The Joy of Serving People I Love (Good Food)
My life, interestingly enough, has been like a memoir written by meals.
When our son was much younger, I sent a text to our neighbor who has a child the same age, “Want to come over for a play date? I’ll make lunch!” I was six months postpartum and craving face time with any consenting adult. I would have invited the mailman in if he wasn’t so afraid of our dog.
The predictable baby routine and incredible codependency of the new season in my life made me want to pull my hair out at times. So I was thrilled when she said her son was awake and she’d, “Be right over.”
Assuming she’d like a dry turkey sandwich with a side of hummus and baby carrots, I began meal prep. I put our son on his play mat so I could throw it all together. I heard my mom’s voice in my head: It doesn’t have to be fancy, Emily. She’ll enjoy anything you put out.
Between two toasted Ezekiel sprouted whole grain bread slices were slices of turkey and provolone. Optional: mustard or avocado spread underneath the slice of bread. Sprinkle of s+p. After plating the meal for each of us, I recognized the paltry lunch offering, so I added a dill pickle spear to the plate. I still remember the road rash the sandwich left on roof of my mouth.
As banal and tasteless as the dry turkey sandwich was, I ate it willingly. (I reasoned, it’s healthy.) But overtime, the experience of serving lackluster lunches and dinners to people I love made me wonder when I (and why our American culture) began to look past the enjoyment of eating, flavor, and texture in an effort to be “healthy?”
When the feedback from my husband started to roll in that my meals were ehhh, and I had to give him a come on! It can’t be that bad stare to gain an extra star in my review, I swallowed my pride and gave into the idea that meal preparation and cooking was an area of growth for me.
When I was child, growing up in the mid-Atlantic with a mom from Texas, a stepdad from France, a Dad from Alabama, and a stepmom from West Virginia with a penchant for Junior League cookbook recipes, I ate, everything.
On one night, we’d eat baked Mediterranean fish covered with roasted vegetables. We called this “pizza fish,” and my brother and I would commiserate quietly when we’d discover it’s what we were having for dinner. Pizza fish was followed by a course of pâté our step grandmother, Nanette, had illegally snuck in her suitcase from France, served alongside a warm, crispy, sliced baguette. After pâté, I was responsible for retrieving the cheese plate and salad course out of the refrigerator. When we had sweet desserts, it was usually on holidays: Galette des Rois on Epiphany or a special Bûche De Noël for Christmas. (But who am I kidding? My brother and I kept our Halloween candy stashes hidden in old pillowcases above the freezer in our laundry room. There would be dessert one way or another.)
On another night, we’d have a massive crab boil spread out over the day’s newspapers lining the dining table or, if it was nice enough outside, the table on our garden patio. We’d make sure to read our horoscopes before they were illegibly wet or marred by Old Bay. Key lime pie for dessert.
At other times, you could find me sitting at the kitchen counter with my BoPapa in Mobile, Alabama, making candied orange peels—I can still taste the crispy sweet bitterness of my first bite of orange rind. I felt so deviant eating the peels with him, it thrilled me. Oh, and remember how we all laughed when the crabs he caught in the Mobile Bay crawled out of the boiling pot and across the kitchen floor! How could we eat them after that?
On that same kitchen counter that I sat at with my BoPapa, I also worked on mastering Mawmaw’s praline recipe. Her sweet southern encouragement offered over my shoulder, “Honey, you just flick water on it like this to know when the temperature of the sugar is right.” Despite her many lessons on “how easy it is” to get the temperature just right so the pralines congeal into their creamy, tooth-achingly sweet, pecan-y goodness, I still make drippy sugar pecan puddles. Which, I’ve found, in a desperate attempt to make my efforts good for something, delicious when drizzled over French vanilla bean ice cream or hot-out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls. (I’m making a note to pick this recipe back up and give it another try over the winter holidays.)
On holidays at my dad’s house, I’d request Ambrosia salad from my stepmom. (Five stars, Junior League cookbook!)
On New Year’s Eve, it was tradition to gather the entire family and eat green chile and cheese and pork tamales together. The day after, we’d gather again and have black-eyed pea soup with a ham bone for prosperity and luck. Not my favorite, but for prosperity and luck, anything. Later came the family bourbon tastings—all of us lined up around my grandparents’ kitchen island with spoons, glasses, and my late uncle’s hand-selected bottles of bourbon. Paired, if needed, with foods that bring out the flavors in the drink. My favorite being dark chocolate covered orange slices. Surprised?
As an American child, I also had my soft spot for a hot s’mores Pop Tart on a cold winter morning. I’d wrap it up in a paper towel and eat it outside in the cold as I waited for my bus. I loved how hot the toasted pastry felt in my mouth, almost blistering it, when everything else was freezing.
My life, interestingly enough, has been like a memoir written by meals. But when I became a young adult and fell victim to diet culture and body shame narratives, I lost most of my interest in cooking, eating for enjoyment, and the love of the many things that a good meal around a table brings: memories, laughs, pleasure, new experiences, splattered shirt stains, traditions, joy, culture, friendships, games, disagreements, negotiations, routine, satiation, and conversations— and after it all, the promise of a sweet ending.
So, after recognizing what I felt was missing in my life, I thought, why not apply a little bit of planning and strategy to work on my area of growth? Get back the joy I once had for eating good food and serving it to the people I love? If I could improve the experience of eating for everyone around our family’s table and continue making our own memories at meals (accompanied by endless games of UNO and the millions of other made up games to keep our son’s wandering tush in his seat), it was worth the effort to me.
Food experiences and family meals have been so important in my life. And, at the end of my life, I would regret not making these memories around my table if I didn’t try my best to create them. (I’m so glad it’s never too late.)
Over the course of the last year, I’ve come up with a simple 4-step planning system (listed below) that has been huge for our family in many ways. I look forward to our meals together, I’ve refined my cooking skills (often with my son learning next to me), I’ve kept things interesting by diversifying flavor profiles and produce offerings on our plates, we’ve created more happy memories together, and by doing so—and not by aim or goal—been more consistent in keeping my family’s diet “healthy.”
There’s no doubt everyone feels loved when I make dinner now. I rarely have to nag Matt—the bachelor who I once walked in on eating matzo bread topped with nova and a hefty squirt of ketchup for dinner—anymore for a higher meal rating. And, even, on the nights when the food is four—not five—stars, I’m proud of my effort. And that’s something.
Here’s the planning system I came up with:
1-Recipes. On Sunday morning, I select our Monday - Friday dinner recipes. I put them in our family Google calendar so I’m accountable to making them. This way my husband also stops asking me every day, “what’s for dinner?” I subscribe to the NYT Cooking app ($6/mo), which makes it easy to bookmark and search for recipes.
2-Shop. On Sunday morning, I grocery shop for ingredients. I mostly shop digitally to save on time and impulse buys. I toggle back and forth between my NYT Cooking recipes and our grocery app on my phone. I order the groceries for pickup or delivery. In our area, I have had luck with Whole Foods (although pricey). Instacart inevitably delivers me 100 bananas when I ask for 10, or in the case of my mom, 10 bags of onions when she ordered 10…onions. (Maybe your experience has been different.)
Note: My suggestion is to buy fresh herbs every week. Wash them, pat them dry, and store them in gently swaddled in paper towels and sealed containers in the refrigerator. They should last at least one week. When I can, I like to keep fresh herbs like basil, parsley, dill, cilantro, mint, and green onions on hand. I’ll add other herbs like chervil, tarragon, and thyme to my grocery list if the week’s recipes call for them. It’s so easy to add a hit of fresh herbs to a meal when they’re already prepped and ready for a quick chop.
3-Clean. On Sunday afternoon, I clean out expired produce and items in our fridge as I put away the groceries away. It takes a couple of extra minutes to do this while putting groceries away, but it keeps inventory from rotting, and I never have to second guess what’s fresh on hand.
4-Calendar. Every morning, when I go over my daily calendar, I take a peek at the full recipe. This way, I remember to thaw any items I may need and double check that I have all my ingredients. It also gives me an idea of how much time I need to prepare the meal so we can have dinner on the table by 6 PM.
Note: I’m going to try something new on here. Every other week, I am going to send you a recipe post and link a recipe I’ve cooked for my family and loved. My hope is that these posts inspire you to keep writing your family’s “memoir through meals,” (even if it’s one meal every other week, that’s still twenty six more memories together) by sitting around the table with your loved ones, and spending more quality time together.
So fun to learn a little more about you from your food memoirs, Emily! We use a similar meal prep method, which has brought greater joy and ease to our lives. Cheers to making more food memories around tables, near and far, with those we love!
Actually was baked Matzah, cheese and tomato sauce.