For my first personal reflection in what feels like a long time, I want to share with you my love of food. Some people’s memories are dominated by activities and music. But for me? Memory resides in a dish. Pepperpot in my grandma’s kitchen on Christmas morning - the smell of the rich, sticky stew bubbling on the stove and the freshly baked rolls I would use to mop up the velvety liquid. Or Saturday Soup when I was being looked after by my dad. It was the one dish he had down, a mix of hard food, peas and dumplings. We’d stand in his little kitchen and I’d ask for us to include, more, more, more. I also think about the corned beef sandwiches he’d make or the pilchards in tomato sauce we would eat on crackers. Oysters at the seaside with my mum and aunty are vivid to me too. Whenever they could, wherever we were, they’d always order them.
When my mum and aunty became vegan my nan, our matriarch and the one who expresses love through food, was devastated. Almost furious at the fact she could no longer feed her children. Age was not a factor. It did not matter that she was eighty eight and her children were nearing their sixties.
As their mother, her affection lives in her salt-fish and bakes. Her curry chicken and flaky roti. Her mackerel and green banana. The reality is that her love extends far beyond her food but it made me think about how much of us exists in the dishes we make.
One of my favourite things to do when I travel is take a cooking class. Preferably with a local aunty, because their food tastes the best. In Barcelona I learned to make a paella, and then we all sat and ate it together. The family meal being such an important part of Spanish culture. I visited Japan with a friend and took myself off for a day to learn the history of different types of ramen and the parts of the country each one represents. I learnt about the meticulous ways in which each broth is made, the specific ingredients required and the time it takes. It’s often upwards of six hours. I spent time in Thailand with a fellow queer who taught my girlfriend and I how to make a broth base from sugar cane. Here I also unsuccessfully tried to catch and cook a fish for us to wrap in Pandan leaves and stuff with herbs from the farmhouse. There’s a video of me squealing on the internet somewhere which I will never live down. In Mexico, I spent time in the kitchen of Lily who taught me about the different sauces and accompaniments to Mexican food. It turns out we in the West have gotten Guacamole completely wrong. We should be praising the tomatillo.
I list these things to show my appreciation for the art of cooking, and for feeding the people we love. For taking the time to sit around the table, break bread and engage in conversation discussing our histories and family traditions. I love that everyone will have their own special ingredients. My girlfriend and I both make a version of bakes - hers from St Lucia and mine from Guyana. It’s been six and a half years and I still have not convinced her to give me the special ingredient. She wants to feed me them herself. To see my face light up when she presents me with a dish full of fluffy bakes ready to be stuffed with ackee and salt-fish.
I saw a meme on Instagram the other day of someone making food for a friend and then staring at them intensely while they eat it, waiting for feedback. My girlfriend jokes that I do the same. It’s an extension of my love. I’m waiting to see what her reaction is to that first mouthful. I want to know if it tastes like home, if it relaxes her after a long day, if it tells her that I love her. Last week I made roti and pumpkin talkari, curry shrimp and home made hot sauce. Then I delivered it to the woman who had taught me these very recipes. My nan. She complimented the food - and she’s usually a very tough, albeit loving, food critic. I told her I can die happy now knowing that she’s tasted my food. She told me not to use gluten free flour to make roti ever again.
I understand now why my nan was so upset that her children became vegan. They could no longer taste her cooking. It must be from her that I get this desire to feed the people in my life. For as long as I am able to, I will take the time to nourish my people. I hope they know that for me, this is the purest manifestation of my love.
While I reflect on this simple but essential act of being able to nourish friends, family and ourselves - it makes me think of a quote I read recently. It’s by Reem Kassis, Palestinian Chef & Author of The Palestinian Table. It’s about the relationship between food and home.
"In spite of our political circumstances and global dispersion, what ties all Palestinian tables together is more than just good food; it is the notion of ‘home’. The spirit of generosity, the importance of family, and the value of bringing people together.”
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