Food, the Thread of Life
“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
-J.R.R. Tolkien
‘Food is the language of care, the thing we do when traditional language fails us, when we don’t know what to say, when there are no words to say.
-Shauna Niequist
I’ve been writing a lot about food lately, indeed it has been one of those topics I come back to every now and again, whether that’s the sharing of recipes or what’s growing when, where and how to prepare it. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what food actually means to us besides the very obvious. Food is more than just nourishment for our bodies, it links us to people, to places and while, when we think of food insecurity, the more obvious losses from not having enough to eat come to mind, there is also a loss that comes with food insecurity that is deeper than hunger. Food is the thread that weaves through the tapestry of life, bringing people closer together.
One of the best memories I have is about food, but really, it’s so much deeper than just food. It’s about family, connection to a place, to land. It’s about being truly content, if only for a moment.
My maternal grandfather was from Wales and he worked as a miner. He and my nan lived in a small mining village in Nottinghamshire, England (my nan still lives there). I have three other sisters and during the summer holidays every year, we would take it in turns to spend a week at our grandparents, and what an idyllic time it was too.
My nan is a dog woman, and during my week, we would spend everyday in the woods walking her Gordon setters and English toy terriers (she had two with the same name, Mitch and Mitch who we would distinguish by size, fat Mitch and thin Mitch). My favourite part of the woods overlooked a field of long grass and when the wind blewOn returning from the woods, on those hot summer days I’d sit on the doorstep and simply enjoy the warm sun, the glorious garden with flowers in every colour, but the best part, fresh strawberries and cream. I can taste them now, that sweet burst of fruit and the silky coolness of the cream. The point is, when I think of that time, it’s not just the food. It’s the time spent with my grandparents, it’s those walks through the woods. It is everything.
Food is also about connection to culture. My father was born in Jamaica and came to England as a child with his parents. Growing up, my paternal grandparents lived just a couple of minutes walk away from my house and so I saw them often. I have so many memories of being in their home with aunts, uncles and cousins and food is the backdrop to so many of those memories.
My grandparents' house always smelled of food cooking, I remember that smell so well, even now all these years later. Rice and beans (red kidney beans, of course), perfectly cooked and seasoned. Stew chicken. Bun. Saltfish fritters, oh my god, they were so so good! Jamaican Sunday dinners were my favourite though. The scent would drift through the whole house making stomachs rumble and mouths water. Sometimes I would be allowed a little taste of the gravy from the pan and in those moments I felt like the luckiest girl alive, a secret shared with my Nana. Coveted. Everyone wanted a taste but instead would be shooed out of the kitchen to wait with the rest of them. The smell and taste of Jamaica in a semi-detached house in the middle of England! I became vegetarian when I was around seven or eight and for the most part, I don’t really recall the taste of meat, but I remember those Sunday dinners! Served through the hatch between the kitchen and living room, that magical portal from which the most delicious food would be delivered to us. All us kids would sit around the table while the adults sat on the couches and easy chairs. I loved those times, listening to the laughter, the patois, watching Oliver at Large on the tv.
My grandparent’s garden was huge, so big that once I thought I’d wandered off the property. The land where the house was built used to be an orchard and apple and pear trees grew the entire length of the garden. I have never tasted pears so juicy and sweet nor apples as crisp and delicious. They tasted like sunshine. My cousins and I would climb the trees and pluck the ripe fruits from the branches, it was such a novelty. Perhaps even then I felt the connection to land, the sacredness, but then perhaps that’s just me, looking back now, full of nostalgia. Who knows.
For me and others who are biracial, food is that connection to culture. I am British with Jamaican heritage and eating the food of my grandparents was and still is a way for me to connect with and participate in that culture. For many people of mixed heritage, food is perhaps one of the easiest ways to feel connected to a culture that, for the most part, we experience second hand.
So you see, food is so much more than the sustenance it gives. It fills bellies and hearts, for sure. Through the good times and the bad, food is just one of those connecting threads that help weave us all together. And as I write this, in the early hours of the morning with my own family upstairs in the land of nod, I can’t help but wonder what my own children will remember of me. Will they recall those lazy summer afternoons spent by the riverside picking ripe blackberries? Will they laugh about the time Boo, our beloved pittie, stole a steak I’d left too close to the edge of the worktop while I dashed outside to grab some herbs from the garden? Will they tell their own children about their dad’s bbq cooking and the corn on the cobs that were like charcoal?
I hope so.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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