If there is anything my grandmother has taught me, it’s that people LOVE food.
My grandma is a 96-year old spitfire of an Italian woman with a knack for cuisine. I remember from a young age, wearing an apron approximately 6 sizes too large from me, standing from my vantage point and staring up at this woman who could whisk, chop, marinate, and tend to a cornucopia of food items at once and create them into a masterpiece. At that age, I could barely stir batter without spilling it all over our tile floor. Oops.
I remember the days leading up to holidays, baking torcheniels and patzel cookies with opera in the background, and slowly savoring the cooking smells as well as sacred time in the kitchen with my grandmother. During breaks, we would dance and spin like no other, and she would admire my 5-year old singing with joy in her eyes, clapping her hands together and asking for an encore. Those are memories I pray to give my children one day. Some day.
With young ears and eyes, I clung to the words of “You will be ready to get married once you are able to have every item that makes up a meal be done and on the table at the same time”.
Dang it grandma, I’m still working on that one.
Moral of the story: My favorite room in the home is the kitchen. I also consider myself having the spirit of a grandmother: one who wants to nourish others with food, encouragement, spinning and dancing, joy in the eyes and clapping, begging for an encore.
If I’m a fraction of the woman she is, I’d be humbly grateful.
I’ve taken on a traditional love of food, company, and gathering. I consider myself an amateur chef (or one that is REALLY good at a set list of simple items 😉 ), but nothing brings me joy quite like gathering people into my home around the table, uncorking a bottle of wine while the food marinates its final moments on the stove, and encouraging my loved ones to “sit down, forget the cares and worries of the day, and make yourself at home”. I just love to love on people that way. It brings me a sense of capacity, nurturance, and simplicity that I truly seek during the hustle and bustle of what this world calls “living”. I thank my grandmother for passing down this love affair with the kitchen and the table, and have seen the table serve as such a beautiful artifact for connection and warmth.
I can remember my best and most intimate conversations with others happening over a warm cup of coffee, hands cupped around mugs and enveloping one another in secrets, hopes, pains, and compassions. I hold fondly my most encouraging words shared amongst friends while passing around heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, digging into savory plates of chicken parmesan, and laughing over spilt green beans almondine. I remember my most painful and bittersweet conversations happening over half-finished glasses of wine, with the candle at its last flicker and flame, while being held by someone who wished they could take my pain away from me, with all of their might.
All of my most deep, most intimate, most memorable moments in conversations involve gathering around the table.
So naturally, when my husband and I moved into our first place together, I made it my mission to find a large, oaky, worn, ready to be lived-in table.
It’s now at this very table that my husband and I shared our first meal together in our home as husband and wife. It’s at that oaky table that we made the decision for hubs to switch jobs and be closer to home. It’s at that distressed table that we gathered those closest to our hearts and filled them with nutrients and love. It’s at that very table that I sat and drank wine after my husband and I’s first argument as husband and wife, cherishing the fact that he has a true heart of forgiveness. It’s at our sacred table that we fold our hands in prayer and bow our heads in gratitude to our Maker and Redeemer.
And it will be at this very table where laughter, encouragement, heartbreak, compassion, and green beans almondine will be shared in abundance with one another.
I wish I could have each and every one of you have the ability to be seated at this table, to receive the food that’s prepped, and to have someone in eyeball-to-eyeball connection with you and speak compassion and authenticity to your heart. And to have your compassion and authenticity be received.
Until then, don’t underestimate the power of a table with four legs, pasta overflowing, aprons 6 sizes too big, and spinning and dancing in the kitchen. The simple joys in life.