Arak - Kesak! Kesik! Keskun!

On Saturday I went with Joe and Seth to Galesburg, IL, to join in the fun of a large family gathering. The occasion? Making arak (drop the k, and say "ara," quickly rolling your tongue on the 'r'), which is a liquor that is traditionally drank in many Middle Eastern countries. The get-together was hosted by Joe's Aunt Ivete Uncle Sarkis, or "Sharky," who headed up the distillation. Arak is a highly alcoholic beverage (think whiskey), but Sarkis checked with the local police to make sure it was legal to distill. Needless to say, it was a great night for all!

Sarkis is explaining the
distillation process.

Sarkis had already started the distillation process by the time we got to their house around 5PM, but we were just in time to listen to him give a great explanation of the steps he follows. The first thing that needs to be done is to havest and smash grapes, preferrably white, because they tend to be sweeter (more sugar=more alcohol), and let them ferment naturally in a container for a period of 20-25 days. Stems and seeds are all left in the mixture, which Sarkis stirs everyday to allow all of the sugar to be converted into alcohol.

The buckets are full of the smashed grape
mixture, though this picture was taken
after alcohol had been derived from it.
The base of the distiller is
also pictured here.

After the fermentation period is over, the actual distillation can begin. Sarkis owns a large distiller that he actually brought back from Lebanon. He fills the kettle-like base with the grapes and then seals the base and the rest of the structure with dough. In Lebanon, clay would usually be used for this purpose. The entire distiller is placed above a fire, which is constantly kept lit. The fire will eventually cause the alcohol to boil off of the fermented grape mixture and rise to the top of the distiller.

The top piece is a hollow stack that ascends up to a dome that is surrounded by a water reservoir. Cold water is run through to cool the alcohol vapors so that they can turn back into liquid. It is extremely important to cool the vapors right away, otherwise you will have what Sarkis refered to as, "a bomb waiting to blow up," inside the distiller. The alcohol slowly drips down through a tube into a collection container. Arak actually means "sweat" in Arabic.

You can see the fire used to boil
the grape mixture.

The liquid alcohol is tested for its purity by splashing a small amount on the fire. As long as it creates a flame, it is still of high purity. Once this fails to occur, it means all the alcohol has been taken from that batch of grapes, and a new batch can be put in the base. A batch of alcohol needs to be distilled at least once more. Until then, it is refered to, in Lebanese Arabic, as spirito (speer-ee-toe). 

Once all of the grapes have produced spirito, Sarkis then distills the alcohol a second time. For this step he adds aniseed to the alcohol. If you have ever tried black licorice, you will know the flavor of anise. It is placed right into the base with the alcohol, and its oil and flavor is carried over into the finished product. Sarkis sometimes even distills the arak a third time to add more flavor and further concentrate the alcohol, but it is ready to drink after the second distillation.

My first cup! Actually,
this was arak that Sarkis
made the year before. Arak is
a clear liquid, but it is often
added to water, which creates
a milky-colored emulsion.

Aside from watching the arak be made, many of Joe and Seth's family were there to visit and enjoy a wonderful potluck, mostly consiting of Lebanese and Brazilian foods. I was extremely thankful for that, because I hadn't eaten the entire day, and I rarely found myself without something to eat. As I said to Seth, "I tried everything, and I could make a meal even out of the things I liked the least." It was all so good!

Check out...

...this spread!

We stayed until two or three in the morning, sitting outside by a fire and laughing the whole time. At one point, Joe and Seth's Aunt Eva taught me how to say "cheers" in Lebanese Arabic. "Kesak (kay-suck)," she said to me, holding out the wine cooler she was drinking (not everyone cares for arak). I was a little confused. "She said, 'Cheers!'" Seth informed me. "You say, 'Kesik (kay-seek),' back to her, since she's a woman. Kesak is used when you are speaking to a man, and you say, 'Keskun (kay-scon),' when speaking to the whole group." 

Joe's mom, Theresa, Seth, cousins Tyler and Elana (sp?), and Joe's brother, Anthony.

Tyler and Elana's dad, Tony, Joe's dad, Henri, me, and
Joe and Seth's Aunt Eva. I have no clue
why I was making that face.

"Kesak," I said, realizing I had messed up before the word fully left my lips. Everyone around just laughed. "Kesik," Seth reminded me. "Kesik," I repeated, holding out my glass, a little embarrassed, just reaching far enough across the fire pit to make contact with Eva's bottle. Luckily, I had many more opportunities to practice that night.

"Joe" at the Alwan's

When Joe asked me if I wanted to go over to his parents' house for coffee on Monday night, I jumped at the invitation. I love the Turkish coffee that is drunk by the Lebanese, and I knew it would be a great time relaxing and hanging out with his family. When I got in the car, Joe informed me that I was also invited to eat pizza with them, since his family hadn't settled down to have dinner, thought it was already 8:30PM. Pizza and coffee-what more could a college student ask for?!

Once we got to their house, Joe and I sat down in the living room with his dad, Henri, and youngest brother, Anthony. His dad was busy building a Halloween costume for a party he and Joe's mom, Theresa, are going to attend, and Anthony was torn between doing his math homework and showing us the trophy he won in a recent soccer tournament. Joe's other younger brother, John, walked in a few minutes later after working out at the YMCA, and Joe's mom came in and out of the room to talk to us as she was cooking dinner.

Eventually it was time to eat, so we moved the conversation to the dining room table. It felt really nice to sit down for a meal with a family, since I don't regulary get that chance during the semester. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Joe's mom had also an "appetizer" of stuffed, cooked kibbeh (refer to "There Ain't Nothin' Like a Home-Cooked Meal"). The stuffing was a mix of caramelized onions and pine nuts, and the whole thing kind of reminded me of an all-meat Hot Pocket. I learned that these are also a common street food in Brazil, where there is an even larger Lebanese population than in Lebanon itself, and where Joe's mom is from.

Stuffed, cooked kibbeh

John and Joe

After trying the kibbeh, we ate some pizza, and then it was time for coffee and dessert! Turkish coffee is not actually a type of coffee but rather a method of preparing coffee. The basic idea is to use a small pot to boil water, then pour in finely ground coffee, and finally bring the mixture back up to a boil. This process takes some fine-tuned technique, but Joe's mom made it look just as easy as using a typical coffee maker. Sugar is also sometimes added to the boiling water in the beginning to take some of the strengh from the coffee.

Boiling the coffee.

Joe's mom served the coffee in small cups, similar to espresso, and also brought out a couple Brazilian desserts for us to try. The one I had was ricotta pie (think cheesecake) topped with goiabada (goy-a-bah-dah), which is a guava paste served in Portuguese-speaking countries.

 

Here's the final result.

The ricotta pie,
topped with goiabada.

I was wired after drinking two cups of coffee, and Joe and I decided we should probably head back to campus to work on homework. Actually, I wish I had some of that coffee right now, since I'm posting this at around 2:30AM.

I guess I'll just leave everyone by sharing a joke Anthony told that night, which I have found unexplainably funny for the last couple of days: A pirate walks into a bar, complete with a peg leg, a hook and an eye patch. The bartender asks, "Hey, how'd you get the peg leg?" Pirate replies, "Argh, I got into a fight." Bartender says, "Ok. Well, how'd you get the hook?" Pirate replies, "Argh, I got into another fight." Bartender says, "Alright. Well, how'd you get the eye patch?" Pirate replies, "Argh, I was layin' on the beach, and a bird pooped on my face. It was me first day with the hook."

Thank you very much to the Alwan's!
Henri, Theresa, Joe, John & Anthony

The ten-year-old in me is still laughing...

Highs and Lows

Well, Fall Break at Bradley University has come and gone, and Joe and I are getting set to graduate in December. it's one of those weird times in our lives when we are both excited and nervous, content, yet anxious. Both of us has started preparing for our transition from full-time student to (hopefully) full-time employee.  Something that has helped us prepare for this time is our close friendship and the fact that we can talk to each other about almost anything.

During one of our "therapy sessions", in which one or both of us explains a problem in exchange for a piece of somewhat schoolyard-esque advice from the other, Joe was explaining a current situation in his dating life. Without getting into any specifics, I do want to bring up one very interesting conclusion we came to, which involves the culture into which Joe was born and raised.

Joe, having been surrounded by Lebanese culture for his entire life, is used to living within a high context community. Context of a culture is the level of underlying circumstances that give forms of communication varying meaning depending on a situation. High context cultures tend to exist where people are very communal and/or have deep cultural roots that are not easily understood by outsiders, such as in Arabic, Asian or African societies. Basically, in these cultures a simple phrase, like, "How are you doing today?" can carry more weight to it than just being a direct question.

Countries such as the United States, on the other hand, are home to low context cultures. Low context societies are less communal and have less entrenched and more diverse cultural roots within them. The phrase, "How are you doing today?" will most likely be taken as a simple question in these parts of the world. Joe's girlfriend is from the Chicago suburbs, so she is part of an extremely low context society.

The differences in Joe and his girlfriend's cultural contexts is a possible reason they may have some trouble communicating at times. When she says something to Joe, it is possible that he is going to overthink it and let the "lost" meaning stress him out. When Joe says something to her, she may not fully understand what he means. This is just something that will have to be worked out over time, but it will definitely make for more fun nights of sitting around the hookah and talking.

I wonder if any of my readers have ever had any experiences like this? Do you think you come from a more or less contextual society? Community? Family? Also, since this is a blog for a marketing class, what do you think are some good ways to overcome possiblle contextual differences when marketing or conducting business internationally?