Like many, I grew up in a food-focused family. My husband was quick to notice and a bit confused that so many of our conversations centered around food.
There is a pretty simple explanation.
It was never subtle. It was discussed.
The “I love you” phrase was seldom uttered.
We were told, and often, that my parents expressed their love by caring for us, guiding us, putting a roof over our head and food on the table.
It was often spoken at dinner time.
We got the message early.
Food is more than sustenance, it is an expression of love. And we all followed suit.
We valued our culinary skills, spent much time in their development. We shared our favorites, exchanged recipes, spoke of cook books and new gourmet discoveries at the market.
And much like our parents, we went to the purest sources available.
Independent butchers and dairy farmers, in-season produce direct from the fields and roadside stands, farmer’s markets, bakeries, small business owners.
Always local, always fresh. Mostly home-made.
The kitchen table figured front and center, the hub of our social life.
We grew to have families, careers. Our lives got busy.
Expressions of love took other forms. The words would come, it was much easier for each generation.
But we never forgot those early attitudes about food. And I am more at home in the kitchen than just about anyplace else.
It mattered then. Still does.