As far back as I can remember, ‘food love’ has been one of the ways through which my family communicated and a common interest that bound me to my closest friends.
My Dad always exposed me to unfamiliar flavor combinations like grape jelly on a hamburger, grape jelly on a tuna fish sandwich, and tomato ketchup with fried chicken. Initially, I did not want to taste these unusual flavor combos. However, Dad would always admonish, “You won’t know until you try it.” So, I tried them…and bonded with Dad. Sometimes, I enjoyed the flavors and helped him eat the dish/snack. Other times, the flavor combos did not tantalize my taste buds; Dad enjoyed it anyway…and continued to introduce and share unfamiliar food. Sometimes, the dish became a family staple; sometimes, not. But, Dad’s goal was always achieved: for me to push outside my comfort zone and try it.
As a preschooler, I went ‘to the field’ with my Grandma Hazel. The rows and rows of produce mesmerized me: corn, beans, watermelon, and collard greens. I enjoyed walking those narrow rows of produce and lifting watermelons nearly larger than myself! Prepping butter beans was another favorite task. Awestruck by the process, I happily sat down on the porch with my bowls and ‘shelled’ pod after pod. I was convinced that the brightly colored and speckled beans were treasures. Not only did I try to figure out why they were so beautifully colored, but I also looked for them at dinner time. Unfortunately, the colors disappeared during cooking; so, I was disappointed and did not want to eat the beans afterward. (Still, I do not eat those beans. I think they may have scarred me for life!)
When my Auntie Loretta, Mama V, and Grandmo’ Mary cooked Sunday and holiday dinners, they would ‘put their foot’ in the food! Auntie Loretta spent days cooking and baking for Thanksgiving dinner and hosted so many people on the actual holiday that she rested for days afterward. Her house was the final stop on everyone’s list, and they always left with filled Tupperware. Many Sunday dinner prep sessions found Mama V supervising as my siblings and I cut vegetables and washed poultry. She was patient, as I cringed at the sensation of poultry on my bare hands, and always reminded me that dealing with ‘uncomfortable’ things was a part of life. (Now, I wear gloves while cleaning poultry…scarred for life!) My Grandmo’ Mary mystified me with her intuitive baking of sweet potato pie. ‘A little bit of this’ and ‘a little bit of that’ was how she cooked and baked. She exuded such confidence and moved with ease and a rhythm that I hoped to imitate one day.
I relished every Sunday and holiday that created an opportunity to be among these and other women in my family. They would share stories of life experiences and an understanding that ‘food love’ was a great way for us to serve and love each other. We gave our heart through our labor without complaint…no matter how long it took. The fellowship of these women was priceless, and the forged bonds were strong. Inevitably, lots of hugs and kisses would be shared…even some corrective instruction and tears. By the end, though, each woman knew that she had someone to talk to, someone who loved her just as she was; no performance…just being.
With this ‘food love’, I entered every commercial kitchen on a mission to hone my skills and share with others the love my family showered upon me. Every day, I relived those family meal prep sessions and heard my family laughing and teaching. I smelled collard greens and cornbread dressing, saw a tower of beautifully roasted meringue on a Lemon Meringue Pie, and felt the love of those women who taught me that to serve was to love.
Unbeknownst to me, my ‘food love’ had an incredibly self-harming downside. Because I attached love to food, it became a safe place…a place of comfort and assurance whenever I was stressed, upset, or otherwise thrown off my game. After each stress-filled or secret eating incident, I soothed my guilt with a promise not to repeat the behavior…only to end up in the same cycle after a strenuous workday or disappointing circumstance. I spent numerous years lost in this self-harming cycle, and my body image bore the brunt of the abuse.
After a conversation with my Sister, a Certified Holistic Nutritionist, my ‘food love’ was awakened in a new way. I realized that my ‘food love’ had drifted away from its foundation and considered new ways to love myself via food…ways that were nurturing and life-giving rather than self-harming.
I knew my family would be proud of that.
#foodlove #bws #bwsfoodlove #nurturingthesoul #nourishingthebody #plantforward
Black Wood Spoon 