Food = Love

A few nights ago I created a pasta for myself that combined magical elements of chick peas, cream, garlic, rosemary, and of course a LOT of Parmesan cheese. When I feasted on the dish I realized that standing at the stove and creating something beautiful and tasty to eat is indeed an ancient habit of mine. I stand there and make food for myself even when I don’t feel well, or I’m upset or anxious … I stand there and do this because it makes me feel safe and comforted. Offering food to oneself is an act of generosity and of affirmation.

Of course, there’s a backstory to this, and it goes back to being a little girl living alone with my mother and being fed TV dinners at night when she left the house to be with her friends. My mother had flirted with Italian cooking early on, but soon grew bored as her social life picked up. A newly divorced woman now interested in what her fellow artists could offer, she chose to give me Swanson TV dinners most evenings before leaving to pursue her new life.

This Swanson TV dinner looked a little like food but it wasn’t. There were three compartments in an aluminum tray, one containing the meat (turkey, steak, chicken), and in other other two watery vegetables (sad peas or carrots) and some sort of starch (potato, rice). It was a singularly ungenerous and soulless offering, but I ate the stuff anyway because I was hungry and hadn’t yet figured out how to create something good for myself.

I hid Three Musketeer candy bars in my desk drawer for later as some reward for the sadness and boredom, and I let the night unfold as I read a Nancy Drew mystery or did homework. I was about nine years old.

When we went to live in Italy everything changed because we found ourselves in a country of beautiful food and the joyous ritual of food preparation.

Our resident housekeeper Elda whipped up dishes that captured our sensibilities. It was simple- a pasta with butter, oil, and tons of garlic - it was beautiful - brilliant green zucchinis or baby artichokes in olive oil - it was completely nourishing - roast chicken with rosemary - and it caused us to feel peaceful and content.

I spent many afternoons watching her prepare mayonnaise, bolognese, eggplant parmigiana, and perky green salads, and I was hooked. I wanted to understand how to do this - how to take the simple ingredients and make them into beautiful comforting meals. In Italy, as in France and other Latin countries, the preparing of meals was taken very seriously and was like the unfolding of opera. I loved that and never forgot it.

Living in Italy for three years changed all that I thought and felt about food. And as a young married woman I threw myself into the creating and the performing, and especially all the eating! I never took my children to McDonalds or Taco Bell, I fed them healthy sandwiches with alfalfa sprouts, and I never bought frozen or canned food.

I figured out how to make a steak dinner really elegant by adding asparagus with hollandaise, how to make Coq au Vin magical by using a high quality red wine, or how to turn a simple cheese soufflé into something more complex than just a cheese soufflé. I made our family’s Sunday brunches special with my omelettes oozing Brie, smoked salmon and green onion.

And my piece de resistance was my Caesar salad made from scratch. When I wanted to feel really proud of myself I made a Caesar and everyone smiled with pleasure! I did everything artfully except desserts, and somehow I was forgiven for that (perhaps because I did bake brownies endlessly for school bake sales!). In my mind the palette was endless, and I just kept on playing with it.

I often threw dinners for 20 friends in my small redwood house, experimenting with learning tempura batter or throwing pasta against the wall to see if it was “al dente,” and I felt a lovely warm pride in what I created. Offering food to people you love is intimate, and it is a great joy - it’s about connection, adventure, and comfort. When our bellies are full of pasta carbonara and Caesar salad, we are inevitably content to our core. And when we’re content we feel safe.

I had recurring romantic dreams of being a restauranteur because I knew I was good at the creative part, but happily was discouraged from that path by a few people who knew the hardships and strain of making that kind of business succeed. I was relieved when I realized I wasn’t going to take that plunge into business because it meant that in the end I could continue to prepare beautiful food for close friends and for myself… and so I did … and so I do.

Back now to the kitchen on White Street in San Francisco with an elder lady whipping up yet a new take on pasta in her lovely art filled kitchen…. I am standing here still with the energy and interest to do this because I know my efforts will make me feel happy when I sit down to eat what I’ve made.

In fact, I have a feeling that that my longevity so far is related to my compulsion to go to the stove and make a great risotto, grilled sea bass with rosemary, beautiful green Romano beans with garlic and tomato … I’m seventy-four and I still love rattling those pots and pans because I must be generous to myself, I must give myself something beautiful, nourishing, and comforting. It would seem that I’ve learned how to care for myself very well in this way.

I believe that food symbolizes love for this old lady who remembers all too well what it was like to eat desiccated lifeless food on an aluminum tray alone in her dark bedroom all those years ago. Food = love = comfort = joy.

In Bowing to Elephants I offer a recipe from that remarkable time in Florence when I was 11, standing in the kitchen witnessing Elda’s magic as she prepared our meal. I learned about Pasta Carbonara then, and it is the first food idea I took with me into my adult life; it is still with me: a down-home, simple comfort food that involves just pasta, eggs, bacon, butter, and cheese…. I invite you to get the book (if you haven’t), find this recipe, and cook up some yummy peasant food for yourself and your loved ones.

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