“Air and Love” uncovers the compelling journey of Or Rosenboim’s Jewish ancestors across Russia, Latvia, Samarkand, Israel, England, and Italy. This publication, at surface level a compilation of culinary memories and recipes, delves deeper into what it truly means to be a wanderer in a world where national borders constrict movement.
Rosenboim highlights an era when societal norms frowned upon migration for trade or religious purposes, stating that people were expected to remain in their national homes. Binational movement led Rosenboim’s family members to develop a diverse culinary penchant. An example, from 1882, tells of a young Israeli man in Istanbul procuring unique ingredients unavailable in Jerusalem, such as red wine from Smyrna, robust Italian caciocavollo cheese, and canned salted bonito and mackerel. The collection of recipes in the book mirrors the family’s geographical peregrinations, spanning from eastern Europe’s gefilte fish to the central Asian delicacy khalti-sevo, a blend of rice and dried fruits steamed overnight in linen wraps.
Rosenboim, a Parisian Cordon Bleu alumna and founder of the Migrants’ Supper Club in London, also serves as a history professor at the University of Bologna. These credentials underscore her book’s dispassionate, scholarly curiosity about her lineage during tumultuous periods. However, sketchy ancestral records can prove challenging when one hails from an itinerant community. She laments the paucity of surviving letters, memoirs, and diaries, acknowledging the difficulty of accessing their ideas and perspectives without written archives.
The tale kicks off with translations of her great-grandfather and his father’s memoirs from Hebrew, supplemented by careful research to add depth to her narrative. Rosenboim also brings to life the fleeting pleasure of pre-war Riga, her grandma Taube’s childhood home, with assistance from dissident poet Alexander Čaks. His poetry, according to Rosenboim, splendidly encapsulates Riga’s urban panorama, teeming with high-rises, cinemas, taverns, shops, workers, and capitalists. Čaks’ effusive evocation of food, such as ‘butter-yellow moon and dark bread night, summer radish, and plums,’ starkly sets off the imminent adversity.
“Air and Love: A Story of Food, Family and Belonging by Or Rosenboim” provides a flavourful glimpse into diverse aspects of the Jewish experience.
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Renowned for her seamless prose, Rosenboim often introduces a touch of mild satire. An example is her portrayal of her great-grandfather, Hananya Asheroff, whose memoirs brim over with neat script, emblematic of a man assured of his significant role in historic events. She demonstrates a warmer affection towards Hanaya’s father, Zion. His name, translating to ‘pinnacle’, symbolises a fraught concept in today’s world. Upon perusing Zion’s text, Rosenboim felt a kinship stronger with this remote character than relatives she’d encountered personally. His words resurrect a zealous youth with a tender, generous perspective towards life.
Rosenboim also enjoys embracing the bizarre. A case in point is when Zion’s father, Abraham, chooses to wed a second time. “Surprisingly, he opts for Uzbak, the mother of Zion’s fledgeling spouse Batya,” she slyly remarks. “The marriage pleased no one except the couple.” Her book leans more toward anecdotal narration than moral-laden fables, interweaving flashes of subtle humour amidst the ferocity of traditional myths and fairy tales.
The women in her story often go undocumented; her grandmothers, instrumental in her upbringing, are her only links to the female lineage. Despite initial skepticism towards the frequent appearance of grandmothers in culinary memoirs, Rosenboim derives a voice for these women from the cooking techniques and memories shared by them. Consequently, she casts them into the spotlight, showcasing their unique melody. These women were far from submissive homemakers. For instance, her grandmother Taube in Riga attended opera and ballet performances at the iconic national opera house with her brothers. At the interval, they’d treat themselves to scrumptious cheesecake and milky tea. Great-aunt Penina, far from enamoured by cooking, completely enchanted London with her irresistible charm.
Rosenboim’s effortlessly created recipes are deceptively intricate, their development informed by the exploration of dishes reminiscent of her ancestral memory, with roots in tradition, culinary expertise and location. Rosenboim’s meticulously crafted prose, devoid of criticism and rich with annotations, sheds a novel light on what might now be considered a subtle subject; the Jewish experience. One might be enthralled by the idea that in the 1880s, Jerusalem was perceived as a humble settlement that may transform into the new Alhambra, the ancient Spanish paradise where Christians, Jews and Muslims prospered together.
The African-American culinary historian, Jessica Harris, once proposed that both black and Jewish communities were “people of the word”. For the black community, who during the times of slavery were unable to read or write, their words were spoken, whereas the Jews were “people of the book”. Rosenboim’s female ancestors contributed their narratives orally, their stories perpetuating through word of mouth. It is through words that individuals carve out their heritage when they lack monuments, cities, and a homeland. As such, it is hardly surprising that some of the most accomplished memoirists and food historians are of African-American and Jewish descent, such as Harris, writer and poet Maya Angelou, and authors Michael Twitty and Claudia Roden. Their past endures via the recipes passed down and the narratives woven around them.
As Or Rosenboim narrates about her great-great grandmother Batya-Hannah, “Travel was not viewed as a courageous or exciting endeavour, but was rather a usual aspect of her existence.”