24 November 2008

FoodLoveHistory

Readers of this blog will have figured out by now how much I enjoy food. You also may have teased out the fact that I find eating locally and seasonally to be not only a good idea, but nearly imperative. I can no longer imagine living in a place where I cannot walk to the farmer’s market on a Saturday morning to be greated by the farmers I see every week and peruse the selection of mouth watering produce. For this reason I am constantly shocked (and somewhat appalled) to find that many, many people live in Chestertown and somehow never find the farmer’s market, and in fact spend quite a bit of time complaining about the lack of decent food in Chestertown. Really.

But this isn’t another rant about why local is better, in my rather loudly voiced opinion. I want to take a minute to reflect on why food itself is important, and how, when you stop to think about it, it is a momentous reflection of who we each are as individuals.

I, personally, am incapable of making dishes that feed fewer than 6-8. I have no idea how I developed this tendency, but it reflects my personality. I love nothing so much as feeding people, and I will force dishes on whichever of my friends are nearest (I have yet to hear a complaint). I am always making oversized lasagnas or immense pots of chili with homemade bread, or stir-fries full of crisp, fresh veggies seasoned with ginger, teriyaki and lime or curry and masala. Part of this I’m sure is that I belong to a CSA and therefore receive my veggies in bulk, and have to find creative ways to use fifteen pounds of eggplant before it goes bad. Part of it is my desire to share good food with everyone I meet.

My mother, by contrast, dislikes cooking, and as a single mother with an absurd work schedule I really don’t blame her. She loves food as much as me, but tends toward things with minimal preparation- her cabinets are full of unusual bottles of sauces and spice mixes that she picks up in her insatiable quests for new things to taste. Her favorites, however, are dips and things to dip with, and the door to the fridge is always filled with jars of mustards and salsas and tapenades, while the counter is littered with bizarre chips and flavored pretzels and wasabi crackers. If you had ever sampled my grandmother’s cooking you would understand this tendency. Growing up, my mother’s family didn’t have much money, and so ate the American staples for struggling families: pot roast and meatloaf and potatoes and unexciting, overcooked vegetables. My grandmother was actually a fairly good cook, but had a rather small repertoire.

Speaking of which. Though I prefer curry and falafel to- well, for a lack of a better word, “American” foods, the meals my grandmother prepared for us still resonate in my memory. Occasionally my sisters and I will get together and prepare our favorites, with a twist, while reminiscing about how my grandmother always had honey buns in the freezer for sleepovers and would make us popcorn while we curled up on the couch with her to listen to stories. We still make her famous fried potatoes, and though I have taken to making a simple chili to put over them, the taste still brings back nights of arguing over who would get the last potatoes, while trying to hide green beans under our napkins. For holidays, though I now do the cooking and typically feature curried squash or aloo gobi with our meals, I still make green bean casserole the way she always did, with extra worcestershire and fried onions, and mashed potatoes with extra milk and butter (no one notices when I use soy milk and margarine).

Food tells a story, it is part of who you are. What you eat says as much about you as your job or your clothes or your car- in fact, it says much more. The difference between fast food and a home cooked three course meal, between Ethiopian and Japanese, even between spaghetti sauce recipes, can reveal entire cultures, personal preferences, the entire history of an individual.

If your meals tell so much about you- and I highly recommend taking even a few minutes at your next meal to think about what it says- doesn’t it make sense to choose wisely, and make every meal one worth having? After all- we all have to eat.

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