Perhaps with bread. The staff of life. Gluten intolerance would be a sentence to Hell.
I began my love affair with food as far back as I can remember...
I can see that monstrosity of a gas stove like it was yesterday. I needed a stool to reach the burners.
As long as I wasn't harming myself I was allowed to play there. I was somewhere between the ages of 5 and 6.
And the games did begin! And I found joy.
Scrambled eggs... the first thing I can ever remember making. They became my father's preference and later in life, my wife's.
Later there were braised meats and vegetables and beurre blanc and pastas (yes, I can make fresh) and Alfredo and cassoulet and soups and salads and enchiladas and sushi and stroganoff and and and...
I suppose there has always been a sort of spiritual connection between myself and food. It embodies so many things that move me. Nurture, love, home, friendship, compassion, warmth, creativity...
As so many of my Facebook friends can attest to, I am most always happiest in the kitchen.
There have been so many good times in my life that have revolved around the table. Holidays, celebrations, comfort, connection.
I remember fondly one particular night...
After spending said night out with friends drinking and dancing, the pangs of hunger (both for food and continued fellowship) found us back home. Home and hungry people are a siren song to me...
After settling them on the sofa, I began a (different) dance that I know so well...
The pans clanked... the sizzling began, the smells wafted...
Little by little pasta, sauce and warm bread became breakfast...
Plates full of love were proffered.
We ate. We laughed. We hugged... there was music. And wine.
I have to say at this point that I have the most amazingly patient wife. Her constant support of me and my desire to take care of others is enviable. Who else would accept a small band of mostly drunk, goofy guys into our home, at nearly dawn, with no notice?
She added her own brand of humor that morning (yes, it was well after 4:30 a.m.) and gained some mad respect.
She left for work as we were reveling, leaving laughing men, crude jokes and me to a sink full of dishes.
Dishes I was glad to do after sending people I loved off to their own lives and the day ahead.
When the day comes that I am no longer able to stand before the altar that is a stove, to worship Life in all of its glory and to feed souls as well as bodies, it will be the day I prepare to leave this plane.
It's so much more than food...
It is a little piece of me.
