Sharing a Good Home-Cooked Meal

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It's not often that I feel like I'm a lucky person. Yes, I have been awarded with benefits and opportunities unavailable to many people, but it's hard to pin that kind of thing down. The one time that I consistently feel like I struck the lottery is when I'm able to eat a meal prepared by my family, specifically my dad. My dad was a chef before I was born, and when I was around 8 he went back to cooking for a living. I never realized it when I was little, but most people's home-cooked meals just aren't that great. In my mind, at least, he's pretty much incapable of making bad food. A few weeks ago, through a variety of errors, the Co-op where my dad is Café manager ended up with a few cuts of elk that couldn't be sold. Because of this, we got to bring them home and I was treated to Elk Wellington and elk carpaccio from my dad, two culinary experiences that I will not soon forget. Both are pictured below.
Elk Wellington

More than just growing up with good food, I grew up in an environment that understood the weight and power that food holds in our lives. I think that there are few things in this world that can show your love for a person more than cooking and sharing a meal with them. The ability to sit down with someone and consume and appreciate their labor transformed into a literal life force is incredible. A meal is a time where life is allowed to slow down for a few moments, and we can all eat, drink, and be merry with those that you hold dear.
I think that this is why the reading on Lucumí struck a chord with me. Here were individuals, on a small, intimate scale, connecting with divinity in a ways usually reserved for family: they were sharing a meal with their gods. It always irks me when outsiders find some religious practice that involves animal sacrifice and attempt to say that it's all about blood magic or that it's practically human sacrifice or something like that.
Elk Carpaccio
Most of the time the point isn't that you're killing something for a god, but that you want to share something delicious that you made with them. Now, I'm not saying that I'm about to start cutting open chickens or my garage or anything, but I do understand why Lucumí practitioners do what they do. We eat everyday, usually three or more times, so it's easy to see it as mundane. These small acts of care and love are in my eyes (or my mouth, more accurately) the things that matter the most. If there's one good thing that has come out of Coronavirus, it's that I get to cook and eat with my family again. Side note: if you haven't played the game Overcooked with someone you care about yet, I highly suggest it.

Comments

  1. Jonathan Brumberg-KrausMay 13, 2020 at 12:22 PM

    I like the connection you make between care and cooking. And your mouthwatering pictures.

    ReplyDelete

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