The way my people used to eat were very different. One was sent all around the world, delicious home-cooked meals no matter where he was. He grew up knowing that sweet tea was to be brewed, a grilled PB&J was the way to go, and a beer after mowing the lawn was something to appreciate.
The other was stuck in the very same spot for 18 years, and the food put on the table was just that. She grew up knowing mom and grandma’s cooking, picking spaghetti for birthday dinner, and seeing a clear example of what too much booze can do to a man.
He joined the hippie movement- brown rice and eating gourmet on a tiny budget with his first wife, who only ate the M&M’s out of the trail mix.
She earned her way to college, eating whatever she could afford, and went on to Boston and to a catering job.
They met at a wedding, he was a guest and she was working. She captured his heart through her excellent taste in soul music after the death of his first wife. They raised two daughters, and despite their respective pickiness, we were all bound together by our love for food.
It was clear early on that I was a foodie. Telling my kindergarden teacher that my ham and cheese sandwich was a marriage of flavors, loving raw oysters from the first time I tried them, bringing bottled Starbuck’s frappachinos for lunch in elementary school. One kitchen renovation later, and I started to become aware of how important food was to us, as a part of family life. At this time, I also started to realize the other side, that many people did not sit down and eat dinner as a family.
As I got older, our unconditional love of food became more obvious, almost a joke. Planning out meals while eating, my friends and I cooking elaborate late night snacks. My preference of prosciutto, my sister’s obsession with goat cheese, my mom’s love for almonds and dark chocolate, and my dad’s penchant for locally brewed beer.
For my people, food is not just what’s on the table. It’s an on going history, an art of combining earth’s bounty into perfect human fuel. It’s something to look forward to. It’s the first question I ask when I get home, and one of the things I knew I’d miss the most in leaving home. It’s sacred and delicious. Hard work and well worth it. It ties us together so tightly because we love food and eating almost as much as each other.
