Why the Focus on Food?

Because my grandmother (MaMa) made cornbread and biscuits every morning, created three hearty meals each day, and served a feast every Sunday. And because her dinner table, always surrounded by her son’s and daughter’s families, was larger and grander than any other dinner table anywhere—long enough and wide enough to fill our lives.

Because Grandaddy owned a grocery store and delivered sacks-full of edibles to families all around town, but closed on Wednesday afternoons. Then we could eat cold fried chicken and potato salad at the lake or drive to Columbus for my grandmother to shop, maybe buy another hat. And I could wait in the car with him and play our game—Peanuts, Popcorn, and Cracker Jacks—labeling each passing pedestrian one of those with just cause. He would say, “She’s a popcorn,” and I’d say, “He’s a peanut,” and every now and then we’d both shout, “There’s a cracker-jack!”

And, also, because my mother never cooked breakfast, or lunch, and hated having to cook supper after working all day in a bank, especially when my father demanded fried food which he loved even more than she hated frying it.

Because my dad was a milk-man and later delivered ice cream on a dairy truck to businesses, schools and the hospital. My sister explained life this way: “My daddy makes the ice cream and my momma makes the money.”

And, too, because my grandfather bought us soft ice cream in July and told us to lick fast but laughed as it dribbled in our laps, and then took us home sticky for my grandmother to clean up.

Because summer vacations meant seafood platters at Panama City Beach—fried fresh shrimp, oysters, fish fillets and potatoes, and because these were not prepared by my mother, she enjoyed them more than anyone. 

Because raw oysters were supposed to be an aphrodisiac.

And, well, because peaches from Georgia were sweet and could be eaten out of hand dripping to my elbows or peeled, sliced and baked in a cobbler, or pickled whole for Thanksgiving.

Because in November, pecans fell in the back yard and harvesting them to sell at the Saturday “farmers market” on the courthouse steps meant spending money for Christmas.

And because Christmas morning was bacon and sausage, ham and eggs, grits and biscuits, citrus and fruitcake with a fussy spiked eggnog later for grown-ups to giggle over.

Because school lunch was healthy food prepared home-style by mothers of the school children.

Because his mother turned her five children over to a Nanny so she could cook their three balanced daily meals. Their family served dinner English formal style with his Dad at the head of the table plating the entrée like roast beef and gravy and passing the plate to the other end of the table where his Mom served a vegetable like green beans and a starch like steamed rice. Plates made a full circle around the table until all were served.

And, also, because his Mom was Church Hostess and planned, sourced, and cooked the Sunday Men’s Breakfast and the MYF Supper plus elegant wedding receptions for young brides.

Before we married, I became a dietitian to try to contain all this goodness and tension about food as nourishment, food as love or sacrifice, food as the essence of Life.

Now, we enjoy eating meals made by chefs in restaurants, watching the Food Channel on T.V. and traveling to learn about the foods and eating habits of other cultures. Food is life. Life is food, everywhere.

And while we are eating our breakfast tomorrow, we’ll be planning our lunch; and as we enjoy that lunch, we’ll be planning what’s for dinner, and maybe look ahead a bit to a tailgating meal around a football game or the upcoming holiday feast, spare nothing. What are we if not our food habits?

May your celebration of the season be complete with all your favorite foods. And, may you always eat well.