Fatty Fatty Boom Boom: A Memoir of Food, Fat, and Family

by Rabia Chaudry

Iffi Mamu was absolutely unable to drive past a junk heap of broken old furniture and household goods on a curb without stopping to comb through it. He had thus collected nearly a dozen PC units and monitors, none that turned on; busted-up, unmatched furniture; pots and pans and dishes; strange sculptures; and fake plants. You name it. Nothing was irredeemable and thrift was king. He bought discounted fruit and vegetables and bread that had begun going bad, collected thousands of packets of condiments and pilfered napkins from fast-food restaurants and 7-Elevens. One day I found cans of infant formula in his kitchen. There was no baby in the house, there never had been. He explained that a neighbor was getting rid of them, samples from the hospital, since she was breastfeeding and didn’t need formula. Milk is milk, he figured. So he brought it home to use as creamer in his chai. He insisted we all try it in our tea and it was as awful as you’d imagine.