Like most teenage girls, my Mother was not my best friend. There were countless hours of screaming over what I was allowed to wear, the grades I was making in school, the state of my room – anything and everything we could fight about, we did. The one situation where time seemed to stand still, however, was in the kitchen. Even if we weren’t talking, giving no material to fight about, it was an almost sacred time where nothing was allowed to bother us. I’d stand behind her, hands clasped behind my back, quietly watching her stir soups and toss seasonings into bowls, not uttering a single sound until she lowered a spoon to my mouth, asking me what the dish needed.
Lucky for me, a year before I am no longer a teenager, I can proudly say that my Mom and I are best friends. We laugh in the kitchen now, making small talk while I sit at the counter listening to her gossip about the latest temple drama, occasionally sticking my finger into the pan to get a sneaky taste before she smacks it with the spoon. Food has given us both what we never thought possible before – understanding. We come from two totally different worlds, with her understanding of food as a means of sustenance and old recipes created purely out of survival, and me with the luxury to pick and choose what I want to go into my mouth. Food is the ultimate unifier, a reminder that we have so much more in common than we realize, a common language we all speak when hand gestures and Google Translate fail us.
The Feed, which will soon be available through Lantern Publishing, is an example of this common language we all speak. It is the physical manifestation of our hopes and our histories – it is the bridge between the past and the present, and a mechanism by which we can all begin to heal.
