As I've said many times before, I am an old fashioned person. I take out the nice dishes, {original FireKing green glass}, when I have company. I like to pour milk into the leetle creamer, make a strong pot of loose leaf tea, and warm up the kitchen a bit. For a long time I was the only person I knew in my age range with enough dishes to feed 10 people in one sitting. Sans heavily starched formal wear and chilled martinis, I like entertaining.
I have trouble making food for one. What's the use?
Food is for sharing. Cooking is about comfort. Inspiration comes from the gift of being able to watch the delight on someones face when they touch tongue to delicacy.
Cooking takes all of us. It's physical, spiritual, emotional. We watch, smell, learn, burn our flesh, cut until we bleed, and we keep coming back. We don't call in sick. We don't take breaks. There's no such thing as overtime. Our legs go numb. Backs give way and knees stop bending.
Cooking dish after dish hour after hour, toiling in the brutal kitchen, the professional cook can lose sight of why. Why is cooking food for others so godamned satisfying? Because with our hands we touch that which was recently alive, coax and build flavour, purring & sweating; we hold our breath and emote, furrow our brows and remember, our mouth waters and our muscles tighten.
Cooking for others is an intimate act. I don't know you but you are allowing me to put something in your mouth. It's thrilling. It's a little naughty and sometimes very very nice. You come and you sit in the chair before me and I lay out my wares and I give you a fork and a spoon.
Persephone ate those few pomegranate seeds and look what happened to her.
Food imprints memory on us. It's a powerful position we own, feeding others.
"The taste buds can only detect sweet, sour, salty and bitter - the full symphony of flavor comes from the nose." {a tiny quote I keep on my bed-stand.}
An amnesiac can remember where they stood the last time they smelled that same wafting scent from the hot oven.
We preserve people by making the dishes they taught us. Dishes they loved, were proud of, gave us permission to start making when their hands stopped working. Sharing food with others is about tradition. About a desire to reach in and pull close. About re-remembering. Closing our eyes and taking us there.
And like an addict, we chase that first taste-high for the rest of our lives. Cake should taste like our first birthday cake. Stuffed cabbage needs to be similar to our grandmother's. We shift our memories and replace them with new ones. All ice cream is now compared to the gelato we had on our first trip to Italy. Our first New York bagel shakes our senses. Sometimes we force and train. "Fakin' Bacon tastes like the real thing. Grass fed beef is better for the planet and so it's better for me."
Cooking to feed ourselves and others is an intentional act. It's necessity, yes, but it is oftentimes more than this. We build trust over stoves. We convince and cajole. We seduce and tickle and free joy by sharing what we make.
Happy December. My wish for you this month is that you let down your hair, breathe deep the smells of your kitchen and others, and relinquish the pressure of what can, {to some of us}, feel like an oppressive holiday season. Know that sharing food with others, feeding your own soul with memories deeply sad and deliriously uplifting is gift enough.
Posts like these are why I love eggbeater so very much!
The act of cooking as a bridge for intimacy between strangers is something I've pondered many times...
And speaking of stuffed cabbage, my great-grandmother (born in Tokaj, Hungary) made the most marvelous, non-sweet-and-sour version. Had a small crumble of gingersnaps and a sauce probably based on ketchup. No raisins. It was soooo good. I never got the recipe from her (didn't want to suggest she was mortal by asking for it).
Posted by: Anne | 01 December 2005 at 12:52 PM
Beautiful thoughts (and words), my friend.
you rock.
Posted by: melissa | 01 December 2005 at 01:43 PM
Shuna, you captured the marrow of our mysterious addiction so perfectly! "Intimate, a little naughty, chasing that first taste-high"--what great descriptions. Whenever I lose sight of what draws me to cook for others (strangers even), I'll read this passage to keep me from believing the alternative explanation, that I'm just completely whacked.
Posted by: Brett | 01 December 2005 at 06:05 PM
Wonderful essay. I think I'll link to it this weekend if you don't mind.
By the way, I read a story this week that they now think that there is a taste bud for fat... yes, here it is "French scientists have identified a protein receptor that resides in the taste buds and may be responsible for sensing fat." Also, you forgot umami, my favorite;)
http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?articleID=000AFE88-E770-1367-A6B083414B7F4945
Posted by: PdxFoodDude | 02 December 2005 at 01:53 AM
Lovely. And absolutely perfect.
P.S. I have those same Jadite dishes. (And I adore '50s chrome and formica dinette sets). : )
Posted by: farmgirl | 03 December 2005 at 10:15 PM
Oh Shuna, reading this was like falling into my favorite reverie, dreaming with eyes open, nodding at every word. Gorgeous, my dear. And I couldn't agree more.
Thank you for setting these words down so we could all see them.
Posted by: shauna | 04 December 2005 at 12:16 AM
Shuna -- There is so much about your post that I connect to, and it is so beautifully written from the heart. I beg you to consider how important it is to cook for oneself. This is something I had to learn (in a very hard way) after years of feeding a couple and a family and lovely crowds, in various patterns. I can understand the single plate and how fearsome that can be, but we have to learn to feed ourselves with love and careful attention. I adore whomping up huge meals for many folks, laying out arrays of tempting foods. What I had to teach myself was the pleasure of feeding me.
It may be only bacon and eggs on a cold night for supper or a cached supply of a special cheese with fabulous bread for lunch, a salad from a trip to the farmers market or a sizzling rib eye for dinner ---- but it is important for sustenance and care for myself. While you're nurturing your "own self" (a great Southern expression) you can dream about what you will feed to others.
Just a caution.
Posted by: Kudzu | 04 December 2005 at 01:34 AM
I love your red teapot...
Posted by: Luisa | 05 December 2005 at 04:53 PM
i like all this staff about the food i like to cook i want get more information about this because cook is my pasion and really wanted study in one of this school i hope u send me some information thank you so much
Posted by: victor vargas rico | 10 April 2007 at 04:09 AM
I see you are one of those person who relax when cooking and this is great because too many people nowadays find time for cooking and think this is something unneccessary but I don't think so.
Posted by: Cara Fletcher | 16 July 2007 at 10:41 AM
This still rings true even a few years later.
Intentionality is one of my two favourite words.
Great post.
Posted by: s | 05 March 2008 at 01:55 AM
I have been searching my soul to find the reason that I love to do what I do. Thank you so much for taking my passion and putting it to words. Cry? Yes I did as I read. I don't know you, but for one brief moment you knew me. Intimately...and honestly.
Chris, you're welcome. and thank you. ~ Shuna
Posted by: Chef Chris Rovezzi | 16 October 2008 at 10:38 PM