A lot of what you need to know you could learn from hotdish

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Earlier this month Vice President Kamala Harris announced her selection of Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz as her running mate for the 2024 presidential election. Almost immediately we were bombarded with footage of our governor doing charming, funny, often low-key, always important things. He attended the Minnesota State Fair with his daughter, Hope. He taught social media followers how to quickly and cheaply repair cars. He signed a law providing free meals for school kids. He reminded Minnesotans of what we love about our state and ourselves. Politics aside, he showed us what a great dad does, what a good man looks like, how a thoughtful person acts.

Back in 2019, the Before Times, I was invited to judge the Ninth Annual Minnesota Congressional Delegation Hotdish Competition in Washington, D.C. The event was originally organized by Sen. Al Franken, and after he left office Sen. Tina Smith took over. The competition challenged Minnesota’s delegates to create hotdishes, often themed, then gather before a crowd of reporters and other curious onlookers to have their dishes judged.

Walz was already at the helm in Minnesota, so he wasn’t a contender that year. When he was a representative, he won the contest in 2013 (Hermann the German Hotdish), 2014 (Turkey Trot Tater-Tot Hotdish) and 2016 (Tim’s Turkey Taco).

During my day as a Congressional Delegation Hotdish judge — say that three times fast with nine tater tots stuffed into your mouth! — I heard a few stories about Walz’s championship reign. I was told he and his staff would raise the previously won trophies over their heads and parade through the festivities, like professional wrestlers displaying a championship belt before a big match. Of course they did. I would be disappointed if they didn’t.

I wrote about that day in my second book, “Land of 10,000 Plates.”

Across America there was a rise in anti-immigrant sentiment and racist rhetoric, and it was not lost on me that our three favorite hotdishes represented the flavors of new immigrants: Rep. Betty McCollum’s Hotdish A-Hmong Friends, Rep. Ilhan Omar’s Little Moga-hot-dishu, and Rep. Dean Phillip’s From Monrovia with Love: Liberian Inspired Hotdish. Diversity doesn’t only make us stronger; it gives us amazing flavors. I was reminded of Chef Yia Vang, who introduced me to Hmong hotdish that tells his story of food, place and belonging.

Vang contributed a recipe for one of his Hmong-inspired hotdishes to “10,000 Plates,” and spent an hour or so talking to me about food, culture, belonging and Hmong food. He spoke about Hmong food as a philosophy rather than a list of ingredients. Hmong food tells a cultural story: “Where we’ve been, where we are and where we are going.” He explained that as the Hmong people migrate they learn from their new neighbors and adopt regional fare. In Minnesota that fare includes local vegetables, like plenty of roots in the cool months, and meats such as pork and beef. It also includes regional specialties like hotdish.

“What is hotdish?” Vang asked. “A base of root vegetables and whatever else we have. That is soul food in the North: Root vegetables keep us alive all winter. My gravy,” which he makes with Hmong sausage and coconut milk, “is southeast Asia.

“Hotdish was created out of necessity. How do I feed a family of 10 with one pound of meat? That is also the Hmong narrative. Cultures are not that different. Food is fluid. Within the Hmong culture we can take any ingredient and make it into Hmong food. Hotdish tells the story of struggle and poverty and that makes it soul food.

“Every dish has a narrative. I may not agree with someone politically, but I can have empathy. We talk a lot about how we disagree, but we agree on much. People all have the same feelings of love, pain, loss, envy, grief. Pain doesn’t discriminate. That is where we connect, at the soul level.” And food, he believes, is the ultimate equalizer. “Food and weather are the two things people rally around regardless of politics, race, culture, sexuality. Food is more than sustenance. If we put aside what makes us different and see how we agree, we can sit down and have a great conversation.”

Speaking with Vang renewed my own gratitude and resolve. As the nation continues stumbling down divisive paths, solutions are buried under rhetoric. To survive we need take action as individuals. Plant more trees, stop using plastic, be kind to one another and return to conversations about the things that matter to all of us. The place to begin difficult conversations is where we agree. When all else fails, sit down together over a delicious hotdish.

Sure, I don’t always walk the walk. I get frustrated with the rhetoric, with the slow nature of political change, with cruelty winning (dare I say trumping?) over logic and kindness. If our Minnesota governor does make it to the vice presidency, he’ll be too busy to champion the return of the Minnesota Congressional Delegation Hotdish Competition. But, perhaps his presence alone will trigger the rest of us to cross bipartisan aisles to share a humble but delicious hotdish.

You learn a lot about a person when you eat their hotdish. To sit down together at the table has always symbolized an understanding and even a certain intimacy. The food we serve represents our culture, values, likes and dislikes, and our history. That means that I appreciate your tuna noodle regardless of whether your peas are canned or frozen (but if you really want to get my admiration, you’d better top it with a thick layer of potato chips before baking). The heart of hotdish is its humble wisdom. Hotdish is not grandiose. It is a good Minnesotan who refrains from discussing their disappointment in your voting record before you’ve finished dessert.

Minnesota is not a melting pot. We are a hotdish.

Patrice Johnson is a food and culture writer, speaker, and teacher who lives in the Twin Cities. Her books “Land of 10,000 Plates,” and “Jul: Swedish American Holiday Traditions” were published by MHS Press.