It's funny how so many of our family memories, our ways of coping with stress, heartbreak and tragedy, and every single moment of celebration all revolve around food. At least at our house, whenever things go well or very, very awry, my response begins and ends in the kitchen, making something special for my family to bring us all back together again. I feel like that is true for a lot of us.
Jonathan Gold got that fundamental truth: food is what knits the family together.
If you haven't watched the brilliant documentary -- City of Gold
I've been thinking a lot about Jonathan Gold's work as I've made meal after meal for my family at home during this pandemic shut down, because I've been seriously contemplating how our food choices knit us together in a giant, patchwork tapestry here in America.
For example: Why is there such a disconnect between people who love to eat out at a Mexican restaurant and those same people discriminating against hispanic folks in their neighborhood? How much of our food tastes are cultural remnants, woven into the fibers of our DNA like some ancestral calling card, the nature outside of whatever food nurture you have built up from years of family meals? How can our love of pure, ethnic goodness in our food choices not translate to a "love thy neighbor" feeling about people who are different from us -- if by "different" you mean skin tone or language, which we celebrate if it is our own or denigrate if it is not far too often these days.
One of the things that I love most about living in small town West Virginia is that because we are small in population but big in heart, we all begin to feel like family. We care for one another, we reach out, and we check on those who are a little older and frail -- that's an important thing to do in a pandemic, and a lot easier when you already know and like your neighbors.















