’re in this together.”

Chow’s ultimate goal is to open Oakland’s first Hawker Center inspired by the food courts for which Singapore is famous. He needs a warehouse or other covered space that would be big enough for each entrepreneur to have his/her own stall. After a pilot program, he hopes to make this a permanent fixture in Oakland. Another part of Chow’s plan is to enlist the help of guest chefs. The Hawker center would have stalls for refugees and immigrants plus Oakland’s up-and-coming chefs, who could provide one-on-one mentorships. “What we really need, “ says Chow, “is for everyone to feel invested in the success of others.”

Oakland Bloom
Purchase tickets for the next Pop-Up Night Market on April 9 at the Clarion Hotel
371 13^th Street [Map]
Oakland, CA 94612
Facebook: Oakland Bloom
Check Oakland Bloom’s website for upcoming crowd-funding projects.

A lovely garden party. Inviting platters of delicate shrimp rolls and crusty banh mi sandwiches. Groups of people in lively conversations, getting to know each other. But there is another powerful thread running through this recent South Bay get-together, brought into focus as hostess Thoa van Seventer shares her story of leaving Vietnam and suddenly chokes up with emotion. When American troops pulled out of Vietnam in 1975, Thoa was 17 years old. Six years later, her father succumbed to despair and passed away. Thoa, her mother and sisters remained in Saigon under Viet Cong rule until 1985 when the former French Ambassador to Vietnam sponsored her family for French residency. But at that point, Thoa had a hard choice to make since she had just received a marriage proposal from a chief military officer’s son in Vietnam.

Her voice breaks as she explains to the assembled guests, “I told him ‘No, thank you’ because freedom is everything; freedom is more important than a broken heart. I made a hard choice to leave everything behind.” Thoa and her family had few possessions when they arrived in Paris in the freezing cold winter of 1985. “We came to France as beggars,” she says. “When we landed, we didn’t know if we would be welcome. But I felt like a child, who was lovingly adopted by the French people. They helped us a lot. I am so grateful to the country that adopted me.”

“When I see pictures of the refugees now,” she adds, “I feel respect for the refugees and for the people who help them.” And with that, Thoa serves a tray of flavorful crab and asparagus soup to her guests.

This moving encounter is from the first in a series of “Tapestry Suppers” organized by Danielle Tsi, a freelance photographer and owner of the blog Beyond the Plate. Her goal is to get people together to share their experiences and break down barriers by showcasing immigrant stories and cuisines. “I want to bring people together to connect offline, instead of just getting sucked into the digital black hole of news,” says Tsi, who emigrated from Singapore ten years ago.

“As an immigrant myself who is not a citizen and can’t vote, what can I do? Give money to causes. But I want to do more. There is so much culture and diversity in the Bay Area,” says Tsi. “In Singapore, enjoying food together is a big unifier across all the different cultural groups there. People often underestimate the power of food—besides feeding and nurturing it can also to foster empathy. And food is a way to chip away at the public’s ignorance.”

Tsi combined the ideas of people sharing food, learning about immigrants and raising money for good causes. Each get-together features a different immigrant home chef and raise money for a cause of their choice. (This one raised $350 for The International Rescue Committee.) Her idea seems to resonate in these unsettled times. The first event sold out in four days, which may partly be due to the fact that Thoa van Seventer is a beloved yoga instructor. Many of the 30 guests who gathered at her home in Palo Alto were her students and fellow yogis, including Danielle Tsi.

While Thoa’s oldest sister left Viet Nam two years after the communists took over in 1975, she, her younger sisters and mother did not get out until ten years later. In the intervening years, her mother advised: “you better learn something” and arranged for her daughters to take cooking lessons. The guests at the Tapestry Supper lunch enjoyed the benefits of her mother’s forethought.

The dishes Thoa prepared were familiar, but the execution exquisite. They drew high praise from the other Vietnamese guests. The rice paper on the delicate shrimp rolls was perfectly tender, the filling held a surprise bite of fresh pineapple. The varied ingredients in the banh mi sandwich combined in harmony, and the crab and asparagus soup, a traditional dish for weddings, was sublime.

Thoa confides that she is puzzled and saddened by a friend of hers, who is also Vietnamese, but has a completely different attitude to the refugees who are desperately trying to escape persecution right now. The friend states she doesn’t want them here in the U.S. “She says that we should just take care of ourselves and our country and keep everything we can,” Thoa reports. She is dumbstruck by this lack of empathy, knowing full well that the refugees are not coming by choice, but face a stark choice: leave or die.

One of the guests, Anh Hodges, shared with her tablemates her own harrowing story of numerous thwarted attempts to escape Vietnam throughout her childhood. In 1978, four brothers and one sister in her family of 11 children did escape to avoid the Cambodian draft. But when Anh and her other sisters repeatedly tried to leave they were often caught, sometimes beaten, or sent to prison for several months. Her mother would pay money to men who were supposed to help them escape by boat, but took advantage of them and just kept their money.

The family would not give up. After 13 failed attempts, in 1989, they finally made it out by plane. Sponsored by one of her older brothers, Anh stayed in Los Angeles for a year and then came up north. In Vietnam, she had been a high school teacher of English and math. She wanted to continue her studies, but there was no money for that. So she attended beauty school instead, became a hairstylist and eventually owned her own salon in San Jose for 20 years, with 20 employees. A friend at the table tells of Ahn’s contributions: donating the produce from her organic garden to a local school; her volunteering at the local hospital; and other good deeds.

The host of the next Tapestry Supper, April Chou, left Burma in 1977 at age 15, as an immigrant. She says, “when the military junta took over in 1962, no one had freedom, no one dared to speak up, as often relatives and friends ended up in jail. They shut down all private businesses and food was often rationed. Schools, especially universities, were shut down regularly due to student uprisings. Then came the massacre in 1988.  Some of my old friends survived by living in the jungle. It’s sad to see Burma become one of the poorest countries with the lowest GDP despite its rich natural resources.”

After many years working in high tech, Chou got more involved with Ashtanga yoga and Vipassana mediation, became vegan, switched gears and attended Bauman College’s Natural Chef training program. She is still finalizing the menu for April 23, and says she will probably make crudités and dips, tea leaf salad, coconut rice, and chicken/vegetable curry.

The next Tapestry Supper will be held in Sunnyvale on April 23. Tickets will be available for purchase starting Monday April 10 at 9am. Monthly dinners will follow through the summer, with different chefs. May’s dinner will be an Iranian meal and Tsi is exploring possibility of featuring Tanzanian, Indian and Syrian cuisines. She does not yet have a website and advises that the best way to stay informed about future events is to sign up for her newsletter and mailing list.

As Tsi states on her blog “At a time of strong anti-immigrant sentiment in the U.S., our gatherings are the antidote to this zeitgeist by bringing people around the table to share a meal and learn about the multitude of cultures that make the Bay Area such a vibrant place to live. We believe that a society is made stronger by the diversity of its parts, and that the best way to learn about cultures foreign to us is through their cuisine.”

F&B: Voices from the Kitchen, La Cocina’s latest storytelling performance on April 7 at The Swedish American Hall featured the impassioned words of more than a dozen chefs, poets, writers, historians and activists on the topic of Race. The evening started with food and drinks from both well-known chefs and a couple of graduates from La Cocina’s Incubator program.

Some highlights from the two-hour performance:

Co-founders of the People’s Kitchen Collective (PKC) Saqib Keval, Sita Kuratomi Bhaumik and Jocelyn Jackson entered from the audience, while Jackson sang in a deep throaty voice, “We who believe in freedom cannot rest…until it’s found.” Then all three alternated with a barrage of wisdom: “We have so much fucking faith in the power of food to fix everything.” “For centuries, food has been a weapon…keeping us stuffed and starved.” “Food deserts are not a naturally occurring phenomenon.” “Food is a strategy for resistance.”

As inspiration, they described the Black Panther Party’s Free Breakfast for School Children program that began in Oakland in 1969 and in a few years fed over 100,000 children nationwide. It was so successful that it inspired fear in J. Edgar Hoover, the head of the FBI,  who called it “the most dangerous domestic threat to national security.” The PKC explained that while the state was trying to keep food out of the hands of black and brown children, the Black Panther Party viewed breakfast as an active tool of resistance. The breakfast program was revolutionary. And now there are free breakfast and lunch programs in schools. Why don’t they come with a history lesson? they ask. Why don’t we teach children the roots of that meal?

The three co-founders of the PKC then challenged the so-called “Farm to Table” movement to acknowledge that food does not magically make it from the farm to the table without the toil of people in the middle. It would be more accurately termed “Farm to Kitchen to Table.” And why, they asked, should this food be enjoyed only in restaurants? The meal can’t end at the table. It should be accessible to all people, so a better motto would be “Farm to Kitchen to Table to Streets.” And they exhorted the audience to take this message out on the streets.

Journalist Bonnie Tsui shared her quest to solve “the curious case of the Asian salad,” a dish cooked up by non-Asians, which is so common on a swath of American restaurant menus that we don’t even question its Asian-ness. The mystery stems from its raw vegetable ingredients, which are not traditionally served in China. In the popular imagination, adding soy sauce or sesame oil somehow transforms it to being “Asian.”

But Tsui’s issue with this ubiquitous dish is less with its supposedly “Asian” ingredients and more with the variety of offensive names with which it is labeled at places like TGIFridays, Cheesecake Factory, Rainforest Café, and Applebee’s. She showed slides of menus with names like “Asian Emperor salad,” “Oriental chop chop,” “Mr. Mao’s” and “secret Asian man.”

Even though the subject is just salad, Tsui views the use of broad terms to reference an entire continent as stereotypical. The problem is that the words are a blind spot for white people who don’t consider themselves racist. And even with a bowl of salad, words do matter.

Three members of the woman-led collaborative of people of color, Nourish/Resist, encouraged audience members to check their language and privilege, “stay woke” and create safe spaces for stories of struggle and survival. They use food as a tool for resistance.

Culinary historian Michael Twitty, author of the award-winning blog Afroculinaria, recounted that as a kid, he hated soul food and hated being black, even though he was “the great-grandson of Jim Crow people.” If he didn’t like The Wiz, of course, he hated collard greens and chitterlings. He called okra “an instrument of Black medieval torture” and longed for fast food.

Until one day when his grandmother said, “we’re gonna make some lemonade” and started singing a song “lemonade, lemonade, made in the shade, stirred with a spade…” When he asked her about the song she told him it was a slave song passed down from her great-grandfather who was born into slavery. That piqued his curiosity and once he started asking questions, “the kitchen was filled with ancestors and I got to meet them.” He also learned the stories behind the iconic dishes.

“Chitterlings was the story of using the whole animal. People who had nothing could waste nothing. Collard greens represented strength.” When his grandmother said “we carried okra seeds in our hair,” he understood, that while seeds may not have literally been carried in hair, “they represent the seeds for everything we had carried in our heads and you couldn’t take that away from us.” So in teaching him about food, his grandmother taught him his own black history. As Twitty put it, “Teaching me not to hate my soul, but how to love it. “

In her talk, entitled “On Ending Jim Crow In The Bay Area Restaurant Industry,” Saru Jayaraman of ROC United (Restaurant Opportunities Centers United) discussed her organization’s goal to improve wages and working conditions for the nation’s 12 million restaurant workers. She reminded the audience that while white men can earn $150,000/year as fine dining servers or bartenders, the majority of food service workers are the lowest paid of all employees.

Jayaraman also shared the shocking news that numerous surveys in cities across the U.S. have found that the largest race-based wage gap in the country is found right here in the Bay Area, where there is a $5.50/hour gap between white workers and workers of color. “We are better than this,” she told the audience. “We think we are progressive, but we are not and we participate in segregation every time we eat out. Each of us has to take a part in changing the way we eat out.”

Then she introduced noted chef, restaurateur and author Daniel Patterson, who is spearheading a project with other chefs to desegregate their kitchens and collaborate on the upcoming COLORS restaurant in Oakland. Located near the Fruitvale BART station, it will train hundred of workers of color. Patterson wants to create a model for standardizing hiring and promotions because “as long as there is implicit bias, you can train all the workers in the world but they will never get hired.” His goal is to change the face of fine dining “until fine dining does not resemble Trump’s America.”

One of the most compelling stories of the evening was delivered by Stephanie Fields, of Sugarfoot Kitchen, a “Southern comfort catering company,” and a graduate of La Cocina. Her pepper jelly turkey meatballs were a standout at the pre-show food tasting.

Fields described her hometown of Henderson, North Carolina in the rural South, a place where the working poor are disillusioned and angry and 36% of residents live in poverty. In a town where 60% of the population is Black, she told us, “You can still call up the KKK for your daily dose of hate from Grand Wizard Mr. Bobbit (and she played his offensive phone recording to prove it). While her family often used the n-word in anger, Fields grew up with friends from both cultures.

She started her business through La Cocina’s incubator program in 2013 and plans to open her Southern restaurant in San Francisco’s Portola district this fall. But Fields confessed that a crisis of conscience almost caused her to close Sugarfoot just one month after she opened it. It happened when she read an open letter that Michael Twitty penned to Paula Deen after the uproar about her use of racist comments. He wrote, “We are surrounded by culinary injustice where some Southerners take credit for things that enslaved Africans and their descendants played key roles in disseminating.”

Fields stated, “I had to make a choice not to be “some southerner.” After reading Twitty’s words, she realized that there would be no Southern food without slavery and wondered if she could still claim the food she grew up on — the okra, collard greens and cheese grits — as her own. After doing research and talking to friends across race and gender lines, she decided, “I am Southern and I had to eat something.”

She also realized: “I cannot undo the pain, undo the shame and undo the history, but what I can do is acknowledge where this food comes from and I can be grateful and be kind.” “Empathy,” she added, “is being a member of a tribe that isn’t yours, but still is.”

The next F&B: Voices from the Kitchen event will be on October 19 with the theme: Refuge.

Walk into any museum, and one of the first items you are likely to spot is a posted warning, a stern reminder not to consume any foods or beverages within its hallowed halls. Last Thursday night, however, visitors to the marble galleries of the San Francisco Asian Art Museum were met with welcoming signs promising savory tastings ahead. The event, entitled Reclaiming Tofu,  was part of the museum’s two-year old Tasting Menu program, which Tim Hallman, Director of Communications & Business Development, describes as “exploring the connections between art and dining.”

“At the Asian Art Museum,” Hallman says, “we believe that food — just like art — is a beautiful way to share culture. Many of the artworks in our collection are related to food, and the museum is located in the heart of an incredibly dynamic culinary environment—one with deep influences from Asian cuisine. These factors make us a perfect venue for fostering dialogues on the creative elements of edible traditions—both local and global.”

Attendees at the sold-out event on Thursday night were treated to a lively hour-long dialogue on the journey of the 2000-year old bean curd between Minh Tsai, founder of Hodo Soy, and Jennifer 8. Lee, a former New York Times reporter, producer of the film “The Search for General Tso” and the author of The Fortune Cookie Chronicles.

Inspired by the fresh tofu he remembered enjoying with his grandfather in Vietnam, Tsai started a small, artisanal tofu-making business in 2004 with six cousins as partners. He began by trying to educate the palates of customers and get feedback from them at a single Farmers Market. The vicissitudes of running the small business discouraged his cousins who all bailed out. But Tsai persevered. And now he counts 700 stores and restaurants that stock his tofu products, including Chipotle and Sweet Greens, which he supplies from his West Oakland beanery. Increasingly, and perhaps even of more value, respected chefs from singular restaurants are exploring the spectrum of flavors and textures in Hodo’s premium products.

With Lee’s prompts, Tsai discussed the unfortunate introduction of tofu in the US. back in the 70’s. The soft, jiggly bean curd was seen purely as a cheap, plant-based protein for vegetarians, and sold in big plastic tubs for $1.99. As a straight-up, meat-substitute, people tried grilling it alongside burgers, but it fell through the grill’s gaps. That led to the “American invention of extra firm tofu” whose dense texture, Tsai describes, actually precluded it from absorbing the flavors of whatever sauce it was paired with, “leaving just a weird chalky taste.” In actuality, in most Asian cuisines, classic tofu dishes combine tofu and meat ingredients.

Tsai is not only a cheerleader for the many potential uses of his organic tofu, but a wise tofu guru, as well. Although he is focused on growing Hodo Soy, he sees value in promoting high quality tofu across America and generously offers to teach people to start their own tofu companies. During the question and answer period, a woman asked about tofu donuts that she had tried in Japan. Tsai encouraged her to start her own pop-up and even offered his help.

Lee likened an appreciation of the many variations in tofu to that of cheese and asked Tsai how to encourage consumers to become equally sophisticated and snobby about soybean curds. “What words can they use?” she asked. Tsai responded, “fresh, buttery, creamy, beany.”

At the end of the discussion, three notable local chefs, clearly fans and loyal customers of Hodo, Brandon Jew of Mister Jiu’s, Annie Somerville of Greens and Stuart Brioza of State Bird Provisions and The Progress joined the pair to further sing the praises of cooking with tofu and introduce their dishes, which had attendees salivating in anticipation.

Somerville who started Greens restaurant in 1981, commented, ”We’ve served tofu from day one and had used another organic brand. When a friend insisted I try Hodo, I met Tsai back in 2004 at the Ferry Plaza Market and started using his products. I support his efforts, and especially think that with all the attention to climate change, this is an especially good time to explore tofu’s potential.”

Stuart Brioza who admitted to having a “tofu-disconnect” in his youth, is especially enthusiastic about using yuba (soy milk skin). “It is an amazing entrance into tofu; it caused me to totally rethink tofu. I have so many vegan friends and have also explored tofu in its places of origin such as Kyoto’s Buddhist monasteries. I appreciate its sophistication and we serve it at both restaurants.”

After the dialogue’s conclusion, attendees lined up at four stations to sample the tofu treats prepared by the chefs.

Hodo Soy’s own offering is what comes to mind when you think of tofu: minimalist white cubes; but these were topped with delicate dots of preserved yuzu kosho, edamame puree and umeboshi.

Brandon Jew made his own creamy silken tofu out of Hodo’s soy milk and riffed on the classic mapo tofu with an explosion of spicy flavors in his rib eye cap sauce, with fermented black beans, bean paste and chilis.

Stuart Brioza had two offerings: cold yuba noodles with toasted quinoa, yuzu pickled mushrooms and tahini-chili oil. And a silken soy milk tofu topped with manila clams and pickled ramps in rice wine vinegar, topped with ramp oil, aged tamari and micro greens.

Annie Somerville of Greens contributed a colorful, classic tofu dish, that still delivers a refreshing punch: fresh spring rolls with firm tofu, vegetable medley, rice noodles, mint, and a crunchy coconut peanut topping.

Past Tasting Menu events have included last year’s homage to the venerable pork belly. Upcoming events for this year include Flowering Teas (where you can create your own blend) on June 29, and a Philippine Feast on August 17.

In a subsequent interview, Minh Tsai added, ” Hodo is at a very pivotal time and place for the good food, craft food movement. The story of Hodo tells us a lot about American culture and food. Like many other craft food makers in the US have done over the past few decades, I set out to recreate elusive memory, recapture a lost art. I wanted to make something that could not be found here. But I knew it existed in another place, other countries. So I knew that people here were missing something.  But I also recognize that for tofu/yuba to grow, I will need to continue to innovate and collaborate with chefs.”

Tim Hall of the Asian Art Museum adds, “the goal of our Tasting Menu programs is to find access points for discovery, connections, and links that foster cultural empathy.”

Some people create art by applying oil paint to canvas. Kristen Rasmussen fashions edible artwork by applying pomegranate-cured carrots, shaved icicle radishes and foraged fennel flowers to a canvas of dense rye bread. At her recent pair of Berkeley pop-ups, Rasmussen served two of her sandwich creations. These are clearly not your ho-hum ham and swiss or PB&J; but rather a west-coast riff on smørrebrød, the traditional Danish lunch, whose popularity is spreading like the thick smear of creamy butter that’s a necessary element in each artistic assemblage.

Along with sleek modern chairs, Havarti cheese and the cozy concept of hygge, smørrebrød is one of Denmark’s gifts to the world. In the 19^th century, when Danish factory workers couldn’t return home for their midday meal, they packed a practical lunch of open-faced buttered bread topped with leftovers of cold meat or smoked fish. Gradually, these morphed into more elaborate creations, especially at Christmastime. Classic combinations might include pickled herring with a twist of lemon plus a mini-bouquet of fried parsley or chicken salad layered with smoked potatoes and bacon, topped by a haystack of fried carrot shreds.

Although she can trace her last name and family roots back to Denmark, Rasmussen admits to “growing up very American in Humboldt County.” The only connection to her Nordic heritage was her grandmother’s homemade Danish butter cookies at Christmas. Four years ago, when she finally visited Denmark, Rasmussen says, “I fell in love with smørrebrød because it’s delicious, aesthetically pleasing, nurturing, and can be made gluten-free, vegan, decadent, and portable.”

August’s pop-up lunches could not have taken place in a more striking setting: on a Berkeley rooftop with a killer view, amidst Top Leaf Farms’ 16 lush garden plots, which practically erupt in edible vegetation. Rasmussen, a Registered Dietitian Nutritionist, has taught food science at UC Berkeley and the Culinary Institute of America and worked in restaurants. She consults on menu design, recipe development and sustainable sourcing. Since she is totally behind the hyper-local, bio-intensive growing techniques of Top Leaf Farms and often includes their micro-greens, herbs and roots in her menus, she decided to have her smørrebrød pop-ups a stone’s throw from the beds where many of her ingredients are grown.

The fruits of foraging, another of her passions, also enlivened her smørrebrød and the famous Danish dessert (and infamous Danish tongue twister) Rødgrød med fløde. Spidery yellow fennel flowers festooned salmon sandwiches. She made a cordial from elder flowers she had collected in Tilden Park to flavor the whipped cream cupping the raspberries. (Here is her recipe for making elderflower cordial.)

“I have always foraged things,” says Rasmussen. “Growing up in Humboldt County, I picked wild blackberries. When I lived in Arizona, I noticed large numbers of Seville orange trees that no one was harvesting. So I picked oranges, made marmalade and sold it. Then I got into dates and cactus. Foraging is a fun way to connect to season and environment, with edible flowers (such as borage, nasturtiums, and mustard flowers), roots, seeds and even pesto made from dandelion greens.” Rasmussen is involved with Wild and Feral Food Week (WFFW) and Berkeley Open Source Food.

The forager also became a “porridge-er” after visiting Grød, a famous Danish restaurant chain that specializes in savory as well as sweet porridges. Besides smørrebrød themed lunches, Rasmussen also holds porridge-focused pop-ups and is seriously flirting with the idea of opening a restaurant combining her two obsessions.

With her strong belief in seasonality and eating local, Rasmussen admits that she doesn’t make Danish dishes exactly the way they are made in Denmark. She calls her approach West-Coast Nordic, and may include ingredients such as avocados, mayo with chives and tahini.

In fact, while she wants to introduce Californians to the goodness of Danish dishes, she is equally drawn to bringing Californian goodies to Denmark. In July, she did a stage at Selma, a prize-winning smørrebrød restaurant in Copenhagen. “The chef invited me to do a West Coast Nordic pop-up and I made a California BLT with bacon, little gem lettuce, tomato, charred avocado with Serrano aioli and shiso. And for dessert, a S’mores smørrebrød: flamed beach rose-scented marshmallow, crispy rye and cardamom chocolate.”

The backbone of smørrebrød (which literally means “buttered bread”) is the dark, dense rye that serves as base and ballast for fanciful combinations of varied toppings. It’s practically impossible to find the classic Danish rugbrød in these parts. But leave it to Rasmussen to figure out how to recreate the dark, sour loaves herself. “It’s a time-intensive process that takes three days,” she explains, “but that is mostly waiting for it to ferment.” It also requires a sourdough rye starter, although Rasmussen says she just uses the spores from the air.

The culinary nutrition expert is all about collaboration, whether that encompasses working with spores in the air, seasonal plants, weeds and flowers that spring up on her path or her fellow artists. For the August smørrebrød pop-up, her friend Steve Thompson of Euclidean Building  fashioned sturdy plates and cups from Douglas fir which guests could take home.

For the next smørrebrød pop-up in Oakland on September 30, ceramicist Sarah Koik will make mugs and bowls. See Rasmussen’s website Rootedfood.com for details on upcoming events and links to purchase tickets.

My grandmother swore the secret to her moist Rosh Hashanah honey cake was the black cherry soda she added to the batter. Although I never discovered the origin of her quirky recipe, I have often recreated it to feel close to her memory.

This year, if I don’t have time to bake, no worries, as there’s a bevy of bakeries preparing classic treats to celebrate the Jewish New Year 5778 that begins the night of September 20. The traditional way to usher in Rosh Hashanah is with apple slices dipped in honey, signifying a wish for a sweet year ahead. Honey also has a starring role in dark, spiced honey cake, while the apples, which are believed to have healing properties, find their way into various cakes and baked goods. The third member of the edible holiday triumvirate is a round challah, whose circular shape symbolizes the cycle of life. Its chubby braided coils are variously described as a “turban,” “ring,” “spiral” or “crown.” The round loaves can be plain, studded with raisins or sprinkled with seeds or nuts.

Jewish culture is by no means the only one to link eating sweet things with ensuring a new year filled with sweetness. A similarly optimistic coupling of food and future is enjoyed in New Year dishes from Japan, Vietnam, Persian Norooz, to mention only a few. Among the multitude of meaningful dishes prepared for Chinese New Year, nian gao (higher year) is a round, glutinous rice flour cake often decorated by an auspicious character for “prosperity.”

Where to find Rosh Hashanah Cakes and Challah in the Bay Area

Although many outlets will have these special breads and cakes available from two days up to a week, to avoid disappointment, it’s a good idea to pre-order, either in person, online or by phone, depending on each store’s preference. Some of the bakeries listed below also have several locations, so it’s best to check directly with the one you are planning to visit.

Acme Bread, Berkeley and San Francisco

Turban Challahs, either plain or with raisins

Berkeley Store – Available Sept. 19, 20, 21, 29. They say they are making “plenty” but if you want to be sure, go in person and pre-pay up till two days before you want it.

SF Ferry Building – Available Sept. 19, 20, 21, 29. They will have a few extra for retail sales, but you can go in, order and pre-pay up until noon the day before you want it.

Arizmendi, San Francisco

Crown challah, either plain or raisin almond, and a honey tea cake loaf. Available Sept. 20 – 22 and 29 -30. Orders encouraged, call (415) 566-3117. Check with their other locations (San Rafael, Emeryville, Oakland) as each is independently owned.

Frena Bakery, San Francisco

The acclaim is rising for this new Kosher bakery’s Israeli street food: savory stuffed breads, jelly doughnuts and assorted baked goods.

In its first nine months, Frena has already attracted a diverse clientele to its SoMa bakery and will now celebrate its first Rosh Hashanah. Co-owner Avi Edri described the two kinds of honey cake they will feature, one made with coffee, the other with orange juice. Do order in advance, as he already has over 1000 pre-orders for honey cake from local schools and other groups.

Since my family is from Eastern Europe (Ashkenazi) and Frena’s owners trace Moroccan, Libyan and Iraqi roots (Sephardic), I was curious whether honey cake was also part of Edri’s family tradition.

“People always say it’s the traditional Rosh Hashanah sweet for Ashenazi Jews,” agreed Edri,  “but my Libyan grandmother made it and told me she learned from her Libyan grandmother.”

Frena will also make round challahs, although not with raisins, which, Edri informed me, interfere with optimal rising. “The round challah is a symbol for the circle of life,” he said. “And the repeating cycle of the year.”

While honey cake is apparently universal for the holidays, Edri informed me that kugel (a baked pudding or casserole) is definitely an Ashenazi taste. “My mom says it’s too sweet. Sephardics prefer savory baked things. One Rosh Hashanah tradition that is very Sephardic is a bowl of pomegranate seeds eaten with sugar or honey,” Edri told me. (An explanation is that pomegranates are thought to have 613 arils, the same number of commandments in the Torah.)

Noe Valley Bakery, San Francisco

Spiral challah, plain or topped with poppy or sesame seeds, Raisin challah topped with almonds. Honey cake, a moist spice cake made with earl grey tea and bourbon and an apple streusel cake.

Orders can be placed anytime and picked up at either of the bakery’s locations (Noe Valley and West Portal) between Sept 20-30.

Wise Sons Deli, San Francisco

Round raisin challah, from September 18 to the end of Yom Kippur (September 29-30) at all their locations, plus their retails partners, including Bi-rite Markets, Rainbow Grocery and Good Eggs.

In the East Bay, three venerable spots happen to share the same stretch of North Berkeley’s Shattuck Avenue:

Saul’s Restaurant and Delicatessen, Berkeley

Besides selling Acme’s turban challah, Saul’s features its own dessert creations: traditional moist honey cake and an upside down apple sponge cake are made by an Israeli baker named Hana. And Saul’s Executive chef and co-owner Peter Levitt adds his own spin on a “not-too-sweet apple noodle kugel” (maybe Avi Edri’s mother would even approve). All are available for pick-up Sept 20-21, which are the nights when Saul’s also serves an entire Rosh Hashanah dinner. See menu.  Pre-order/reserve to be sure.

Cheese Board Collective, Berkeley

The cheese shop and bakery is the (older) sister store to the legendary Cheese Board Pizzeria. The collective is celebrating its 50^th year and has been making round turban fruited challahs for Rosh Hashanah for the last 45, with dried apricots, golden raisins and currants. Choice of topping: plain, poppy seeds, or mixed seeds.  Available Sept. 20, 21 and 29. Order by phone only (510) 549-3183.

Masse’s Pastries, Berkeley

If you are looking for something with a little more elegance, master pastry chef Paul Masse’s edible artwork may fill the bill. He trained in New York, worked in Switzerland and opened his intimate, stylish bakery 20 years ago. Paul and wife Marcia are committed to reflecting the cultural diversity of their North Berkeley neighborhood. Their creations honor a calendar full of holidays, from firecracker cakes for Lunar New Year to pomegranate cakes for Yalda, the Persian winter solstice celebration.

For Rosh Hashanah, Paul makes several items, including a spiced honey cake (recipe courtesy of a customer’s mother in New Jersey), which he studs with pecans and orange slices, and a glazed apple frangipane tart with a hazelnut sablé crust. An apple walnut torte features a walnut sponge cake, caramelized apple compote and cinnamon mascarpone Bavarian crème. Heavenly layers, light as a cloud, and it’s also gluten-free! All cakes will be available starting Sept. 16, until the end of the month. Order by phone (510) 649-1004.

Speaking of gluten-free, if you need a “Dedicated Gluten Free Bakery” here are two that make Rosh Hashanah treats:

Mariposa Bakery, Oakland and San Francisco

Mariposa’s G/F honey cake in a bundt spiral, topped with toasted almonds,  available Sept. 14-21 and round challah available Sept. 19-21. They also do mail orders all over the country, if you want to send a loved one a G/F Rosh Hashanah treat.

Flour Craft Bakery, San Anselmo

Owner and pastry chef Heather Hardcastle will make G/F large and small round challahs, and an apple and honey galette, Available Sept. 20-22.

Perusing the swarm of honey cake recipes, I am struck by a revelation: they each contain a wet, “wild card.” Besides the conventional cake ingredients of honey, flour, oil, spices and eggs, there is a variable fluid: sometimes coffee, tea, orange juice and/or whiskey or bourbon. My grandmother’s black cherry soda is just the liquid outlier that made her honey cake quintessentially hers!

L’Shanah Tovah!  (Happy New Year)!

An unlikely pair of very American sandwiches, a Reuben and a PB&J, ushered in an evening of eloquently told tales illuminating many facets of Refuge at The Swedish American Hall on October 19. La Cocina’s latest storytelling performance of F&B: Voices from the Kitchen, featured impassioned words and searing images from more than a dozen writers, filmmakers, chefs and graduates of its incubator program.

To Heena Patel, an immigrant from Gujarat India who came to the U.S. 25 years ago, permanent refuge in America became possible thanks to a Reuben sandwich.  She and her husband initially owned a flower shop and a liquor store. Even though she already worked 12 hours a day, when a neighbor inquired if she would manage his restaurant, she accepted, as it represented a pathway to citizenship. The only snag was that the menu of Hofbrau, the restaurant in question, consisted almost entirely of meat. And meat was something the vegetarian Patel had never even tasted. Nevertheless, this determined woman mastered the art of making the perfect hot corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut sandwich. On the proudest day of her life, when she became an American citizen, she told us she offered her thanks to “Reuben” who made it all possible. With support from La Cocina, she has now created her own business, Rasoi, cooking vegetarian Gujarati Indian dishes for the Ferry Building Farmers Market. But she dreams of a future food truck and restaurant; dreams, she admitted, that are full of stars (Michelin stars, that is).

Sharing the stage with Patel was American-born Geetika Agrawal, Senior Program Manager at La Cocina, whose Indian immigrant parents supported her Americanization by sending her to school every day with a “real American lunch.” Her mother lovingly packed her a Capri Sun, fruit, a granola bar and a green peanut butter and jelly sandwich until the middle of third grade when someone made fun of her green sandwich. (The mysterious green ingredient turned out to have been mint jelly, judged by her parents to be the most interesting of all the jam flavors in the market). After third grade, this novel culinary combo was shelved and almost forgotten. Until Agrawal, as a freshman in college, was shocked to find at her dorm’s dining hall, “lamb paired with a familiar old friend. I never imagined it as a condiment for meat,” she admits. “These moments of discomfort make me feel connected to my Indian-ness.”

Many of the evening’s stories shared tales of triumph. Award-winning author Andrew Lam delivered an ode to the resilience of pho, the noodle soup with the aromatic broth from his native Vietnam, which has spread out in a seemingly unstoppable diaspora to every corner of the world. It’s a “global pho-nomenon,” quipped Lam, who came to America at the age of 11, at the end of the Vietnam War.

The Vietnamese soup’s exact origins are somewhat clouded. But what’s clear is that its beef broth is perfumed with spices representing a mélange of foreign flavors, including Chinese and French ingredients, and is a testament to the resilience of its people. Pho, Lam informed us, is undoubtedly Vietnamese because it incorporates foreign influences – like its country, whose history includes being conquered by various foreign powers.

People adapt to survive but retain their distinctive Vietnamese identity, as does pho. Since expulsion from their homeland, Vietnamese people and their beloved soup have been flung across the globe. Pho can now be found in the furthest corners of the planet, from Antarctica to Ile de la Reunion, lovingly made by Vietnamese refugees who cannot imagine life without its comfort. The humble bowl of soup that represented their national treasure now appeals to their hope for posterity. While the people of Vietnam have scattered, Lam takes comfort in knowing something from his homeland has survived and the delectable aroma of broth with its pungent notes of cardamom, cinnamon, ginger and star anise is permeating the world.

Savanna Ferguson shared the story of immigrants, both human and vegetal; specifically how the humble potato saved and almost doomed Ireland. Potatoes were not native to Ireland. The tuber, originally from Peru, was introduced to Ireland in the late 16^th century, at a time when food shortages were common. The potato quickly made itself at home in chilly Irish weather and rocky land. It was the perfect food: easy to grow, easy to harvest and easy to cook. And because it was almost nutritionally complete, the Irish populace thrived for generations. And then, in 1845, “potato blight” came to Ireland, its rot turning the tuber to mush. For five years, crops failed, killing one million people and forcing two million to emigrate. One million Irish immigrants came to the to U.S. to find refuge and changed our country forever.

In these days of heated debate over immigration, it is instructive to recall how much Irish immigrants were hated, prohibited from working, and described as” less than human.” These phrases seems depressingly familiar. Today, 10% of our country (34 million Americans) can trace Irish roots.

Next, we were treated to a conversation between Justin Phillips, food writer for the San Francisco Chronicle and Shani Jones, owner of Peaches Patties, a Jamaican food kiosk. They compared notes on their shared experiences and their reverse life trajectories: Phillips, a Black man, grew up in Alexandria, Virginia and recently moved to San Francisco, and Jones, a native San Franciscan, from a dwindling Black population, moved to Atlanta, Georgia to attend college at a HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities) and returned home. They each related moments of cultural insensitivity in remarks from white people in both parts of the country such as, “You’re Black, but not Black-Black” or “You’re not like the rest of them!” Now that Jones has opened a kiosk to make and sell food inspired by her Jamaican mother, she has, in essence, opened herself up to even more offensive interactions, for example, being urged to speak with a Jamaican accent while serving her food.  Their take-home-thought for the evening: there are culturally insensitive people everywhere. Phillips and Jones are two of only 50,000 Black residents in San Francisco, a city of 860,000. With these slim odds, Phillips cautioned the audience to take notice, “When you see two Black people talking about issues like this in public,” Phillips said, “It’s a unicorn moment.”

Other stories of refuge revealed tales of pain and loss. John Birdsall, an award-winning local writer, delivered a history lesson interwoven with personal travel tales exploring the refuge of queer safe spaces that exist around the world. He described how Berlin became the birthplace of queer safe space in the 1890s, when its bars and clubs flourished openly until the Weimer Republic came to power in the early 20^th century. But when Berlin’s gay bars were closed down, Birdsall says, “the idea and the hope of refuge could not be extinguished.”

For Birdsall, his own travel stories “meant moving in a shadow world” of gay-owned B&B’s, frequenting bars and clubs in “gayberhoods” and queer enclaves – places that would supposedly shield their patrons from violence. But from the horrifying genocide of gays in Nazi Germany to the massacre at Pulse Night Club in 2016, it is clear that these supposedly protected zones of refuge cannot, in fact, promise safety.

The evening included dance and song performances plus short films interspersed between speakers. The most powerful example of the connection between food and refuge came in film clips from an upcoming documentary called: Soufra: A Recipe from a Refugee Food Truck, presented by producer Trevor Hall. He described Burj el-Barajneh refugee camp outside Beirut, Lebanon, where 50,000 people are crowded into narrow alleys and seven-story buildings within a one square kilometer space. In clips from the film, we see women in colorful hijabs chopping vegetables, chatting, cooking and laughing. What is not immediately apparent is their status as “prisoners,” since they lack the financial and political means to leave the camp.

In another clip, we meet Mariam al Shaar, an entrepreneur who was born and has lived her whole life in Burj el-Barajneh. Yet Al Shaar is determined to harness the energy, resourcefulness and creativity of the women of the camp through their food. She is a social entrepreneur with a vision and a plan to uplift the lives of the women through cooking and selling their food. Since the women come from various backgrounds, Palestinian, Syrian, Egyptian and Iraqi, the process includes them teaching each other classic dishes from their cultures. The story of Mariam al Shaar illustrates the power of food to bring people together, empower them and create refuge where there is none. This documentary feature film will be coming out in November.