Food For Thought
Recipes Are Not Just Directions, They Are A Roadmap Of Your Life
A supermarket roasted chicken, a bag of boiled Success rice, and steamed broccoli. As a child, that was my dinner.
Every single night.
Some people “eat to live” and some people “live to eat.” Obviously, my mother fell into the “eat to live” category and so by the age of 12, I had to start getting creative or I knew I would slowly starve to death.
I learned to cook out of necessity but quickly found that it was quite rewarding. What started out as a chore turned into a lifelong passion that defined the person I am today. I realized early on how satisfying it is to see someone thoroughly enjoy a meal I cooked or how truly flattering it was to have a favorite dish requested for a special party.
People who live to eat know that food is so much more than sustenance — it is the common denominator that unites people. It is woven into the fabric of family, friendship, and cultures. It is a language that everyone can understand.
But, perhaps what I love most about food is that it ties me to people in both my present and my past. Almost every recipe is a reminder of a person that is, or once was, in my life.
When I make my late Aunt Florence’s mandelbread cookies I am transported back to her tiny kitchen in Queens, NY, and recall my first lessons in baking. She taught me to make sure to always scrape the sides of the bowl and to clean up as I worked.
When I make my Penne Alla Vodka I am reminded of my former Italian manager who invited me to her house to talk work strategy and afterward taught me how to make the best sauce in New York.
When I cook my mother-in-law’s sweet potato casserole on Thanksgiving I think of her and am saddened that she is no longer physically able to make the casserole herself.
Many of the recipes I make come from the people in my life. The recipe and the person are one; and it is impossible to pull out the ingredients from the pantry without conjuring up a memory of the time I spent with that individual.
For me, cooking the dishes of those who have passed is comforting and connects me back to them if only for a few short hours. When I pull out the tattered, food-stained recipe card, I instantly can feel that person right by my side.
When I make a recipe from an old friend or someone I have been remiss in speaking to for a while, I am prompted to text a quick picture of the dish and check in with them.
Some recipes come from dishes I try to recreate from a vacation. And those invariably bring me back to a happy time, allowing me to recall who I was with and the sights, sounds, and smells of the destination we visited.
Recipes are so much more than ingredients and instructions. They are people, places, aromas, laughter, sadness, and life lessons. They are memories and reminders of who you are and where you have been.
One day, I hope to pass my recipe box (and my bookmarked recipes on my iPad!) down to my children. I hope they will remember all the stories I told them about these precious dishes and eventually pass them on to their children. I also hope they create their own “box of memories” as they travel through life.
So perhaps I should not be so bitter about my mother’s disinterest in food. If I truly think about it, I should be thankful. She has passed so many other good qualities and traits down to me, shaping me into who I am. I have to forgive the fact that food was not her passion. Those many bland, redundant dinners, pushed me to be resourceful and fueled my love of cooking.
Am I a little sad that I do not have any recipes from my mom? Perhaps. But, I am at peace with that. Because, although I will never eat a store-bought roasted chicken ever again, every time I walk past one in the grocery store I think of her.
