LOS ANGELES _ Beneath the dimmed lights of a downtown L.A. restaurant, Naseema Kashefi watched quietly as a hungry crowd fawned over the crunch of her golden samosas. Servers passed her Afghan specialty on ceramic trays while her newfound fans groaned with each bite.
The meals of her childhood served as a reminder that Kashefi's war-torn homeland is no longer safe, no longer a place where her family can stake out a future.
Now, the dish that her mother taught her to make a decade ago, in the humble confines of their Kabul kitchen, was uniting a group of strangers _ lawyers, social workers, artists.
Over the next three hours, as bottles of wine drained and plates cleared, they would hear the story of how a family who once felt abandoned by the immigration system was embracing their new life in their adopted country.
"The help we have received has not been forgotten," Naseema had said earlier. "Now, in the same way that Americans have helped us, I can be of service to them through our traditions."
It was a recent Sunday at the New Arrivals Supper Club, a communal feast prepared by immigrants from some of the world's most troubled countries. Launched in 2017 by the L.A.-based nonprofit Miry's List, the monthly dinners _ hosted in homes and restaurants _ aim to empower newly settled refugees by giving them opportunities to earn money, forge new communities and share their culture through food.
What started as informal gatherings in people's backyards has morphed into large-scale events like this series at Spread Mediterranean Kitchen, which paired Kashefi's appetizers with Middle Eastern food cooked by celebrity chef Simon Majumdar. Attendees purchase tickets for $50 each, or $75 with a wine pairing, which covers the costs of the chef's wages and the equipment and provisions needed for the meal.
Proceeds from the dinners go to the family as well as to Miry's List, which was founded in 2016 by community activist Miry Whitehill. On average each family receives between 60% and 65% of the full ticket price. In two years, Miry's List has paid out more than $85,000 in wages.
Food as an entree
Throughout Southern California, food often serves as an entree into other cultures and identities. For refugee cooks like Naseema, these meals provide the chance to share the breadcrumbs of their history.
"We want to show the culinary culture of Afghanistan," she said in Dari. "We want to share this with the American people."
Naseema, who also speaks halting English, leans on her husband, Bashir, a former interpreter who aided the U.S. military, to do most of the talking.
Bashir's military career was marked by long stretches away from his family, punctuated by interludes of terror. During one mission locating IEDs in Helmand, his convoy was pinned down by gunfire. He would have died, he said, if not for helicopter reinforcements.
"It's a dangerous job," the 36-year-old said, "but I chose it to save other people's lives."
Bashir knew he needed to get his family out of Afghanistan in 2014, around the time several of his fellow interpreters had gone missing. No one knew whether they had been killed or abducted by the Taliban.
In 2016, he applied for a special immigrant visa, a program available to people who worked with the U.S. armed forces as translators or interpreters in Afghanistan. The State Department issued more than 4,000 such visas to Afghan applicants in fiscal year 2017, but the program saw a 60% decrease in fiscal 2018, according to Congress.
Interpreters also found themselves caught under the first iteration of the Trump administration's travel ban in 2017. Some were detained upon arrival or had their visas revoked. Multiple recipients were denied boarding for their flights to the United States, the International Refugee Assistance Project said.
Despite those complications, Bashir landed in Los Angeles with his pregnant wife and daughter in March 2017. Their first weeks in America weren't what they'd imagined. This time two years ago, the Kashefi family had never felt more alone.
"Before, we didn't know anyone. We had no friends here," Bashir told the dozens of people gathered around him at Spread.
His audience leaned in from their metal chairs, listening and slathering samosas with the fiery chutney his wife had concocted.
"Now," Bashir said, "everyone here is our friend."
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