an introduction?
March 26, 2023
One of the ways I express love toward the people in my life is through cooking
and the sharing of a meal.
In a way, it resembles a ceremonial moment of communion. The act of cooking is one of the quickest and immediately satisfying forms of creating to me.
Scanning through the items in my kitchen, these raw materials, imaging what could be combined together to create the final elements arranged or un-arranged onto a plate — a composition not meant to last longer than a moment
enjoyed now — yet fleeting as the tides consume the bread that was labored over.
The finished plate of food, enjoyed through consumption, the final composition consumed into the body, [possibly similar a song in this way?]
then nourishes the soul.. feeding the microbes in our gut that sustain us as we sustain them.
The temporality of food mystifies me
The entire sequence of events that have to occur in order for me to be able to consume these items makes me realize my own inadequacy and dependance as a human. Whether dependent on other people, other species of animals or plants, other microbes,,
When I am eating an egg, I am not just eating the egg, but I am taking part in a long chain of events that have brought that egg to my kitchen.
From the farmer, to the food the farmer feeds the chicken, to the microbes that break down the food in the chicken’s gut, to the plants that make the food for the chicken food, to the person who harvests the chicken food, to the person who harvests the chicken eggs, to the person who packages the eggs, to the transportation and marketing of the eggs, to the grocery store employees who restock it onto the shelf, to the cashier, and so on and so on.. I am reminded of this long sequence every time I take a moment of giving thanks before a meal
I am completely dependent on these invisible systems and the numerous unknown hands that sustain me.
I am grateful for the chicken, the farmer, and the grocery store, and everyone in between.
As a child my mother (despite working night shift at a children’s hospital in Texas on top of homeschooling my brother and I) still found the time to cook dinner almost every evening for us before going to work until sunrise. She is a magician in the kitchen, creating dishes of all sorts from what seems to be thin air.
She is from a small village in the middle of Sweden. During Christmas the whole country celebrates around a table full of a large variety of foods with close friends and family. A Smörgåsbord is the name of this celebration.
Every year for as long as I can remember, she cooks all of the traditional meats, breads, pastries, and candies— my entire family in Texas gather around her chipping pink laminated kitchen countertop that holds the feast, and celebrate life with this sacred communal meal.
Since moving to NYC I have attempted to carry on this tradition
inviting those I enjoy to gather around my Brooklyn kitchen and allow me to cook for them a meal of traditional Swedish dishes.
This past Christmas of 2022, I invited some friends who I know from Houston. There are a lot of my friends from Texas who have moved to NY. One of them was a friend I’ve known since I was 17/18 years old, he brought his roommates from Houston as well. We all broke bread, laughed, and shared words of life.
A few weeks ago I found out that one of them had passed away suddenly. Imhotep was his name. He was an artist and designer, I remember looking at his work and being inspired by his softness, wisdom, and a mind that flutters. One of the tabs on his website became like a journal for his thoughts. I always love when people share their writings, especially artists.
Although I had only met him only once, I felt an unexpected deep sadness for his loss as we had become friends over the food we shared that cold December night.
I’m sure those who have met him and those who have known him longer feel much deeper than I, but his passing made me realize how fragile and fleeting our lives are… How, truly, we do not know when our last moment, our last word, our last meal will be. Imhotep’s passing made me realize I need to start loving more and loving deeper, because that is one of the only true things that exist in this life.
I’ve decided to start sharing my writings in memory of the friend I only knew for a fading moment—
his writings from his heart have inspired me to write and share from mine.
From one meal to the next.