From the mouth to the heart

I love food. I think about food almost all the time, especially when I'm supposed to be thinking about other things. (Today in church I caught myself thinking about how to prepare the yam I bought in order to achieve maximum delciousness--whoops). I look forward to Saturdays when I do the grocery shopping. The store has about 20 half-mile long aisles showcasing a number of options that oftentimes makes my head spin. All too often I end up standing in front of one area, say granola bars, for twenty minutes comparing ingredients, calculating the price per bar (allowing for coupons if applicable), deciding if the extra two grams of fiber are worth another 20 calories per serving, and contemplating whether or not placing the box of snack bars in my cart is really the life choice that I'm going to be happiest with 20 years down the road, or at least when I get home. This, of course, often leads to frustration severe enough for me to call Husband and extract the information from him I already know: He doesn't care - do whatever I want. Then, wishing I hadn't given in the the temptation to call him in the first place, I either throw something decidely into the cart or forget the whole thing and move on.

However, I still like going. The food is beautiful. Last week my favorite kind of apples in the whole world were on sale for 98 cents a pound, and I filled a bag like a greedy kid at the carcass of a pinata. Every week it's my sole responsibility to choose what sort of good food will nourish my family of two. There's the game of trying to make the money stretch as far as possible, and the label-deciphering research it takes to determine when spending the extra $1.00 really is going to buy a healthier option. There are the staples to buy: Husband's Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, my weekly yogurt supply, and our weekly supply of onions. Onions, apparently, go in everything. Then there's always the mystery of what new thing could be in store for my shopping cart this week- could this be the week I finally find out what a parsnip tastes like? What? Blackberries are that cheap?? Into the cart they go. It's always fun when Husband helps put away the groceries, apples, bread, pasta sauce - what? Croissants?? His happy surprise makes me feel like a goddess, especially when I pronounce they were on sale for an extremely affordable price.

What we eat gives us clues about who we are. It shows our culture, our habits, our background. I think that the fact that I will never leave a spoon with even miniscule traces of batter, dough, or sauce unlicked tells a lot about who I am and where I came from. I think also the fact that Husband washes his hands instead of licking frosting off his fingers says a lot about him - but I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the implications. Food also helps us build relationships.

Which is why I had such a good time today. After church when we were invited to join a group of our fellow church-goers for breakfast, I was worried they might be talking about another day when my schedule probably would not allow it. But no - they meant breakfast for lunch. Breakfast is my favorite meal. I not only love ALL breakfast foods, but I like that it's the first meal of the day. The promise of Cheerios has oftentimes inspired me to finally get out of bed in the morning. However, when breakfast is the second or third meal of the day, my love does not diminish. Husband quickly said we would go, which surprised me considering his usual reluctance to join big groups. Later I learned he simply knew that I would want to go. I like him.

So we arrived and sat down with our group. Our group. It wasn't awkward and we all didn't have to grasp for conversation and then try for kindness' sake to pull in the quiet ones (or they didn't have to try to pull us in, as would have been the case). We had a common purpose - food. Conversation started lightly as we glanced over our menus and decided out loud whether we were wanting something sweet or savory, and then continued to comments about the drinks when they were brought out. (Which was no hard as this was one of the places that serve those artistically designed mochas). By the time the real food came, we had to pause between bites to continue the conversations that had developed. I, of course, did not pause too long, as I am always very eager to transfer delcious fare from a plate (not always my own) to my mouth. We shared a meal together, and that history marks a cornerstone of relationship - one that may grow and may not, but that has been established firmly by sitting down to food together. I was even able to save half of my omelette (oh! eggs!) because I wasn't single-mindedly wolfing down all my food. The food wasn't the purpose of my being there, at least not completely. The fellowship was, but also the food, but then, also the fellowship. It's hard to separate the two because they flow so smoothly together.

When Husband told me he was going to ask one of his co-workers to dinner, I asked him what he was going to make. But he knew better than to give a comment like that any creedence- he knows I would jump at the chance to cook for someone. (Scared to death and calling my mom every 5 minutes, but still). Sharing food together, sharing favorite restaurants, especially cooking for someone, is an accepted custom we have of sharing ourselves with others. Serving someone in that way is very intimate, and a privilege. Friendships form around food (especially with me, but out of default since I'm always by food when it's at all possible).

If this has made anyone hungry, please, please come to my house. I'll whip something right up - or maybe you'd just like some hot chocolate or tea. There's an open invitation. There's no need to RSVP, just know you might find us on we-have-ten-minutes-to-cook-and-get-out-the-door night. But you're welcome! If you let me know beforehand I'll go with something I've established a good track record with. But please, do let me know if you don't like onions, because I hardly start a meal without chopping one up before I'm even sure what I'm making.

I know that most people that read this, though I would love to have them over for food - or take them out to muffins!! - won't be able to join me. I'm continuing in my search for people that I can do that with. But just know, all you long-distance friends, I miss you all and wish you good meals with good food, good friends, and, if applicable, a Husband who's willing to help clean up!