(Originally appeared in Sense and Psychotherapy, Winter 2004)
When I was little, my grandmother was well known for her baking skills, and walking into her house was like stepping into an olfactory nirvana. One of the first things I did when we arrived was head for the cookie drawer in the corner of Grandma’s tiny kitchen. To my child’s mind, this little room was about as close to heaven as one could hope for. In addition to the endless supply of cookies to nibble on, it was here that I was introduced to the pleasure of freshly picked tomatoes, thickly sliced with salt and pepper, eaten in front of a small bouquet of roses. For as long as I live, food and roses will be interwoven with memories of my grandparents.
Back in my own house, meals were a raucous communal activity. Supper was one of the highlights of my day. Promptly at 5:30 pm, we would all squeeze around the table and the race would begin. Although there was always a lot of food on the table at the start, rarely were there leftovers. We all learned to eat rapidly, piling as much on our plates as we could fit. I felt cheated if my brothers got more than I did. You never knew if there’d be second helpings, and it was not uncommon to “borrow” bites from each other’s plates. Afterward, we’d sit back to chat, eat dessert and listen to my father’s stories.
Growing up, there was always a supply of readily available sweets; pop in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer and cookies in the cupboard. We religiously observed the nightly ritual of the bedtime snack. As a special treat in the summer, my mother mixed fresh strawberries or peaches with sugar to pour over vanilla ice cream.
Over the years, I have had some success in altering my less desirable eating habits. Although I am still on the fast side, I have been able to slow my eating down to a socially acceptable pace. I no longer insist that we divide the pizza into equal portions before anyone can take a bite, and I’ve given up on trying to eat as much as my husband. Most of the time, I am able to finish a meal without needing dessert. However, to my chagrin, one habit that has been impossible for me to break is the bedtime snack; I have simply learned to manage it by eating something healthy, like a little dried fruit.
I still view eating as a communal activity. When anyone walks into our house, I feel uncomfortable until I’m able to offer food and drink, even if it’s just tea and cookies. I love to have others around as I’m preparing, eating and cleaning up a meal. I enjoy lingering at the table long after the food is gone, swapping stories, telling jokes and nibbling dessert crumbs.
Every spring for the last 15 years, I’ve pored over the selection at the nursery, looking for the plant that will produce a tomato that tastes as good as my grandfather’s. Somehow though, come July, no matter how beautiful they appear, they never quite match up to his. We’re getting close to preparing our veggie garden for spring planting; perhaps this year I’ll be able to recreate that first bite. Hope springs eternal. However, I can always have fresh roses on my table.
