...what's the deal with people and food, anyway? This question has been on my mind, as I just came back from my annual trek "up north," where I helped feed 22 arts campers and an assortment of teachers, artists, and family members. After that, I fed a good 120 Misdummer festival-goers over the weekend. A lot of time on my feet, a lot of work, a lot of fun.
The thing is, I like feeding people. And people, in general, like to eat. When I'm in charge of the kitchen, the food is fresh-made from scratch, no molecular structures have been damaged by microwaves, and, whenever possible, the ingredients are organic and/or free-range. All well and good, if you're of the same mind regarding health, food, and the well-being of the planet (unlike those chemical company interests actually lobbying against organic farming!?!?!!!)
But that's not all there is to the story of food and people. Confession: I do happen to be a good cook. I'd be false if I didn't recognize this fact. After all, people wouldn't pay me to cook for them if I produced dross. Confession: I have no culinary training whatsoever. Confession: My food was good even when I didn't use organic ingredients purchased from local farmers or from my food co-op. Observed truth: Not everyone gives a rat's arse about organic, and not everyone who loves to cook and and makes people happy with their food cooks fresh and from scratch.
What's the point? Simply, that there is a common link between the "lesser" food made from non-organic ingredients that still makes people sated and happy, and the kind of food I like to make from "quality" ingredients that are raised in accordance with my eco-principles. That link? Love. Good, old-fashioned love.
Now I'm in no way going to turn back from my organic eco-path. I believe with every ounce of my being that producing organic food is truly the only option if we are to fully care for ourselves and the planet. I know that a fresh, organic vegetable is much, MUCH tastier and better for everyone than a package of processed whatever. But I also want to acknowledge that perhaps the most important ingredient in a well-made meal is the care taken in preparing that meal.
I have friends that make and eat food that would almost never pass my lips, dietary restrictions aside. Yet, the people they feed with that food are appreciative, satisfied and loved in the process. I suppose one could say that some people have "less refined" palates, or aren't able to or interested in making finer distinctions and standards. Many points could certainly made against the kind of fare that has plumped up generations of Americans, and helped increase the rates of diabetes and heart disease. From a national health standard, to be sure, I can't understand why chemical preservatives and high fructose corn syrup and food colorings and the like are even allowed in the food source stream. But that's not my point of concern today.
What I want to say is that anything prepared and offered with true love and care is a gift, and can be a gift that nourishes, regardless. People have often marveled at the food I make, and have come back to me feeling like they have "failed." Besides the fact that no experiment or exploration in learning to do something can truly be a failure, I have concluded that there is only one reason why my food is perceived, often, as being "better" than others' food...
I love the food, pure and simple. I love the carrots and the cows, regardless of what I partake in my personal diet. I love peeling and grating and saucing. I love the gardens and pastures that produce my ingredients, and the farmers who tend the fields. I know and appreciate the hard labor that brings a single tomato from garden seedling to the bin at my local natural foods co-op. When I cook for others, I cook as a way to love them, even if I don't know them. Food--and cooking--is a holy thing to me. Preparing a meal, whether for my immediate family or for 200 strangers, becomes a spiritual, meditative task that enlightens and uplifts me.
My grandmother was the matriarch of our family, who made every holiday meal. It was simple fare: Roasted meat, potatoes of some sort, another vegetable, lots of pies and bars and other sweet treats. She had no culinary training either. But her Thanksgiving was ALWAYS the best, her pies the flakiest and sweetest, her beet pickles the finest. Grandma loved her family, and it showed in the wholesome meals she provided us. Yes, the beef she prepared came from the cows we all helped raise in free-ranging pastures. Her garden vegetables were organic, because who would pay for chemical fertilizers when all the aged cow-poo was available to nourish the soil? Organic was normal when I was a child, not an ethical principle.
Even so, what differentiated Grandma's cooking was Grandma herself. I like to think, when I'm paring potatoes and glazing a roast, that I'm in some small measure able to channel just a bit of Grandma Elsye into the food I make. In this way, I pass on something good and beautiful from my past into every meal I make, and hope that it fortifies everyone I serve in some small part.
Now I don't say these things in any way to glorify myself or the food I make. Rather, I want to take the pressure off of those cooks who don't know where to begin in the kitchen, who feel overwhelmed and inadequate. I know you're out there, because you're constantly asking me for kitchen advice! The next time you have to make a meal, realize that you don't actually HAVE to make a meal. There are lots of pre-fab and made-to-order options out there. but if you really want to cook, first choose to make a meal (believe me, we have lots of leftover nights and "make do" nights and "Thank goodness there's Annie's organic mac-n-cheese nights here in this family!).
Once you're free from obligation and are cooking because who have chosen to do so, think of who's eating at your table. Select a simple menu that won't stress you in the making. Once you've got your ingredients in hand, take a minute to think of where it all comes from; thank the gardens and the gardeners, the cattle and the farm-hands who herd them, etc. Start cooking. Be daring in your use of herbs and spices...why not add a little flair to your flavor? But mostly, think about the people who will sit down and enjoy this meal with you. Know that, in preparing their supper, you're truly giving of yourself. Honor yourself as you acknowledge them.
Then, come together around the table and enjoy the eating. That's really all there is to it...a little paying attention, a little acknowledgement, a little freedom, a lot of love. And there you have it: A good meal!
--Sheila
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