My Auntie Ollie would greet everyone with a giant hug, a kiss on the lips, and always the same question: “have you eaten?” It didn’t matter if the answer was yes, you were about to get fed. Homemade baked goods, some form of roasted meat, cheese, nuts, her famous pickles and meatballs, she could pull together a gourmet plate in two minutes flat.
I know that food isn’t actually love, but sometimes it feels an awful lot like it.
I had a bit of an odd day. I woke up and finished reading Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I’ve Loved, which left me feeling discombobulated and a bit raw. It was a well-written book, and I enjoyed it, I just wasn’t expecting to connect so emotionally with the story.
My emotional hangover and the pouring rain set the tone for the day. I started with buttermilk pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse and dotted with chocolate chips for Grady, followed by a shrimp omelette for Shawn. I spent hours stirring Poppy’s favourite pasta sauce as it simmered away on the stove. I hard-boiled eggs and layered them with bacon and local tomatoes and baby spinach for packed lunches. I washed peaches and blueberries and contemplated picking blackberries before the rain picked up and kept me inside.
Food isn’t love, exactly, but we all need to be fed and there’s something beautiful in the simple act of feeding others.
