FOOD | RELATIONSHIPS
It First Began in Cairo…
SPECIAL SERIES: RITUAL
The first time I was aware of food as a means of ritual, I was twenty-three, living in Cairo, Egypt, and had befriended a shop owner in the Khan El Khalili. This shop, in an out of the way corner, wasn’t often frequented by westerners. My roommate and I came upon it by happenstance but kept returning because it was filled with the kind of exotic trinkets you can only find in such a place, colorful scarves, art by local artists, and all forms of jewelry. It was the sort of shop that overloaded the senses. During our first few visits we were treated like any other westerners, the shop owner was polite but not warm, he offered tea that we declined, and had we continued to decline the tea our trajectory probably would have remained that way. The day we accepted his tea, and chose to participate in what we later realized was a ritual, a shift happened. We went from being just a couple of customers to being customers who respected the culture in that part of the world, to eventually, becoming friends. The moment seemed insignificant, except that it wasn’t. The act of pausing, engaging in conversation, showing respect for one another, and being present, over small cups of bright pink hibiscus tea, was sacred. I still on occasion drink hibiscus tea and when I do, I feel transported back to myself at twenty-three, learning what would become an incredibly valuable cultural, and personal lesson in the art of ritual, and more importantly, the role food plays in it.
Food as a universal language is what unites us.
Slow roasted chicken with root vegetables is a go-to staple for my family, mostly in the winter, though I do make it on occasion in the summer. It is consummate comfort food. It’s also the food I remember taking years ago to a friend on bed rest, and what I took to another friend, years later, who was dying from cancer. Its the last thing I ate with a boyfriend as we were breaking up, sitting at his dining room table, he was already looking at the next items on his to-do list, and it was then that I knew we were over, because I was in the moment, enjoying crispy skin, citrus laced chicken flesh and salty sweetness of roasted parsnips and sweet potatoes, if we couldn’t come together over that meal we would never last long term. That particular recipe, that meal, is one I hold sacred. We are truly friends if I offer to make it for you.
Food as ritual is not a new concept. Meals in modern times have perhaps lost some of the elegance that comes when a meal or a snack is an event, a celebration, a sacred moment. It’s easy to lose it when a meal is eaten in the car as you rush your kids to and from activities, or at your desk while you catch up on email. To lose that sacred pause while eating to give thanks, to be fully present removes purity from the act of eating. Food ceases to have flavor in that moment and simply becomes a means to an end. The meal loses a bit of its meaning and becomes this thing you do because your belly is empty, without acknowledging that your soul needs nourishment too.
Food doesn’t fulfill its destiny.
When food is ritual it nourishes our soul.
Sharing food with someone can still be a sacred event, even when it’s done without a lot of prior planning, impromptu dinner parties, offering a coworker part of your lunch when they have forgotten theirs, these are small acts of love. In my field, education, offering students cherries to snack on while we devour a novel for a book study is my way of nourishing their minds and their bodies at the same time. The awakening, the curiosity, that comes from offering a student a taste of something new is a moment to treasure. I can’t be positive, but I’d like to think it’s helped unleash a creative beast or two.
It’s not just the act of eating but also the act of preparing food that is sacred.
Cooking with someone invites intimacy. Kitchens, even large ones, force us to navigate space in a way that requires trust. There is a dance that flirts with danger and hints at acrobatic level choreography when two or more people are wielding knives and using fire. Communication, as you are cooking inevitably leads to storytelling and questions and in the end a deeper understanding of each other.
Recently I had a friend over, helping me with some things around the house, and very organically, I found myself making banana bread, and then offering up my secrets, sharing a treasured recipe, and opening up in a way that pulling weeds, just doesn’t invite. Cooking with someone is a bit of intuition, communication, and a little magic. When this happens, even a salad or eggs can become special.
Often the first thing someone says to you when you go to their home is “Can I offer you a drink? Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?” I am the kind of person who always has wine, or an easy meal on hand because when my friends stop by, I want to celebrate the moment, even if that moment is just a random Tuesday night. Food unites us, it invites conversation. It is how we celebrate, and how we grieve. It can be transformative and healing.
Thirteen years ago when my dad died a coworker of his stopped by with a bag of ham sandwiches. Again, it didn’t seem significant at the time, yet it was. The sandwiches weren’t fancy, they were really just store-made deli rolls with ham, and possibly some butter on them, not even mustard, but this human felt the need to show that they cared for us and that meant ham sandwiches. In the days immediately following his passing as we put together the arrangements for his funeral, I didn’t have much of an appetite. I had zero desire to cook, or even run for takeout, but we had those sandwiches and they sustained us.
Food is love, a universal constant that we all share.
Food is healing. Offers to bring food were welcome when my dad passed away. Still even now in the age of food delivery apps, offers to bring food first things offered when my family had Covid-19, and in the wake of a recent surgery. I, of course, welcome it and invite people to stay a minute and have a cup of coffee or make a cocktail. The healing aspect of food is much more about the expression of love it represents, the desire to nourish the body that in turn, nourishes the soul.
This week I am visiting old friends, and food (and booze), naturally has been at the center of my visit. I showed up in North Carolina with a backpack full of Iowa produce and a loaf of banana bread. The ritual, the act of preparing food, and consuming it while talking late into the evening is what has sustained this particular friendship for over 30 years. It’s a shared history combined with love in the form of nourishment for the body and the soul. It’s worth noting that shared food and this particular friendship extend beyond our periodic visits. We have a running group chat with another friend, where we share recipes, offer cooking advice, and since I now live in the same town as all of our parents, where we coordinate the periodic drop-off of tamales or baked goods to the elders.
This friend I’m visiting is one closest friends from childhood, she and I, now in our forties, still convene when we see each other, over the same foods we bonded over as awkward teens. Now, we do it with our own children present, passing along a love of mini cheesecakes, and cornflakes chocolate chip cookies, and summertime traditions like playing in the park followed by tuna melts and chocolate shakes at the neighborhood pharmacy/soda fountain. Our kids look forward to it almost as much as we do.
© Sarah Backstrom 2021
