They say love works in mysterious ways, and I know this to be true.
The love of my life woke me from my sleep last night. The alarm clock I usually keep next to my bed hasn’t been unpacked from our recent move, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it never will. So, I reached for my phone and squinted a little as its screen came to life. My husband stirred and rolled over in his sleep. The large glowing numbers read 3:25 AM and I sighed, quickly shutting it off. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for the little brown notebook that I’ve taken to stashing under the mattress so my children’s little hands can’t find it. They find EVERYTHING. The moon last night was particularly bright, almost as if it was throwing me a bone in that otherwise tired and bumbling moment in which I’d found myself. Rubbing my eyes, I scribbled a few words inside the notebook, working with what little moonlight I could and hoping that I’d be able to make sense of it in the morning.
Compass directions. Exploration and discovery.
Satisfied, I got back in bed. I’d been laboring over the most deceptively simple question for the better part of a week and had begun to lose hope that I’d actually be able to find the right answer. A food blogger friend of mine, Valentina Solfrini (by way of equally friendly blogger Renee Byrd), challenged me recently to explain or at the very least, simply think about why I love food. Easy! I thought. This post will practically write itself. Right?
Wrong. In fact I’ll admit to never having had a tougher time composing a post here and I think that alone gives evidence to the significance of the question, at least for me. It’s a murky one, this question; its answer wholly unclear and far deeper than meets the eye. But I will try my best to answer it, as there is one thing I know for certain: I do love food. So far as non-human loves go, food is the greatest of them all – it is the love of my life.
I love it in the pure, unabashed, time-tested, born like this, wake-you-from-your-sleep (apparently) kind of way that definitely comprises a big part of who I am, and it always has … in one way or another. Professing that love is easy. I could do it Julie Andrews style from the top of the highest peak with a chorus of music playing all around me, the hills alive with the sound of it all. But trying to explain it – trying to sort out and define it – that’s another story entirely. How do you catch a cloud and pin it down, after all? So yes, the ways may be many – mysterious, strange, some obvious, some not – but there are plenty of them to go around, the ways in which my love for food works. Let me (see if I can) count them for you … Continue reading