Food is love
When we were cleaning out my parents apartment, I knew I wanted Mom’s Fannie Farmer and Joy of Cooking cook books. They were battered, and the spines were broken. There were several slips of paper with my mother’s illegible scrawling on them tucked in the pages, adjustments she’d made to recipes or ones she’d clipped from the newspaper to try. Mom wasn’t a great or a fancy cook but she did one thing that I will always remember. Her food made me feel loved. For her, cooking may have a been a chore, she was feeding a family of eight after all, but I always remember feeling satisfied and loved when I was done with a meal she had prepared. So, for me, food became an expression of care and love. That was something I tried to bring to my cooking when I had a family of my own. I’m not a fancy cook. I can make soups and roasts and chicken in the basic sense. I don’t make sauces, demi-glazes or foams or use complicated equipment. It’s good, simple, hearty, and satisfying. If you asked my son and husband they’d probably tell you they like my soups and roast chicken recipes the best. My son says eating my soups is like getting a hug from the inside out. That comment reminds me of how I felt when I ate my mother’s food. It warms my heart to know I’ve passed that along to the people I care about the most. Food is love. It’s an expression of how we care for, nourish, and feed each other, not just physically, but heart and soul as well. In the coming weeks I’ll pick a few recipes from Mom’s favorite cookbooks make them and post them here. It’ll be my way of passing along the love.