After a whirlwind trip to Oklahoma for a funeral, I’ve been reminded once again of a huge truth:
Food equals love.
During the 36 hours we were out of town, we ate dinner at my grandmother’s house, which her friends brought over. Then we ate dinner at the widow’s house later that night, provided by some of her closest friends. I ate two desserts (I know… Project 115… don’t judge me).
The next morning we ate breakfast provided by friends. After the funeral, the family’s sweet church provided lunch for 100 people: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli casserole, topped off with sweet tea. I ate two desserts… again. Don’t judge me, you would too if you were forced to choose between chocolate cream pie and strawberry pie. It’s impossible, I tell you. Impossible
In a time of great sadness and stress, the people of that little town in Oklahoma rallied around our family the best way they knew how… with food. It was so generous, and thoughtful, and it provided a context for people to sit and reminisce and enjoy catching up.
Mr. Right won me over with sweet potato fries and baked goods. When we got married, all of the events were planned around food. In two weeks, we’re taking food to a dear friend who just had a baby. When my mother-in-law had surgery recently, folks brought a small feast. When we want to get to know people better, we invite them over for dinner.
During times of great celebration or times of deep sadness, the one constant that always seems to remain… is food. It makes me wonder who I need to cook for next.