If working in a kitchen for two and a half years has taught me anything, it’s that taste is a language like no other. I love how chocolate silkily covers the tongue. How stew coaxes the flavour out of each ingredient, managing to warm every part of the body. And how the crunch of pecan pie and its soft caramel sauce renders me hapless.
I love the creative quality of food. Every meal begins in the same way — with rustic ingredients in their natural form — yet by the end, it could be anything, never looking the same twice.
In our western lifestyle, food is abundant. We often take it for granted, but its value is too high to waste. It is our sustenance and provision of life — the fact it’s there is baffling enough. And the fact that it’s good is whole other state of wonderment.
Perhaps the most incredible thing about food is that it brings us together. Sharing a meal with our family or community strengthens our relationships, enhances our communication, and we lead healthier lives nutritionally. And generally our quality of life improves. The act of eating intentionally together is significant: when we do so, we enter into another level of friendship.
I remember when some friends and I decided to cook a breakfast for our Bible study. We awoke before the dawn to darkness around us. The only warmth present was in the coffee gently brewing in the corner. We were all silent — nodding our good mornings to each other — weary yet rueful grins just beginning to form. Unaccustomed to this hour, the pots and pans creaked and clunked into action, stove elements sparking with life. As the sun began to peak over the horizon, eggs were beaten and the faint sizzle of bacon filled the air. Flour and batter thrown back and forth — our laughter the first articulations of the day.
A soft knock interrupted us at the door as we were greeted by cheerful faces and hungry stomachs. As the number of people grew, we congregated in the kitchen, everyone lending a hand. A few minutes later we were standing still and silent, watching the sun rise and glint off the morning dew — a moment of thanks and reverence — the kitchen behind us left untouched to bubble and crackle.
Another knock at the door swung us back into action: syrup was stickily sweetened, fruit was rendered down, pancakes and waffles flew off the griddle. Throughout the preparation we laughed and talked together. Finally we were all sitting at the table, observing the feast before us.
It was not the most imaginative food in the world, and it was not executed in the most meticulous of ways. But I would be hard pressed to think of a better meal.
As I look back to that breakfast, what stands out was that I was not responsible for the meal — everyone who came was involved. Within that act we all became dependent on one another and we all served each other. I found myself becoming as invested in the people as I was in the food. I am naturally a very shy person. But during the process of making and sharing food, I found comfort and expression. By the end of the meal I was thankful for more than the just food on the table; I was also grateful for the company surrounding me and for the time we had spent together.
Now I think it would be grossly inaccurate to say that making a simple meal together will magically bring about a close-knit relationship. It is hard work and requires sacrifice. But it is a step.
It is in our connection together where we find profound thanks. I am as dependent on those around me as I am on the ground below for sustenance. Sharing the two is not only natural, it is necessary.
Ultimately we do not experience and express the lives we lead alone — we do it with each other.
Flickr photo (cc) by Aurimas Adomavicius
