Religion, ethnicity, cultural upbringing, geography, family makeup or even age, matter not. There is one thing that’s at the core of every celebration. As people gather to share whichever holiday fits, the currency of that communal celebration is its food.
There is one thing that’s at the core of every celebration.
We bake with love and cook with care. The smells wafting from the kitchen bring with them the memories of days long since past. The recipes are often physical transmutations of a family’s history. The warmth and comfort food offers are often enough to bring forth a temporary cease-fire to long-held family squabbles.
The recipes are often physical transmutations of a family’s history.
It’s a crazy time of year, joyful for most, painful for many, busy for almost all. But, at that moment, when your nose meets those beautiful rich smells and your eyeglasses steam up from the warmth of the plate that sits before you, the holiday cacophony slows. In its place comes peace, equanimity, and love.
At that moment, when your nose meets those beautiful rich smells and your eyeglasses steam up from the warmth of the plate that sits before you, the holiday cacophony slows.
24 hours ago at the grocery store, peace, equanimity, and love were not likely the prevailing emotions. Stress, hurriedness and often rudeness are usually front and center. Now, I’ll admit, and my family would concur, I am not the biggest holiday guy. I’m by no means Ebenezer Scrooge, but I am certainly no Kris Kringle either. The pomp and circumstance that surrounds this season are somewhat lost on me. I do my shopping from behind a keyboard and take the backroads and the byways to avoid the overcrowded strip malls and big box stores.
I’m by no means Ebenezer Scrooge, but I am certainly no Kris Kringle either.
There is, however, one errand I don’t mind running, and dear reader, I ask that you keep this our little secret. I would not want my wife to learn it’s not nearly as big an inconvenience as I make it seem. I actually like going to the grocery store. I can’t stand the parking lot, or the attitudes of the frantic and rushed. But, I love seeing what people have in their carts.
I actually like going to the grocery store.
Food tells a story. It’s a window through which to peer into the traditions of another. At times I feel like an anthropologist doing field work. Walking up and down the aisles, furtively glancing into the passing shopping carts. There are no two the same. This is especially true in today’s multi-cultural world. I find it so cool.
It’s a window through which to peer into the traditions of another.
I wonder where the tradition or the recipes come from and what’s the story that they bring. Was it a great grandparent who first made the dish for the family on some distant continent or something that just mysteriously worked it way onto the family’s table? I am also intrigued by how new traditions are born. Was it a cool recipe found on Pinterest or Facebook? Could it have been cross-pollination, such as a guest at last year’s party now carrying a recipe learned back and introducing it to their home?
Was it a great grandparent who first made the dish for the family on some distant continent or something that just mysteriously worked it way onto the family’s table?
As a kid growing up in a Jewish home, Christmas Day meant Chinese food. Now, the last 25 years, as our kids have grown, Christmas morning has always been ushered in by the smell of egg strata and hot cider.
I am fascinated by where our food traditions come from, and how new ones begin. We are habitual and ritualistic creatures. So, as someone who works within the food space, I am curious as to what reinforces those habits and rituals, and what might disrupt and change them.
I am curious as to what reinforces those habits and rituals, and what might disrupt and change them.
My hope for all is that long-standing traditions will adorn your tables, and new ones will be born. Have a happy holiday season. Don’t eat too much, but do think about the story that is being told through your food, and then if you would share that story with me.