Each semester I give the inclusive language spiel to my classes: the talk on why we use both masculine and feminine pronouns when we offer human examples, why we avoid perpetuating stereotypes and degradation, and why we instead should use language to fight for freedom as Anne Lamott urges reader-writers in Bird by Bird. When it comes down to it, I tell students, inclusive language isn’t about equal numbers of pronouns or saying strictly “nice” things about people who are different from you. Rather, inclusive language is the product and practice of an observant person seeking to realistically and compassionately represent the world and people around her. For example, if giving examples of professors, defaulting to only masculine pronouns is more than politically incorrect; it neglects the fact that women can and are professors. At this point I pause and say “Case in point.” Some students laugh. This lecture, I tend to dread. I think it is always difficult to bust open people’s linguistic frameworks, especially before you get to know what those frameworks actually look like. So, I obsess a little bit, only a lot, about what issues to raise and then how people respond. Who stopped blinking when I said they could refer to God as he or she or even as lowercase god (or not at all) according to their theological views? Who nodded slightly when berated the use of “gay” to mean something negative?
With this obsession so much in the forefront of my teacherly mind, it was only a matter of time before it collided with another obsession: baking. While reading Katherine Mansfield–a modernist fiction writer who was born into colonial New Zealand–and Witi Ihemaera–a contemporary Maori writer and diplomat, my Contemporary World Literature class and I came across repeated mention of lamingtons. Since characters were eating these mysterious objects, I, of course, had to do some research and report back to the class. For those of you who don’t know, lamingtons, of Australian and New Zealand origins, are small sponge cakes coated in chocolate and shredded coconut–basically two bites (or, uh, one . . . half) of heaven if heaven were chewable.
See?
Being the instructor, and really wanting an excuse to try lamingtons, I made the executive decision to make a batch to share with class on our last day discussing New Zealand writers. So, as I end up doing every semester, I asked for the class to write down any food allergies or veganism that would affect the recipes I might use. These are what I came up with: dairy, gluten, corn. Even with a gluten-free mix, this is a deadly combination for bakers. With no guar or xanthan gum in my local grocery store, I had to go with a pre-balanced mix, which, although it did not contain corn like the others, included freaking cultured buttermilk. I wanted to shake the small shelves of the allergy section like a deranged cubicle worker assaults the office vending machine, but that was would be pointless, so I dropped the dairy-laden mix in my hand basket and headed to the chocolate aisle.
As a vegetarian I have never felt limited in what I can eat. Casually, I pick pepperoni slices from my pizza or gut turkey sandwiches. I’m not tempted to change my mind about excluding meat, but it is ultimately my choice. One of my friends (you know who you are) will probably never let me hear the end about coddling people with alleged food intolerance, but I do feel bad that I can’t even make some cakes that a class of 21 people can all eat. Can you picture me sitting in a class as coconut-covered cakelettes are passed and I CAN’T eat them? I. Would. Be. Devastated. My poor unrepresented colon would want to rewrite the cookbook, overturn the oppressive, exclusive presence of gluten, fracking buttermilk cultures, tree nuts, whatever.
Over-dramatic? A bit. But I love food, and especially in the case of the lamingtons, food helps us to share new experiences and reflect on long-observed pastimes. New goal: practice inclusive baking.
(Anyone know of a delicious Chilean treat? We’re finishing up Isabel Allende’s The House of the Spirits next week.)
February 3, 2012 at 14:16
Speaking of inclusiveness (or lack thereof), your blog-site won’t allow me to like your post. But I do. Like it, that is. Even if, as a blogger user, my voice doesn’t count.
(And I already knew about lamingtons — the joy of having Australian friends).
February 3, 2012 at 18:03
That’s stellar, Koh. I’ve always tried to be aware of other people’s food allergies and restrictions. But being engaged to someone who is allergic to chocolate, dairy, nuts, shellfish, and soy has made me even more aware, and even a little bit obsessive. After all, I’d prefer not to have to drive her to the hospital or deal with her upset stomach after she eats something she shouldn’t, and I try to extend that same courtesy to others. (Aren’t you glad you don’t have Christina in your class?)