One World, Many Slaws: The Vibrant Bridge of Picklis, Kimchi, and Global Flavor

One World, Many Slaws: The Vibrant Bridge of Picklis, Kimchi, and Global Flavor

If you know Cooking with Ayana, you know I’m all about the grace notes of flavor—the *zing* in a dish, the magic of something pickled or bright on your plate. Over the years, whether I’m in Brooklyn, Little Caribbean, or exploring new corners of the world, I’ve noticed one truth: everywhere has its own version of tangy, crunchy, vibrant slaw. It’s a testament to how, in kitchens across the globe, we’re more united than we are divided.

A Florida Memory: Griot & Picklis

Let’s start with a memory from Florida, where every time I’d order griot—a rich, slow-cooked fried pork dish central to Haitian cuisine—there would always be a generous mound of picklis on the side. For the uninitiated, picklis is a fiery, crisp slaw made from cabbage, carrots, and Scotch bonnet peppers, marinated in a bracingly tart vinegar bath. It’s not just a condiment; it’s a *balance*, a spark that cuts through the richness of griot and wakes up every bite. I love how, with every plate, picklis is both tradition and necessity—a little taste of Haiti’s heart, no matter where you are.

Kimchi: Asia’s Living Culture

Traveling—or “culinary traveling,” as I love to call it—has introduced me to a world of flavors. In Asia, kimchi is the undisputed queen of pungent, fermented crunch. On my first encounter, I was struck by its complexity: cabbage, radish, garlic, chili, ginger, and that telltale funkiness from fermentation. Kimchi, like picklis, isn’t just a side dish; it’s a staple, a daily ritual, a gut-friendly tonic, and a proud symbol of heritage. Every Korean table glows with a jar of kimchi, each family swearing by their recipe, just like those Caribbean kitchens I grew up in.

Diaspora Slaws: Jamaica, The South, and Vietnam

Back in Brooklyn and my Caribbean community, we keep it bright with Jamaican slaw—often beside curry goat, oxtail, or jerk chicken. It’s usually simple: crisp cabbage, sometimes carrot, and always a splash of lime or vinegar. No heavy mayonnaise here; it’s all about freshness and crunch. For me, it’s a taste of home, the flavor of my Flatbush childhood, the smell of curry wafting through every hallway.

Chef Ayana’s Curry Ram Goat & Green Bananas with Jamaican Slaw

When I made my way down South, I was greeted by Southern cole slaw: creamy, yes, but always with that essential tang of vinegar cutting through. At backyard barbecues or church picnics, it’s the common thread, the cooling counterpoint to anything smoky or fried.

And then there are those unexpected moments that stick with you—like the first time I tried green papaya slaw at a Vietnamese restaurant. Piled high, dressed with lime juice, chili, and fish sauce, it was so familiar and so new at the same time. It reminded me that, from Haiti to Hanoi, this craving for brightness, crunch, and acidity is truly universal.

The Magic of Citrus and Vinegar

What binds all these dishes together? Citrus and vinegar. Whether it’s the bold acid in picklis, the lactic tang of kimchi, the lime in Jamaican slaw, or the vinegar in Southern or Vietnamese versions, these flavors wake up the palate. They *cut* richness, *preserve* harvests, and connect us all. They’re carried over generations, tweaked and adapted for local ingredients, always signifying celebration, gathering, and love.

Food Is Our Common Language

Cooking with Ayana has always been about honoring my roots while embracing the world. Whether I’m topping griot in Florida with picklis or serving kimchi alongside Caribbean barbecue, I’m continually reminded that our tables look different, but our instincts? *They’re the same.* We want color, contrast, and a splash of something to make a meal memorable.

Next time you scoop up some slaw—wherever you are—pause and feel the kinship. Through time and distance, through every flavor and crunch, we are unified. One world, many slaws, one love.