I walk the streets of San Francisco, and it feels COVID-ridden (even though numbers are lower than much of the US).
This is what I see: young and old, dog walkers and non, parents with children, storekeepers sweeping the streets, young fellows delivering packages, wearing their masks and steering clear of each other. We live in a compressed universe and must protect ourselves and others.
We live in a compressed universe and must protect ourselves and others. We are being trained in a sense to be mindful of the wellbeing of our fellow humans……
Here is what else I see: tables on the sidewalk in the afternoons and evenings in so many neighborhoods, people hunkering down over these tables spaced 6 feet apart, eating, drinking, and communing with one another.
This is another way that people survive - by congregating while eating.
We choose to be fed mindfully prepared food from our local bistros and help them stay afloat financially; we feed not only our bodies but our hearts because food equals comfort and love.
As a child, I grew up being hungry for food and for love. I paid attention to how things were cooked, I helped out and eventually learned how to make an authentic pasta at the age of 11.
Eventually, I became a good and inventive cook who could fashion a beautiful dinner for myself from a piece of fresh fish, some veggies, some French bread, and a wild leaf salad.
During these dark and nervous times, the high point of my day is when I go in my kitchen and begin to chop, prepare, and sautée, finally sitting down to a colorful and soulful meal.
During these hours I usually forget about those who are suffering and dying alone in hospitals, about our lunatic president who has cruelly torn apart this country, about our dark legacy of racism and my lurking fear.
I find solace in these few hours in much the same way my urban comrades out on the street are taking refuge in this loving ritual of dining.
Occasionally when my own solitary state makes me feel sad and lonely, I take to the streets and join the outdoor diners. Gratitude abounds. I feel like celebrating my freedom and humanness. And that is as it should be.
When we are given nourishment we should feel grateful.
“Thanksgiving” should not be relegated to that one feast day in the month of November.
Every time we lift a fork of pasta, meat, or salad we should be giving thanks. Food is a staple of life - we must have it to survive – and it is also gift to our hearts as it reminds us of what we love and what makes our life beautiful. Food is the nurturing of life and messenger of love.
Food as Human need: We have appetites, we need nourishment. In this time of illness, loneliness, and contagion in 21st century America, how we feed ourselves is deeply significant.
Thousands of people line up at food banks to buy the absolute necessities to feed their families, while take-out food is delivered to some, and in privileged cities, a writer like myself has the luxury of sitting and reflecting on the poetics, history, and romance of food.
This most powerful country on earth has an epidemic of hunger as well as disease, and this must be witnessed.
Food as Human Pleasure: Growing up in the upper-middle class, I learned that it was just fine to partake of sensory pleasures, one of the greatest of which is food.
Sensory pleasure is often called decadent (and to excess, it is), but it is also a reminder that we human beings are animals.
Food as Love: In the many decades of traveling around the world and adventuring at home, I’ve learned that the growing of food, the searching for it, learning about it, preparing it, and the eating of it - all are acts of love.
As we nourish our bodies and keep them strong, so too do we love ourselves.
“A man is captured through his heart but is held captive forever through his stomach.” From MFK Fisher’s Love in a Dish.
Warmly,
Mag
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Photo by Mayur Deshpande on Unsplash
Photo by sshootz on Unsplash
