*Aside: This post is an ode to food, in the format of the essays from NPR's This I Believe Series, which first began airing in the 1950s. There was a revival of the weekly program for a few years starting in 2005, but sadly, Dan Gedimen and the folks at NPR decided to end the broadcast in 2009. However, Bob Edwards still plays recorded readings of amazing, heartfelt essays written by people of all walks of life on his weekend radio show.
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I believe in the power of food. I believe in the emotions food evokes, the way it brings people together, its heartfelt meaning when given as a gift, or a token of gratitude, or even a sign of asking for forgiveness.
Unfortunately, I don't get to see my family as often as I would like. But every time I come home, my mother makes it a point to cook as many dishes as can possibly fit in the 2 refrigerators in their home. It's how she shows her love. It's how most Indian mothers show their love, really. I have distinct memories of my mom making me homemade cakes and payesh (an Indian custard dessert) every year for my birthday. The week before I come visit them, my parents drive more than 50 miles (one way) to purchase pounds and pounds of fresh goat to curry for me by the time I return for the holidays. And every time I come home, I'm welcomed by a familiar meld of flavors -- usually a combination of garam masala and sauteed onions, garlic, and fresh ginger. When I was a kid, I used to have non-Indian friends come over to play who commented on the smell. "It smells...different. Kind of weird." I never noticed it, really, since I had grown so used to it. Now, I crave that smell. My heart smiles every time I enter and smell that familiar, comforting aroma of ...well, home. One of the best parts of coming home is that before dropping me off at the airport, my mother always packs tupperware containers packed with fresh foods in my suitcase so I'll have food for the next week. Yeah, I'd say I have pretty awesome parents.
That same desire to share one's love through food has been passed down to me. Every time I cook for others, whether it be for family members or friends, I try to put as much love and intention as I can into every dish I make. Why do I do this? Because even the simplest gesture, making even the most basic meal for someone, can brighten someone's day. It can bring your closest loved ones together. It can be a toast to a celebratory, joyous occasion. It can let someone know how much you care for them, that you took the time out of your busy day to make this simple dish.
Cooking as a gesture of love and friendship has especially been important to me recently, since being in graduate school does not allow me to have an expendable account from which to purchase nice gifts for my friends and family. As such, I've turned to homemade gifts to show how much I care for others. And you know what? I am lucky enough to have friends who do the same for me. For example, a few weeks ago, two very dear friends of mine sent me (via Joe, at work) some fresh ginger root they had grown in their backyard. They certainly did not have to do that. But they knew how much it would mean to me to be able to use freshly grown ginger root in my cooking. The same love they put into growing and nurturing this root, they offered to me. And I am eternally grateful for that.
Growing, cooking, giving, and receiving food will always be something near and dear to my heart, because I believe it is such a pure gesture of love. And thus, I believe in the power of food.
...
I believe in the power of food. I believe in the emotions food evokes, the way it brings people together, its heartfelt meaning when given as a gift, or a token of gratitude, or even a sign of asking for forgiveness.
Unfortunately, I don't get to see my family as often as I would like. But every time I come home, my mother makes it a point to cook as many dishes as can possibly fit in the 2 refrigerators in their home. It's how she shows her love. It's how most Indian mothers show their love, really. I have distinct memories of my mom making me homemade cakes and payesh (an Indian custard dessert) every year for my birthday. The week before I come visit them, my parents drive more than 50 miles (one way) to purchase pounds and pounds of fresh goat to curry for me by the time I return for the holidays. And every time I come home, I'm welcomed by a familiar meld of flavors -- usually a combination of garam masala and sauteed onions, garlic, and fresh ginger. When I was a kid, I used to have non-Indian friends come over to play who commented on the smell. "It smells...different. Kind of weird." I never noticed it, really, since I had grown so used to it. Now, I crave that smell. My heart smiles every time I enter and smell that familiar, comforting aroma of ...well, home. One of the best parts of coming home is that before dropping me off at the airport, my mother always packs tupperware containers packed with fresh foods in my suitcase so I'll have food for the next week. Yeah, I'd say I have pretty awesome parents.
That same desire to share one's love through food has been passed down to me. Every time I cook for others, whether it be for family members or friends, I try to put as much love and intention as I can into every dish I make. Why do I do this? Because even the simplest gesture, making even the most basic meal for someone, can brighten someone's day. It can bring your closest loved ones together. It can be a toast to a celebratory, joyous occasion. It can let someone know how much you care for them, that you took the time out of your busy day to make this simple dish.
Cooking as a gesture of love and friendship has especially been important to me recently, since being in graduate school does not allow me to have an expendable account from which to purchase nice gifts for my friends and family. As such, I've turned to homemade gifts to show how much I care for others. And you know what? I am lucky enough to have friends who do the same for me. For example, a few weeks ago, two very dear friends of mine sent me (via Joe, at work) some fresh ginger root they had grown in their backyard. They certainly did not have to do that. But they knew how much it would mean to me to be able to use freshly grown ginger root in my cooking. The same love they put into growing and nurturing this root, they offered to me. And I am eternally grateful for that.
Growing, cooking, giving, and receiving food will always be something near and dear to my heart, because I believe it is such a pure gesture of love. And thus, I believe in the power of food.
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