Pushing the Boundaries of Taste

Pictured here are pimiento sandwiches in buttermilk biscuits. And the reason I am starting with this image is pretty damn simple. It is a dish that is completely unknown here in Tel Aviv. In fact, there is nothing remotely like it (don’t get me started on the confusion here between Israeli schnitzel and Hot Crispy Nashville Chicken). And yet whenever I serve it up to folks here, they annihilate it. I mean, annihilate it. I once made up a batch of 45 pimiento cheese biscuits as a starter for a catered private birthday celebration for 12 people. 12 people. And this was just the starter. Gone in 60 seconds.

And that then becomes a dilemma. Several dilemmas actually. How far can one reasonably push the boundaries of the familiar into liminal territory? Ok, Pimineto sandwiches are fairly easy, since you have this kick-ass umami combination of fat, acid, and salt. But what about other dishes, a bit more challenging? Like using tchina as the base for a riff on my peanut soup? (Spoiler Alert: No one seems particularly interested.) Or something that would seem like a no-brainer, like roasted turnip puree (turnips abound here). Nope.

The fact of the matter is that , in my experience, there is almost total randomness between the introduction of a (new) southern dish to the Tel Aviv palate and how it will fare. Sometimes brilliantly, sometimes dismally, always unpredictably. The diagnosis here is somewhat troubling: Introducing an unfamiliar cuisine into most any culture is a bit like masochistically embracing learned helplessness. And why would we do that, exactly?