I feel like I’ve had the joyous gift of having been often and excessively fed by people I am not related to, happily and warmly, most of my life. Aunties in a village. My Vietnamese neighbors across from me in SF. Literal aunties in Indonesian and Indian trains, stuffing food into my mouth (with their hands. I have photos). Connecting with people different from me through delicious food, and me appreciating it very enthusiastically, is a core part of my sense of self.
I’ve followed Lebanese families off a train and into their Beirut apartment for meals they invited me to. I’ve been kidnapped from a taxi in Ranchi so a friend’s parents, who found out I had arrived there, could throw me a 30 dishes for breakfast, breakfast. I’ve lived in the old clay skyscrapers in Sana’a with a local family who fed me saltah and ful for days.
I send it back into the world by feeding people anywhere and everywhere I can, too.
Recently, I got to talking with an older person who also centers food and community like this. He said something interesting. ‘Food is culture, structure, politics, stories. The scaffolding of our lives and what it means to be alive.’
Sometimes, in the U.S. I feel far removed from that, which I feel I embodied and lived without thought. But I get to be very intentional about it here because I have to recreate my communities, stories and even my own food. I can’t get it here.
And that’s why whenever I eat a meal I made from a frozen package, alone, I feel deeply depressed. I never ate that, or like that, until I came here. I also don’t feel good after eating those things, so I’ve now learned to really prioritize what I eat and who I eat with. I get why people eat like this, I just can’t do it.
I’m hoping that in 2025, I’ll get to build more circles and friendships, in person and virtually. There will be food (and recipes) involved.
15 years on, I still make Indian filter coffee a very specific way because my friend’s mum in Kerala taught me so; and chai another way because a friend used to always make it for me that way in Mumbai.
People and places fade but the stories remain. But if I went to Kerala and Mumbai tomorrow, they’d still make it for me the same way.
@skinnylatte That train story brings back memories.
@skinnylatte I kinda wish things like this were a bigger part of the cultural landscapes I live in. In Austria getting invited into someone else's home at all for any reason is comparatively rare!
@skinnylatte I had a time with lots of couchsurfers visiting and after they made their where are you from the next stage always was what do you eat. Then they made up a cooking plan, remembered they were at my home and asked me when I came from work. I had several days ahead with travelling the world foodwise <3
And even the most argueing ones had to admit to the others cooking because one cannot be mad at a person giving you food.
Food is peace.
@skinnylatte OK now I just want to cook you dinner!
@HumToTable yes please!!
@skinnylatte If you're ever in Humboldt County hit me up!
@HumToTable on my list of places to visit after i get my vehicle (soon)
@skinnylatte I'm Brazilian but I've lived in China and Jessie in Portugal, Spain, in all these places, food has always dictated various aspects of life and behavior.But unfortunately, access to good food, especially if you are an immigrant, is ridiculously difficult, at least that's how I felt in my experiences.
@skinnylatte I grew up with meal times as the framework for the day. I keep meeting friends who don’t and I’m always baffled: how do they time their days? (Turns out most don’t, and suffer for it)
@skinnylatte I am in the "big city" now, but still so grateful to have neighbours who feed us and share their garden produce with us. And if I am happy enough to cook sweets/something special, they *will* get a dabba. Them's the rules. :D