Nourishment

There is a picture that has always hung on the walls in my mother’s home. My great grandmother is standing at the kitchen counter holding something in her hand, I imagine her baking something while her grandchildren wait patiently. The light from a window lights up her weathered face and I can see my grandmother, mother, myself, and now my daughter in her half smile.

For the past several months, we lost our kitchen due to a remodel that was long overdue. For a while it was completely closed off and we had to go outside to access certain areas of the house. Myself, partner, and two small children had to make adjustments to keep a resemblance of a routine going. We played outside, ordered a lot of take out, but overtime noticed that we were out of money and increasingly missing our kitchen. The biggest reason being, I missed making food.

The day I was able to bake again I made a loaf of bread. As I worked in the new space I felt connected again. Like the heart of the house had been transplanted, beating again with new rhythm and life. I worked the dough in front of a large window feeling connected to the women in the old picture. How many times had she nourished the people in her life? How many meals, cookies, cakes, pies, and treats had she made for her children and grandchildren? I thought about the meaning and action of nourishment as it’s been passed down throughout the years and all the men and women in my life who have worked so hard to put food on the table.

What is a kitchen? What an amazing room that can bring so much life and joy into the world. Not just a place but the hearth of the home where people congregate, share, learn, and appreciate. Where bellies, hearts and brains are fed. It’s a place where memories live and history is made. No matter where I have been in the world, from Kenya to Japan, the kitchen has been the most important place in the home. No matter how big or small, how meager or extravagant, it’s the place (for me) that feels the most like home. We feed the people we love. We welcome people with food. We express compassion through providing sustenance. It's the one thing that all cultures share, food is love.

My children watch as I make all sorts of things for them. They love cracking eggs, watching the yolks plop down into batter, stirring soup or spaghetti sauce, stealing cookie dough from the bowl. I have the same memories, watching my father make pies or my mother make cupcakes and fudge. I loved watching my grandmother make cinnamon rolls. I watched her throw ingredients into a bowl without measuring and knead stretchy dough with her small fragile hands.

What an honor and privilege it is to nourish the people in my life. To nourish my family with my own two hands. Yes, it can be daunting, cooking and cleaning over and over again. But I remind myself that I have the ability to do it over and over again. One day my children will have memories of the food they love and grew up with and all the energy to keep things going will be worth it. I open up my home and my kitchen to people as often as I can. With the pandemic, I have been reminded of how much I love feeding the people in my life. I know I'm not just putting food in their bellies, I’m sustaining them and hopefully giving them a moment of being home too.

If I ever have a chance to meet all my grandmothers I’ll do two things. I’ll give them all big hugs, then I’ll ask them all to cook with me. Hopefully there will be magic ovens and lots of wine!

Be well!