If love can come in many forms, food is
chief among them.
This blog came to a screeching halt a little while ago when my world was
turned upside down, again, by cancer. It was my husband’s third go with the
C-word, and even having experienced and “battled” it before, we were equal parts
blindsided and devastated.
Since then, love has come in the form of crunchy ginger snaps, organic
chicken broth made fresh daily, and matzo-ball soup, the recipe from a Jewish
grandmother who swears by it for healing. Love has come in the form of noodles and
salads and crumbles and chocolates. Love has come in the form of oolong tea and
ingredients for a nutritious smoothie: spinach, celery, blueberries, and
thick yogurt. Food has helped turn a terrible time into a bearable one.
When people want to help but feel helpless, food is one thing they can offer, aside from positive thoughts and prayers. It’s one thing that provides energy and healing when there is no quick fix or magic bullet. It’s one way of saying “we’re here for you”, “we care for you", "you're not going through this alone".
It unites people not only during celebratory times. Nowhere
does the term “comfort food” apply more than when a meal is left on a front
step in times of worry, pain, fear, sadness, and duress, accompanied by hand-written
notes about oven temperatures and cooking times, heart-shapes and Xs and Os drawn in pen.
It warms more than our bellies. It nourishes more than our
bodies.
It is a genuine and simple act of caring and friendship.
Food is love, and our family is forever grateful. 