The secret ingredient - Love (long post)

[Stinky The Clown]

I am often gruff and short and grouchy. (No short jokes, Sparkly! ;) ) I cuss a LOT. But I am also quick to laugh and make a joke. Sometimes the jokes are even gruff and grouchy sounding. But Sparkly knows me best and she says I'm a sap. I cry about puppies and silly movies. I cry at good news and bad. So yeah ... I am probably an old sap. But its who I am and I like me.

That leads me to food. (Everything leads me to food, but that's another story.)

Food is as elemental to being human as breathing, sex, and self preservation. Food can simply be fuel. Or it can be succor. It can be impersonal or as warm as a mother hugging her child. For me, it is overwhelmingly the latter and almost none of the former.

My warmest childhood memories almost all involve food in one way or another. Large family gatherings with all that love openly expressed. Being Italian, it would not be uncommon for fifteen conversations to fly across the table simultaneously. Yelling to make a point or simply speaking loudly so as to be heard above the din. The memories of a warm bowl of soup on a day when school was out of the question and my nose was running. That special breakfast of oatmeal and bananas that my mother made when we were kids. Traditional Italian food or simple back-of-the-box recipes that became family treasures. I am sure each of you have fond memories of things like "Five Spice Beef and Rice Casserole" or that silly but lovingly prepared jello salad with carrots and pineapple.

There was the family reunion back in the 60's. My great, great uncle made tripe in tomato sauce on an open fire at the park pavilion where the event was held. Walking as a small boy with my grandfather in Patterson, NJ, down to the rail yards where the cars of grapes came in from California. Tasting the grapes from this case and that. Watching in wonder as he decided which to buy. Blending his wine in his mind even as he tasted the grapes. The summer Sunday afternoons, after church, in Bridgeport, CT, where I grew up, were spent in the garden of my grandfather's house. Friends and family gathered under the grape arbor. A huge table. Food cooked indoors and out.The table groaning under the weight of rabbit and chicken, macaroni and vegetables. All prepared with that secret ingredient. Love.

We all have such memories. Kielbasa or Golabki. Wursts and beer. Challah and knishes and briskets. Collards and grits and fried green tomatoes. Vedarai and Saltibarsciai.

Today, we're the "older generation". Our kids are where we were back then. Our house is the touchstone to their past. And when they come, it is always about food. Well, not *about* the food, per se, but food always seems a part of it. The things their mother made when they were little. They get that at her house, but they get it here, too. They get the things I used to make. Some of these are recipes they know I love but which they merely tolerate, just to see how happy it makes me.

I smile (and feel secretly warm and fuzzy inside) when one of my sons calls and asks how to make this or that. Food is the issue. But the connection is love.

Sparkly's father was a concert pianist (as was her mother) and a college professor. He was also a baker in the Army in WWII. He was a foodie before the word was invented. He often cooked for his four daughters and today they all share that love. The soiled, food flecked cookbooks. The handwritten recipes from the NY Times. The skills they have - musically and culinarily. All from the love of their parents. What lucky women they are.

When we get together with other family of our own generation - Sparkly's family or mine - food is always central to the activities. When its with Sparkly's family, her youngest sister and I always get called on to cook. We're both hard core foodies and love to whip up whatever we find in the grocery store. The rest of the family simply enjoys watching as we slice and chop, puree and infuse. Almost an Iron Chef kinda thing, but without the pressure. One time there was no cutting board. My brother-in-law and I went down to his basement and cut up some plywood. The show must go on. My other brother-in-law makes this wonderful Cuban bread he learned from Sparkly's father.

Just for the love.

It is all about the love. I suspect everyone who posts to this group knows what I'm talking about. We eat. We cook. But always there is love. Love of food. Love of family. Love of mankind.

I love to cook. But even more, I love to love.

It is the secret ingredient.

[wildeyed]

1. It is all about love.

I am no hard core foodie. I cook with few fancy techniques. But I pay attention and I care about the food because I care about the people who are eating it. Food is love. (And if God is love, too, then is food God? Or is there just a Food God?)

I have few memories of food from my childhood. My Mom cooked, we ate, but she was always just phoning it in when it came to the food. My mom had issues with eating as a child, and I think that was part of it, but she also has issues with intimacy and that was part of it, too. She loved us, but she held herself apart from us. The food was symbolic of that.

I cook for my kids and with them. Cooking with kids is a lesson in letting go, I gotta say. But I feel really close to them when we mush dough together or mix up a batch of soup. I hope they grow up with wonderful memories of my kitchen.

[bearfan454]

2. Yes cooking with kids is really neat. Grandkids too.

[wildeyed]

3. Very cute mini-bearfan!

How old is she?

[bearfan454]

4. 4

She's my angel.

[wildeyed]

5. I have a four year old angel, too.

Fun age.

[Stinky The Clown]

6. She looks so serious .... then proud ... then happy and rapt in attention

Bearfan ... (justifiably) proud grampa!

Sheeza cuite pie!

[NMDemDist2]

8. what a precious girl. she's got a way with that rolling pin already

better watch out Bear LOL

[NMDemDist2]

7. my new cooking is all about the love

Husb2AzDD6 and I have had some tough financial setbacks this last year. Our income was cut by 2/3rds

he stressed in the office and kept us afloat (I offered to help, but it was his "worry")

so I helped how I could, I cut our food budget (mostly dinners out and delivery) by cooking and savvy shopping. I helped his heart and nerves by cooking "comfort" food and healthy choices to keep our health and strength up

I have rediscovered my love of food (from my farm wife of a grandmother, my mom had issues too...) and my culinary skills which I always had from decades in the restaurant biz. Before I was really only "phoning it in" now I have found that part of me that loves the creativity, textures, tastes, smells, sights and a sense of accomplishment with a dish done well.

yeah, it's all about the love H2S.....

[NashVegas]

9. My Mother Was Never An Openly Affectionate Woman

Food, however, was her saving grace in this arena. A single, working parent of 5, there was *real* food served on our table every night. Most often something simple that could be prepped and cooked in 30 minutes, or prepared ahead of time. Big breakfast and more elaborate dinner on Sundays.

Although we would regularly visit restaurants, I could count on one hand the number of times I recall her ever bringing us to a McDonalds, or using TV dinners.

On our birthdays every year, she'd let us choose the main dish, and what flavor cake we wanted.

A few years after I'd moved out of her house, one birthday I requested her spaghetti and meatballs (the woman's sauce is divine) and said don't worry about fussing anything else. She surprised me by adding French Onion soup (recipe posted elsewhere in this forum), my favorite salad fixings and veggies and added about 3 other unexpected favorites to the evening.

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