I DID NOT know it by such lofty terms as ‘food biodiversity’ back then, but as a child in a household of Lebanese immigrants to America, I viscerally knew that we had items in our backyard, cupboard, pantry and refrigerator that our neighbours did not. The yoghurt made by my aunts was more viscous, more bitingly sour and easier on my stomach than the flavoured, sweetened, pasteurised, homogenised ghost of yoghurt in American grocery stores. The vine leaves we picked from the sand dunes around our home were selected for a particular shape of leaves: their ‘female’ lobes were more rounded and cohesive ...
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