More Than Just Food

Have you ever noticed how many movies and songs talk about food metaphorically? My all-time favorite is "Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death," from Auntie Mame. Of course Parrot Heads will recall, "I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise." Even old sitcoms like "The Jeffersons" have theme songs with lyrics that say "I finally got a piece of the pie."

The idea that food nourishes more than the body isn't new, but it is worth contemplating. When I was growing up food was one of the many ways that I knew I was loved. My mom baked bread, cookies, pies, and cakes for no special reason except that my dad, brother, and I liked them. She made dinner every night so that we could all sit down together to talk about the events of the day. She packed sack lunches for school trips with plenty of snacks to share because she knew our friends might not have as much. She provided goodies for school bake sales and cake walks so my brother and I would learn that contributing to a worthy cause was important. She brought two flavors of homemade cupcakes to class on our birthdays so we could learn to share and consider other people's wants and likes. In the summer, we had homemade peach ice cream, popsicles made from Kool-Aid and Dixie cups, and fresh English peas from the garden. All of this labor created a home where my brother and I felt rich and safe, even on tuna casserole night.

Now - all grown up with a family of my own - I endeavor to bring these touches of love to my own home. Not long after I purchased a food processor, I made potato chips with plenty of salt and pepper. The starchy rounds were oh so thin and crispy when fried. My son, who loves chips almost as much as I do, said "Wow! I bet none of my friends have moms who make potato chips at home." While this seems inconsequential in the grand scheme of life, I think he was telling me that he, too, feels loved when I spend time in the kitchen just because I know he'll enjoy what I'm making.

Ultimately, that's what cooking is about for me. Sure, I love the taste, the texture, the color, and the smell of food. But more than that, the food itself - no matter how plain the grilled cheese, how often I stirred the risotto, or how long I simmered the shrimp Creole - is about love of another kind. It is about communicating to my family how much they mean to me through the time and effort I spend in the kitchen. This is a lesson I learned well as a child and hope to pass on to my son. Thanks, Mom.