I still greet my loved ones the way I was taught: have you eaten? If the answer is no, we eat. There are no ifs or buts about that. Everything else can wait until food —hot, nourishing— has been consumed, and hunger has been satiated. I’ve spent a few years thinking on this, the whys behind it. An ex joked it was because I had a feeding kink. (That ex is an ex for a reason.) But no, I realized recently that it’s because food is holy to me. More than any notion of god, more than the fox gleaming at my throat, food —and shelter— is numinous, a small miracle in a cold universe.
This resonates with me. In my family, food is important. Meals together, shared even in times of strife, have weight. Some holiday get together dates are sacrosanct due to the food and company, in good moments and bad. Food is love and life. We cook for those we care about, or pay for their meals when out. We have recipes that date back generations (we typed out my great grandmother's handwritten recipes and turned it into a PDF to share with the family. Those recipes were passed down to her from generations before as well. It is a tasty part of family history).
My retired mother lives alone and when by herself she barely cooks, but when we would visit, or when she was taking care of my ill sister, she would cook a delicious feast. Sometimes simple, sometimes over the top, but always full of love and attention.
My mother is not good at showing affection. She is still learning. But through food? That is a love language she understands and can give.
This resonates with me. In my family, food is important. Meals together, shared even in times of strife, have weight. Some holiday get together dates are sacrosanct due to the food and company, in good moments and bad. Food is love and life. We cook for those we care about, or pay for their meals when out. We have recipes that date back generations (we typed out my great grandmother's handwritten recipes and turned it into a PDF to share with the family. Those recipes were passed down to her from generations before as well. It is a tasty part of family history).
My retired mother lives alone and when by herself she barely cooks, but when we would visit, or when she was taking care of my ill sister, she would cook a delicious feast. Sometimes simple, sometimes over the top, but always full of love and attention.
My mother is not good at showing affection. She is still learning. But through food? That is a love language she understands and can give.
This is quite powerful-and lovely.
Ah, I loved this <3
Thank you. So powerful, so wonderful.
Thanks for this beautiful piece, Cassandra.