On food, and nurturing our most authentic selves
Crisis has a way of bringing us back to the core of who we are. Think about the physiological responses our bodies have when faced with stress or danger: evolutionary survival mechanisms mean that our hearts beat faster to pump more blood to our extremities, our senses get sharper, our lungs expand to take in my oxygen, and glucose and fats get released from their storage spaces to give us more energy. Without us being aware, the body calls into itself and provides what is needed for survival.
In a less acute and more gradual way, my body has been calling into itself more and more over the past year. In true Taurean nature, I’ve been taking greater care of my senses to make sure I’m surrounded by things that feel, smell, look, and sound pleasing - but nearly nothing has been as important in my personal reset as the things that taste good.
“Crisis has a way of bringing us back to the core of who we are. ”
On my birthday back in May, I spent the morning perfecting my favourite meal of ackee and saltfish, enjoying it on my couch in a pretty dress, a red lip, and complete silence. As the weather has turned cooler, I’ve pulled out the nutmeg and cinnamon for hearty bowls of cornmeal porridge, warming me up like an inside-out hug. Even now as I write this, I have my Notes app open on my phone, jotting down my grocery list in order to craft more culinary greatness.
Food is nourishment that sustains our bodies and our spirits. It carries history and memories - both collective and individual. A plate of ackee and saltfish connects me to the innovation of my ancestors. A bowl of cornmeal porridge reminds me of the ways my Jamaican mother warmed us in the Canadian winter. Food connects me to my mother, bringing me back to the ultimate core of who I am. I came from her, and even at my big big age, I am still shaped by her - from calls in the grocery store to ensure I’m picking up the right ingredients, to video chats where she observes my cutting boards and pots with an attentive eye.
“On my birthday back in May, I spent the morning perfecting my favourite meal of ackee and saltfish, enjoying it on my couch in a pretty dress, a red lip, and complete silence.”
Over the past couple of years, many things have shaken me from the comfortable perch of life I was living on. In the moments where I feel the most vulnerable and discardable, I remember the moments when I’ve felt the safest and most loved - and food is an indelible part of those memories. Recreating those dishes extends beyond just filling my belly - it makes me feel like a whole person. Food shows me that I can make it through the discomfort I’m feeling, and that if nothing else, I can have a glimmer of pleasure in my day when it’s time to sit down for a meal.
The same way my mother injected love into the dishes she prepared for my siblings and I, I try to do the same each time I place a bowl in front of my own children. Food is cyclical, and a unique marker of time. Once, after enduring plaintive cries from the back seat of my car while my children begged for fast food, I asked them “Do you have McDonald’s money?” and instantly time traveled to the past and back to the present again. Food brings me back to the essence of who I am, and strengthens me as I evolve into the person I’m meant to be. From moments of crisis to moments of stasis; from watching revolutions and quarantines unfold; through all of life’s changes, food calls me back to myself and helps me to survive, in more ways than one.