Food and Memories

Norah Jones is playing in the background and I hear her soothing voice delicately harmonize, “…come away with me in the night.” It feels like a cozy blanket draped over my shoulders as I glide across my kitchen and imagine the possibilities. A dab of this here, a touch of this there. There is a warmth in the air and an aroma emerging that is satisfying and intriguing. I smile as my focus is clear and present.

I am making a meal.

Cooking and baking truly bring me joy. It is a time of focus and rewarding purpose. I am able to clear my head while in the kitchen. Stresses and task to complete seem to melt away from memory as I immerse myself in chopping, mixing, tasting and preparing a meal for my family.

Food has always been so pleasurable to me. I always enjoyed eating a good meal and trying new things. My love for food and cooking has further emerged over the years and even more so since I became a mother and wife, now designated a definitive role as chef for my young children.

My husband and I developed a love for fine dining and trying new things together. We absolutely love trying a new restaurant and discussing our experience. We also love the series Top Chef on Bravo and get excited when a new series launches. A gentle ‘Top Chef Premiere Night!!” was added to my google calendar when the latest season was announced a few months ago. My husband and I, often comically, find ourselves using their linguistics when out to eat.

“It’s delicious but maybe needs more seasoning.”

We are silent critics as in reality, we recognize the efforts of any chef and are appreciative of the ability to enjoy someone’s efforts and indulge in a unique experience.

Food is art. A meal that is presented to you for pleasure at a restaurant, food truck or perhaps a good friend’s home, takes thought, creativity and practice. Perhaps a friend asked about your food preference or allergies or perhaps an immigrant worked for years to fund a food truck and present his thoughts and energy to you in the form of a meal. Food is full of emotion, love and consideration.

I have very fond memories of visiting my Babcia in Poland and eating her meals. The memories bring me comfort and a sense of closeness. She took such pleasure in watching her grandchildren eat her meals. Ironically, I never saw her actually eat. She would spend her time and effort making a delicious soup for lunch and sit with a smile on her face as she watched her grandchildren gulp it up after a day running around in the forest.

I remember her smile. A warm bowl of soup sometimes reminds me of that smile.

I suppose not ironically, my mother loves to cook too. I think she loves to feed others even more, and in similar fashion, I rarely see her sit and indulge in her own meals.

Our holidays at her home are focused around large-portioned plates of food that are delicious, diverse and carefully considered for their audience. She will make a traditional Polish Easter meal, but also make sure to make a nice salad for the mamas, steamed vegetables for the toddlers and pasta for the kiddos. I see my own Babcia in her as I watch her sit at the end of the table, radiant with joy and delight as her children and grandchildren sit around the table and eat her food. Of course, she rarely eats as she gently notes, “Oh I’m not that hungry,” as she smiles from the end of the table.

A good meal brings people together. It is more than something you use to nourish your body and provide glucose to your cells to provide ATP and hence, life. (I’m a nerd).

A good meal is powerful and can flourish memories for years.

Perhaps I love food so much because I equate it with so many beautiful memories. Sometimes it’s a drink as well. I fondly remember ordering an Elderberry cocktail at a swanky rooftop bar in London, being so excited to try it and stopping myself from drinking it as something just didn’t feel right about it. I found out the next day that I was pregnant with my daughter (in a bathroom at the Churchill War rooms, but that’s a story for another time). Now when I see Elderberry on a menu, I laugh to myself and it reminds me of that moment and how in tune I felt with my body and this little life that was developing.

Scott and I often reminisce about our travels abroad and the food we sampled or the meals we savored. We remember the late night gyros in Poland after a day of exploring, the haggis in Scotland while walking through Edinburgh and the most amazing steak and lamb in Nice, France as we were wined and dined by a young Chef who was just utterly excited to feed us and chat about his space.

I smile to myself when my husband and I have both worked a long day and we cook up hot dogs for dinner. “My daddy loved pork and beans,” I tell me kids as we sit together. Growing up, my mom was the predominant Chef in our family (for a reason). My dad didn’t know to cook pasta, but he was a master at pork and beans. Whenever my mom was not around for dinner, that was what we ate. It was a can of Campbell’s beans mixed in with boiled, cut up hot dogs. Of course, it was not complete without a slice of white bread for dipping.

It was delicious. We haven’t had a similar meal at our home yet because the current me is perhaps often too nutritional conscious, but we should. The meal was full of love and reminds me of such wonderful times with my Dad.

Similar to my mom and my Babcia, one of the greatest pleasures in cooking and baking is watching others enjoy your creations. Perhaps it is the Polish woman in me, but there is nothing more satisfying than watching your loved ones enjoy your food. I hope that I too will one day sit at the end of a large table and watch my family come together over a full table of food. I’m sure I won’t eat anything either. I’ll smile and take in the emotions. I too will savor the moment.