Here we are again. It’s the holidays and we are preoccupied with food – what to eat, what NOT to eat, how much to eat, and the anticipation of how much we won’t be able to eat after the first of the year, because of how much we will most likely be eating between now and then.
It’s times like these when I hear the voice in my head saying, “It’s not about the food.” I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t have the nerve to utter that to anyone else I know.
Yes, food brings us together. Nothing accomplishes that quite like food. Okay, wine and all of wine’s tasty cohorts bring people together, too. But would we not come together if we learned someone was too busy to produce the epic holiday spread and barely managed to hit the drive-thru at KFC after finding the last gift, and picking the kids up from daycare? Would we turn up our noses at the chance of seeing her kids in their Christmas sweaters just because she has the nerve to serve Domino’s instead of some impossible smorgasbord that only those who live on Pinterest could pretend they prepare?
Yes, there are times when it’s about food.
It’s about food when I haven’t seen the 20 year old in a couple days. I send Will a text that says, “Chicken and Broc,” and I am guaranteed that he will cancel plans and show up for dinner, even if he’s in the house for only 20 minutes. He’ll be here long enough to eat two full bowls of my chicken and broccoli fettuccine, and give me a hug. Add 15 minutes if he uses the bathroom and takes his phone with him.
It’s about food when Jen and I look at each other after a crazy day and simultaneously say, “Comfort food tonight?” Then I pull out a can of seasoned black beans, make a pot of rice, and grab tortilla chips. If I’m really lucky, I’ll find a bag of limp, but not-yet-brown cilantro in the veggie drawer. (Confession: The only things in my veggie drawer are usually broccoli, almost-brown cilantro, bees wax and a carton of milk because there’s room to store the extra milk in there due to the obvious lack of vegetables.) Jen sprinkles feta cheese on her pile of chips and nukes ’em for 35 seconds. Then we grab our plates and settle on the couch to watch another episode of NCIS, and breathe a sigh of relief that we made it through the day.
It’s about food when deciding on Christmas baking. This year we dug out the caramels recipe I hadn’t made since before the kids were born. (He never liked my caramels.) Jen and I stood at the stove drizzling the heavy cream and stirring until our arms gave out. We laughed about the lawyer we read about in Magnolia who gave up his career to start a candy business. We agreed he was smart for giving up practicing law, but decided he must have arms like Popeye by now. (The caramels are velvety and extraordinary. The only thing I’d do differently is leave some unwrapped to facilitate Jen’s consumption.)
It’s NOT about food when I pick my uncle up for our weekly breakfast. We always go to the same place, and try to park in the same spot. As we drive to the end of town, he asks where I’d like to go, and we laugh because we know we are always going to the same place. The owners are kind and friendly and always remember his order. Even if my toast is cold and the eggs are never medium, it’s about getting together and sipping the endless hot coffee and discussing the news or his girls or the weather. We finish our last sip as he gets up to pay the bill. He will say, “Did you know there’s a picture of your Aunt Pat up by the cash register?” Of course I remember, but he loves to tell me every week.
It’s NOT about the food when family drives seven hours to get here to spend the holiday. It’s about quickly throwing together a pot of spaghetti sauce and opening the wine and having another friend text to say she’ll pick up bags of caeser salad, which saves me another trip to the store.
Which, naturally, brings me to life.
Sometimes it’s about the food, like when you are trying to fill a void that only food can fill. It’s about food when nothing else will do. But a lot of times, most times, it’s about the people – friends and family. And if food brings them together, that’s a good thing. Most likely, tho, they were gonna come together anyway. Except with 20 year olds, but that won’t stay that way forever, I hope. I can always make chicken and broc.
Merry Christmas!