A Bad Aftertaste
For the first time in quite a while , the most interesting news story circulating through Lebanon and the wider Lebanese diaspora has nothing to do with religious extremism, security concerns, or sectarian tensions. Rather, it involves a subject that has for ages been one of Lebanon’s most successful cultural exports: food.
The nausea inducing reports detailing the wretched conditions of Lebanese slaughterhouses and illegal bottling plants point once again to the deep challenges that face a leaderless nation. While frequent flare-ups in communal violence and continuous dangers from extremist groups like Jabhat al-Nusra and ISIS remain foremost on the minds of most Lebanese, this recent food safety scandal has demonstrated that the impotence of the government stretches far beyond maintaining Lebanon’s territorial integrity and into the daily lives of its citizens.
Now this point is not news to anyone who has contended with Lebanon’s omnipresent power outages, walked down trash-strewn beaches and driven on its lawless, unpatrolled roads. Yet there is something deeply personal about our foodstuffs – Lebanese, with a passion for fine cuisine and mealtime traditions that stretch far past the plates on the table, know this as well as anyone. Food brings us together in ways that often seem impossible in such a fragmented country. While Lebanon is deeply troubled in so many ways, our cuisine remains a point of national pride. A country of just 4.5 million, yes, but you may walk down any major thoroughfare in Europe and see a cedar in the window of a Lebanese café or restaurant. Sadly, the food made in these establishments may be much safer to order than that of many restaurants in Lebanon itself.
Which is why there is a congratulations in thanks to Health Minister Abu Faour for his courageous stand in the face of an unexpected amount of opposition to his food safety campaign. Critics of Abu Faour claim that his efforts to clean up the food industry spell trouble for an already-struggling tourism sector – the Minister of Economy has accused Abu Faour of practicing “terrorism against restaurants.”
The fear that this investigation might further damage the tourist industry may very well be true – although if tourists are not already deterred by images of running gun battles in Tripoli or reports of ISIS activity on the Syrian border, dirty food and water will likely not be much of a deal breaker. Yet it is unsurprising that the country’s business interests are up in arms over this investigation. After all, decades of civil strife have bred a government that overlooks malfeasance in business practices; this investigation could just as well have centered on shoddy building regulations. Tragically, Abu Faour’s crusade is barely scratching the surface when it comes to structural problems within the country. The vast majority of these: disturbing rates of obesity and tobacco use, large income disparities among citizens, and chronically underdeveloped infrastructure – will remain even if ISIS renounces violence, Syria becomes a democracy, and the Shebaa Farms are returned.
My first voyage to Lebanon since infancy came when I was 10 years old; after so many years of yearning to visit the country where my father was born, I could hardly wait to land in Beirut and explore the country. Unfortunately, I spent the next few weeks curled up with a nasty stomach bug, as did my father and mother. My trips to the Cedars and Baalbek were marred by frequent roadside stops to release the bodily fluids churning in my digestive tract. As unappealing as this story is, it presents a certain sort of analogy for Lebanon as a whole: a beautiful, culturally blessed nation that is continually struggling with a sickness that will not go away. This sickness is political, economic, and social, and it will manifest itself in every nook and cranny of Lebanese life until the day when the country is able to stand on its own two feet without the support of foreigners or the vitriol of extremists. It is only then that food will taste its best, water its sweetest in the mouths of the Lebanese people.
Claude Khalife
For the first time in quite a while , the most interesting news story circulating through Lebanon and the wider Lebanese diaspora has nothing to do with religious extremism, security concerns, or sectarian tensions. Rather, it involves a subject that has for ages been one of Lebanon’s most successful cultural exports: food.
The nausea inducing reports detailing the wretched conditions of Lebanese slaughterhouses and illegal bottling plants point once again to the deep challenges that face a leaderless nation. While frequent flare-ups in communal violence and continuous dangers from extremist groups like Jabhat al-Nusra and ISIS remain foremost on the minds of most Lebanese, this recent food safety scandal has demonstrated that the impotence of the government stretches far beyond maintaining Lebanon’s territorial integrity and into the daily lives of its citizens.
Now this point is not news to anyone who has contended with Lebanon’s omnipresent power outages, walked down trash-strewn beaches and driven on its lawless, unpatrolled roads. Yet there is something deeply personal about our foodstuffs – Lebanese, with a passion for fine cuisine and mealtime traditions that stretch far past the plates on the table, know this as well as anyone. Food brings us together in ways that often seem impossible in such a fragmented country. While Lebanon is deeply troubled in so many ways, our cuisine remains a point of national pride. A country of just 4.5 million, yes, but you may walk down any major thoroughfare in Europe and see a cedar in the window of a Lebanese café or restaurant. Sadly, the food made in these establishments may be much safer to order than that of many restaurants in Lebanon itself.
Which is why there is a congratulations in thanks to Health Minister Abu Faour for his courageous stand in the face of an unexpected amount of opposition to his food safety campaign. Critics of Abu Faour claim that his efforts to clean up the food industry spell trouble for an already-struggling tourism sector – the Minister of Economy has accused Abu Faour of practicing “terrorism against restaurants.”
The fear that this investigation might further damage the tourist industry may very well be true – although if tourists are not already deterred by images of running gun battles in Tripoli or reports of ISIS activity on the Syrian border, dirty food and water will likely not be much of a deal breaker. Yet it is unsurprising that the country’s business interests are up in arms over this investigation. After all, decades of civil strife have bred a government that overlooks malfeasance in business practices; this investigation could just as well have centered on shoddy building regulations. Tragically, Abu Faour’s crusade is barely scratching the surface when it comes to structural problems within the country. The vast majority of these: disturbing rates of obesity and tobacco use, large income disparities among citizens, and chronically underdeveloped infrastructure – will remain even if ISIS renounces violence, Syria becomes a democracy, and the Shebaa Farms are returned.
My first voyage to Lebanon since infancy came when I was 10 years old; after so many years of yearning to visit the country where my father was born, I could hardly wait to land in Beirut and explore the country. Unfortunately, I spent the next few weeks curled up with a nasty stomach bug, as did my father and mother. My trips to the Cedars and Baalbek were marred by frequent roadside stops to release the bodily fluids churning in my digestive tract. As unappealing as this story is, it presents a certain sort of analogy for Lebanon as a whole: a beautiful, culturally blessed nation that is continually struggling with a sickness that will not go away. This sickness is political, economic, and social, and it will manifest itself in every nook and cranny of Lebanese life until the day when the country is able to stand on its own two feet without the support of foreigners or the vitriol of extremists. It is only then that food will taste its best, water its sweetest in the mouths of the Lebanese people.
Claude Khalife