i've spent the last two days in my hometown of rockford, il, and some of my friends have come with me. this is the first time i've been back to rockford when i haven't had a mile-long to-do lists, and its the first time in two years that i've brought friends home to my families here.
my friends are from korea and they have four little boys. my seminary experience would have been completely different without these friends in my life, and i'm delighted to share my hometown with them... but not without some hesitation. as we were planning our trip here, i worried over what to do, who to see, and what to eat.
mostly our list of people we've seen have been my families and my church, and we will be off to stronghold tomorrow. we've been to the children's museum and to a park. and we've eaten a lot of food from this place we've called home.
wednesday night we ate pizza and salad from a local pizza place that's been in business for as long as i can remember--a place that is a symbol of all the landmark moments in my childhood growing up--a symbol of my family of origin being rooted in this place.
thursday midday we ate lunch at a local vegan-friendly burger place (yes, really) and i shared cheese fries and onion rings with my friends as the side to my fresh veggies on a whole wheat bun.
it occurs to me that i spent more time wondering about where we would eat and what we would eat--more time worrying about our food than anything else.
it occurs to me that--coming home--i let go of most of my expectations for eating (gluten-free, animal-free) but i clung to eating local.
it occurs to me that i was a little nervous bringing this food--my home food--to my friends. it isn't gourmet, it isn't necessarily healthy, it isn't even terribly unique. but this pizza and salad and fast food concoctions are born from the same place that gave me life. our individual flavors help mark who we are in this world, no matter who we are and where we've come from.
so it occurs to me that while i've fallen a bit outside of the guidelines of what this blog is about, i'm still right in the thick of it.
what we eat matters.
sometime soon, i won't get to come home to my families and my food. i will long for the food that describes my home, no matter how greasy and unsustainable it is. i will long for it because its home.
and its the same...
truth. everything about this post.
ReplyDeleteAfter I was grown and would travel across country to visit my parents, one question my Dad would always ask was "What do you want to eat?". It was a sign of the love and nurture I received in my family. My parents always had a garden so the most of the vegetables had been grown by them. I would often request favorite dishes from growing up. When we "broke up" the home when my dad moved into independent living, a lot of the furniture was sold, but serving dishes, cast iron skillets and some utensils were kept by my brother and me. The act of preparing and and sharing food can be the most profund act of love.
ReplyDeletei think there is absolutely nothing like eating food from home. and when my grandmother died, we definitely spent more time and love in the kitchen than anywhere else.
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