The Lamb Shank Battle

What Intercultural Families Teach Us About Living Well Together 

It’s an early evening ritual that will be familiar to many; opening the fridge in the hope that inspiration will strike, and what to cook the family for dinner will immediately be clear. This week, my eyes landed on the lamb shanks my husband had brought home from the butcher. Instantly, I imagined them slow-cooked in a tomato-based marinade, served with creamy mashed potato and sautéed vegetables. To me, mash is the ultimate comfort food. I love how velvety potatoes soak up sauce like a sponge. 

Like many warm, reassuring comforts, my love of mash comes from childhood. Potatoes were a constant on our family dinner table growing up; true to the stereotype, my Irish father grew up on a potato farm. The humble, versatile potato in all its glorious forms was a family favourite, and for me, they aren’t only food. Potatoes are a nod to my heritage, representing the warmth and comfort of home.

But here’s the twist: my husband doesn’t share my passion for the humble potato. In fact, his expression often borders on disappointment when mash appears. I’ve even witnessed my perfectly whipped mash slapped between slices of bread as if it were a kebab filler. The real heartbreak? His obvious longing for rice. 

You see, my husband is from Afghanistan, where rice is not just a shadowy side dish but the centrepiece of nearly every meal. Afghan rice is extraordinary, its fluffy long grains cooked to perfection, often fragrant and jewel-like served on its own or if your feeling fancy laced with lentils, nuts, carrots, or raisins. Cooking rice poorly is the ultimate shame; cooking it well is an art. For him, as for me and potatoes, the love of rice runs deep and connects him back to childhood, to family and to his heritage. While he may not have developed a love of mash, after twenty years together, I admit that I’ve become a rice connoisseur. 

So here we are: potato devotee versus rice enthusiast, standing over the lamb shanks. When I announced my plans for mash and veggies, I was met with “the look.” You know the one. That’s how the lamb shank battle began. A tousle over the perfect side dish allowed each of us to reflect on the differences in our cultures, in our memories, and how we are building a family in a new, shared space, where elements of both our histories and traditions are woven together.

This time, our lamb was transformed into Kabuli Pulao, a fragrant Afghan rice dish. But next time? We agreed it’s mash, and the humble potato will be given another shot. 

Living in the In-Between Space 

This small domestic tug-of-war is about more than starch preferences. It reflects the ‘in-between space’ many intercultural families inhabit. It speaks to the daily negotiation of traditions, tastes, and ways of life. Side dishes may seem insignificant, but they point to the bigger picture of place, people and culture, and how living in the ‘in between space’ provides challenge and opportunity.

We live in a world that often frames identity in binaries (us/them, here/there, right/wrong), which can lead to conflict, a lack of empathy and division in our communities, as seems to have become the norm of late. The promise of intercultural families lies their ability to show us the richness of the middle ground. They embody what it means to bridge divides and evolve new ways of living together. I like to think of agreeing to rice not as a compromise, but as an acknowledgement that the simple comforts tied to heritage can become a shared joy.

The extent to which people are open to marrying across cultural or religious lines is one of the strongest indicators of social cohesion. In Australia today, one in three registered marriages is intercultural. What looks like an individual choice is, in truth, a quiet revolution shaping our collective future. When you accept someone into your family through marriage, you weave your life inextricably with theirs. That’s integration at its most intimate level. 

I think about my broader family and how my intercultural marriage has impacted their lives. Beyond a heightened awareness of cultural and religious differences, it prompts consideration of how to coexist well in the context of these differences. Our Muslim side of the family, for example, shares in the joy of Christmas festivities, with halal turkey and non-alcoholic drinks ensuring everyone can be part of the celebration.

What Intercultural Families Can Teach Us 

Reflecting what I have learnt and experienced from our successful 20-year partnership, it is easy to list my top-three takeaways (not food, this time):

1. Compromise. 
From planning a wedding that honours multiple traditions, to negotiating everyday choices such as holidays, cleanliness rituals, pets and child-rearing, intercultural families are daily practitioners of compromise. 

2. Empathy. 
Living alongside each other fosters deep empathy. I don’t know firsthand what racism feels like, but as a white woman raising children of colour, I witness its impacts: the phone call from a principal to let me know my child has been a victim of racism, or the resigned suggestion from my husband that I take the linesperson duty at football because I won’t be targeted for offside calls. These experiences have sharpened my awareness and ability to walk in someone else’s shoes in ways I could never have developed on my own. 

3. Perspective. 
Navigating cultural difference day in and day out, makes you very aware of your own cultural lens. Intercultural families become bilingual in culture. They know there is no single ‘normal’ way of being, doing, or knowing. This vantage point helps us view ‘the other’ not as alien but simply as another way of being human.

Not Always Easy 

Of course, the ‘in-between space’ can be uncomfortable. At times, you feel like you don’t fully belong anywhere. My Irish-Australian roots feel more distant, and I know I’ll also never be fully Afghan.

There is a gift, however, in the discomfort. And that’s the gift of the middle ground: the ability to hold multiple truths, to appreciate both potatoes and rice, to understand what each core memory means to us, and to recognise that neither diminishes the other. Instead, when combined thoughtfully, they create something new and delicious. 

Battling over lamb shanks might sound trivial, but it represents something profound. Intercultural families live at the frontline of cultural negotiation, compromise, empathy and creativity. They teach us that differences need not divide us; they can enrich us. This lesson seems more urgent than ever as we scroll our daily news feed, speak with friends and colleagues about local and national events and consider the world into which our children will grow to be adults.

So next time you sit down to dinner, whether it’s lamb shanks with mash or Kabuli Pulao, remember: the way we eat, love, and live together in these small, everyday negotiations is what ultimately builds a more cohesive society.