%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
Prompt: Food "Food is memories." José Andrés Do you have happy or not so happy memories attached to food? ----------------- This question makes me grin. I don't have any unhappy or not-so-happy memories attached to food. Does that make me a gourmand? I don't know, and I fear to think about that possibility too much. What I don't fear, though, is food itself. Food isn't just fuel for our bodies. We are, especially I am, very picky about it. So much so that, it bypasses logic. This may be because the brain processes taste and smell together with emotion and memory. I say memory because a flavor can make me feel as if I've traveled back in time. When I saw the ad for cured black olives in Amazon, for example, inside my mind, I went to my childhood when my grandmother would never set a breakfast table without cured black olives. After I saw that add, now I have those olives at breakfast again. Am I regressing to my childhood? Nope, I'm capturing the happy feeling of being cared for again, together with the renewed taste of something. Something that has to do with the warmth of family. Come to think of it, food keeps many of the earliest memories and language of care. Long before we start understanding words, we understand being hungry and being fed. Food, then, is the elimination of hunger in addition to warmth, attention, and safety. As such, in adulthood also, to share a meal is to lower our defenses and to agree, be it briefly, in most things because food and us are present together. On top of it all, food was very important in the family I grew up in. Both my mother and my grandmother would feel sad if we didn't have a guest at the dinner table. And no wonder, they had a lot of friends. Countless, it seemed to me. As a small child, I used to believe my family knew everyone on the face of the earth. Of course, internet wasn't invented yet and phones were usually on the walls attached to long cords. And if someone called someone else during dinner time, the call would begin with an apology. Those were the days meals were markers, such as the taste of Sundays, or celebrations, or even grief. Because meals have been markers in my family, food has carried stories across generations. Recipes preserved geography, culture, struggles, survival, and they have outlived people. A dish my grandmother used to make can hold the memory of scarcity or abundance, of adaptation, or of home recreated in a new place. When I go back in my mind and try to cook the same recipe, I reenact old memories with my hands and my kitchen utensils. If I didn't, that memory might disappear. Food, therefore, sits in the center of meaning and feeding my body. In a world that moves quickly, eating slows me down just enough to feel. Food keeps me alive, yes, but it also reminds me who I am, where I've been, and who I've loved. . |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
Puzzle Hub
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
