The Food of Love: A Cultural Journey Through Family and Tradition
Smoking Pork Butts on a converted steel grill
Just by looking at me, you can tell I'm not one to skip a meal if I can help it. If you've spent any time around me, chances are I've tried to feed you at some point. There's something special about cooking for others, eliciting smiles or eye rolls with every dish prepared just for them. But it wasn't until recently that I realized how deeply ingrained the act of showing love through food is in my family's culture.
About a month ago, the matriarch of my father's family, Granny, passed away. We thought we had more time with her, but she lived a full life of over 90 years. In the South, when a beloved grandmother passes, the entire family gathers to bid her farewell and hug each others’ necks. Granny was legendary.
She not only prepared food for each of us but likely fed every person in town at some point. When her church initiated Wednesday dinners as part of their outreach, Granny eagerly took charge of the kitchen. Throughout my childhood, she fed over 300 people every Wednesday. Later, when the church established a soup kitchen, she was there to lend a hand.
As family members trickled in from various parts of the country—Nebraska, Atlanta, Tennessee, Kentucky, and several parts of South Carolina—my brother, father, and I took on the responsibility of feeding everyone. Despite our sibling competitiveness, which still persists, we both shared the desire to ensure no one left hungry. One memorable night, we found ourselves standing over the same grill, each cooking our own version of brats, using a single set of tongs to turn the food. Having spent the last 12 years in Wisconsin, I may have had the edge, but the verdict lies with the family who tasted both. I even introduced them to my rendition of what I call a Seattle Brat, a recipe I picked up during a training trip to Washington.
The one meal we all collaborated on was helping Dad prepare his signature smoked pulled pork. While my brother got the beer and made a side dish, I sat with my father documenting the prep and the 8 hour cooking process. The entire family gathered that day to share our love and memories. Perhaps food as a love language is genetic. Perhaps it was just how Granny taught us to love.
Our family gathered to share a meal.
North by SouthEast emerged from the fusion of my childhood upbringing and the culture of my chosen home in Wisconsin. It embodies the love of the family I was born into and the love I aim to share with my chosen family. Food has always been our language of love, and I want to extend that love to you. Over the next few months, you’ll hear about adventures, for sure, but you also have to eat. I hope you’ll share a meal or two with me and exchange the gift of the food of love.
