Verity Player’s Fiendish Bean-Dish

“Oh, brilliant! What shall we bring?”

Verity and her husband Sacha””and any of their family friends””will never have a host cook all alone.

This is the dish they brought round to the Meiers’ for the first “˜do’ at theirs of that fateful new year: the year when she would twice travel to the USA””the “˜Evening Lands’. There she would risk her life for a simple letter written, as it turned out, during the head-splitting hangover after this particular soirée…

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Arash and Farrukh had arrived in Britain, the day after New Year’s, without anywhere to stay. Within three days, they’d launched themselves into buying a house together.

Ruth said it might be fun for them all to meet up.

By nine in the evening noisy conversation criss-crossed the Meiers’ generous dining table. Dishes of gefiltefish, couscous salad and stuffed vine leaves passed from hand to hand, along with news and wine.

Verity sat next to the two new arrivals.

She picked up an open bottle of red to refill her glass, offering it to her neighbours first.

Each declined with a polite wave of the hand.

“Er”¦white, then?”

Neither said anything.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Of course.”

Sharia law.

Two blokes living together.

Sometimes people made even less sense than usual.

She poured herself a glass and took a swig.

“Ruth said you were house-hunting.”

She’d start with the easy question.

“Where’re you going to buy?”

“Bishopthorpe Road.”

“What, near the racecourse?”

Farrukh nodded.

“Would you go to the Races? Are you allowed to bet?”

“Gambling is haram. But for horses, one can make an arrangement with the organisers”””˜make a prediction’ and win, if one is correct. There are bureaux for this, in our country. We’ve not yet found a Predictions Bureau here, though.”

Arash smiled. “There’s a business opportunity for someone.”

He paused.

“My cousin would have been good at that.”

“Would have?” She picked up her glass. “Does he”¦do something else now?”

No! Her face burned””Heck, it must match the colour of the wine in her glass. Would have. That must mean he was dead, been killed somewhere.

“He disappeared.”

The whole table went quiet.

Everyone turned to her. Was she supposed to ask?

“Er”¦how?”

“He was arrested. In Rawalpindi, the night before he was due to fly to Europe. Terrorism. No one has heard from him since.”

“What’s”¦what’s his name?”

Perhaps Amnesty had taken up his case? Perhaps she’d see him in next month’s magazine when it arrived at the house. She should make sure to find it, and write. She’d already made that New Year’s resolution to write to the Director of the C.I.A. about those camps”¦

The formal name, elaborate and winding, soon left her consciousness. She didn’t dare ask, “˜what was that again?’

Ruth rescued her. “So, about the house?”

Arash explained the very thing she’d wanted to know to start with””how a Sharia mortgage worked. A mortgage without usury.

She hoped she hadn’t drunk too much to be able to remember the details in the morning.

***

Verity pressed the hot flannel against her forehead. If she pressed hard enough, perhaps the splinters of ice might melt””not dig into the joints in her skull. She tried not to groan. Sacha stirred. Damn, she’d not wanted to wake him.

“I made an idiot of myself at the Meiers’, love. Sorry”¦”

“I did tell you. I did pour some water out for you.”

“Sorry”¦”

“And you asked so many questions. I hope we haven’t upset the Meiers.”

He turned over, away from her, but the pain put her past the point of caring.

She had to write that letter in the morning.

It needn’t be a long one…

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But to more practical matters. The dish, being Vegan, is (or at least, can be considered) also both kosher and halal. And you never know when that might come in useful.

 

The vegetables: 

• 2 small potatoes
• 3 carrots
• 2 parsnips
• Half a celeriac, or 4 sticks celery

The rest: 

• 4 tablespoons sunflower oil
• 5 cloves garlic
• About 1/2 cubic inch ginger
• 2 red onions
• Fistful of fresh mint leaves
• 1 level teaspoon crushed chillies (turmeric will also work, if people prefer a milder dish)
• 1 tin (about 400g) tomatoes
• 1 tin (about 250g once drained) cooked chick-peas or any white beans such as cannellini, pinto…
• 1 mug (about 300g) of veggie stock
• Pinch saffron threads

Kit: 

• Large frying pan
• Cooking spoons
• Deep dish or similar, to set vegetables aside in
• Only one cooking ring needed
• About 50 minutes of time, of which 20 are actually busy

Method: 

1. Dice the vegetables.
2. Finely chop the onion, garlic and ginger (no need to peel the ginger).
3. Finely chop the fresh mint.
4. Make up the stock and drop the saffron threads in.
5. Tip half the sunflower oil into the frying pan and gently fry the vegetables until they begin to soften. If the frying pan has a lid that’s great, but still make sure the veggies don’t stick to the bottom. I don’t know why but the potatoes are always the worst for this.
6. Take the fried veggies out and set them aside.
7. Top up the oil in the pan, and heat gently.
8. Fry the garlic and ginger.
9. Add the onions, mint and chilli, and fry on low heat until the onions are soft and translucent.
10. Tip in the tin of tomatoes, stir them in, and simmer for 5 minutes.
11. Add the drained beans, stir in, then add the fried veggies and the stock.
12. Simmer for at least half an hour.

Seasonal variations: 

Fiendish bean-dish can be adapted for summer by changing to summer vegetables. Celery rather than celeriac, and red peppers instead of parsnips, for example. It can even be served cold, if the weather merits it.

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BIO: C L Spillard is a complex interplay of matter and energy in a wave-pattern whose probability cloud is densest in York, United Kingdom.

The moon landings influenced the young pattern’s self-awareness mechanisms, igniting lifelong interest in Physics, and in humanity’s plight on Earth.

C L Spillard’s wave-pattern enjoys proximity to a second pattern originating in St Petersburg (Russia), and these two have since generated two younger ones who are now diffusing over the planet stuffing themselves with knowledge as if it were going out of fashion.

She claims responsibility for a raft of published short stories, the fantasy “˜The Price of Time’, and its newly-released sequel “˜The Evening Lands’.

Her website lurks at www.cspillardwriter.co.uk and she can be stalked on Twitter @candispillard.

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If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!

This essay has three parts. The first tells you about who I am and why I find ways to put Jews and Judaism in my fiction. The second tells you about my novels and the Jewishness of them. The third is the good bit. When I build worlds for my novels, I make sure that there is food in the world. I will talk about some of that food and, of course, there will be recipes. Recipes are worth waiting for. If you want to start on the fiction before you read the first post, then my most recent novel is The Green Children Help Out. I explore what a superhero looks like when created by a Jewish Australian woman with disabilities. Hint: there’s no Superman. And now, on with the posts.

Part One

I’m Jewish Australian. It used to take courage to say this in front of strangers, and it still takes a moment and a deep breath. Things are different in Australia. It’s not just the big spiders and curious streetlife. I’d rather talk about the curious streetlife, because kangaroos are a traffic hazard where I live and our magpies attack people. Also, it’s easier than talking about being Jewish.

Officially, I’m classified as CALD (Culturally And Linguistically Diverse), but until recently I was NESB (from a Non-English Speaking Background). Unofficially, I’m called many things. I often call myself a giraffe (an exceedingly short one).

Why a giraffe? Strangers tell me after panels or papers or talks,  “I’ve never met anyone Jewish before” or “You speak very good English for someone Jewish.” People with more worldly knowledge ask when I left New York or Israel or, if they’re less tolerant tell me, “You should go back to where you came from.”

I usually ask, “Do you mean Melbourne in general, or specifically Hawthorn?” Melbourne is my home city and Hawthorn my home suburb. I’ve been away for nearly forty years.

The conversation continues, “Go to where your parents came from.”

“That’s difficult, because my father lived in country Victoria and my mother in Melbourne””you need to choose.”

The conversation seldom stops there. Most of these people expect me to turn into some mythical being from somewhere they never quite identify, and are very disconcerted when they find out my father’s mother’s mother’s mother was born in London, as was her mother, and her mother’s mother. The rest of me comes from all over Europe. My family has been in Australian for well over a century.

Most Australians expect Jewish Australians to be exotic. The most common terms are “Exotic White” or “Near White.” During the infamous White Australia policy, Jews were Honorary Black.

These days, I describe myself as “off-white.”Â It stops all the questions before they begin.

The writer I’m most often told about when people discover my profession is Arnold Zable. He wrote a fictionalised account of his family’s last days in BiaÅ‚ystock during the Holocaust. He was one of the last people to escape this far, you see. Another member of his family who escaped married a cousin of mine and a couple of years ago I finally met Zable.

“You know my mother,” I said, “And your cousin married one of my cousins.”

“Which cousin?”Â he asked.

“Feivel, the carnival guy.”

This tells you something else about Australian Jewry. Prior to World War II, we were few in number. Many of us are related in some way, if we come from an older family. Or our parents went to Sunday school together.

We are culturally different to Jews who arrived after the Shoah. I call us the scones-and-committee branch of Judaism. Our branch has writers and musicians and dentists and teachers and shopkeepers and lots of people who worked in the garment industry. I have a cousin who specialises in lipstick and a sister who specialises in wine. My great-aunts ran a shop that Phryne Fisher would have gone to for her haberdashery. My family fought in World War II. We are, in our way, quintessentially Melburnian.

And yet”¦ I’m off-white. It took until my third novel for strangers to stop telling me my English was very good for someone Jewish.

All these descriptions roll out as if I’ve said them a thousand times. I have. They’ve been my defence against bigots and those who assume there are no Jews in Australia and against all those people who don’t see me unless I shout.

My fiction helps me shout. I hold the pinpricks I face up to the light so that a picture shines through. I don’t write literary novels. I write science fiction and fantasy. Every now and then I stop and ask, “Why don’t I write like CS Lewis or “Doc” Smith or, in fact, any of the writers I grew up reading?” I have things to say about myself and my culture, I suspect, that don’t fit into a classic SF story. There are scones, there are committees, and there’s a lot more.

Next post: Meet the novels in which I say these things.

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BIO: Dr Gillian Polack is a Jewish-Australian science fiction and fantasy writer, researcher and editor and is the winner of the 2020 A Bertram Chandler Award. The Green Children Help Out is her newest novel. The Year of the Fruit Cake won the 2020 Ditmar for best novel and was shortlisted for best SF novel in the Aurealis Awards. She wrote the first Australian Jewish fantasy novel (The Wizardry of Jewish Women). Gillian is a Medievalist/ethnohistorian, currently working on how novels transmit culture. Her work on how writers use history in their fiction (History and Fiction) was shortlisted for the William Atheling Jr Award for Criticism or Review.

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If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!