A Pinch of Salt and a Healthy Dash of Love

A simple text message that includes my baby’s request for dinner always warms my heart.  One of my absolute favorite things to do is cook!   I get such a kick out of being in my kitchen so much so that when I bought each of my homes, the first place I wanted to see was the kitchen.   It gives me so much joy to see my loved ones enjoying a meal I’ve prepared.  While some would look forward to getting home to kick their feet up at the end of a busy day, I bolt home to create magic in my kitchen. 

My special love affair with arranging ingredients together to create culinary masterpieces, started before I was even 10 years old.  Mum would have me by her side, adding different ingredients to the pot as she cooked.   This is one of the best gifts she has given me, bar none.  I paid close attention to the order in which everything was added and as any adventurous child would do, I wondered what would happen if I changed that order.   I longed for the day when I could figure that out.  Mum consistently did it all with such precision and tenderness, and I took special care to emulate that.   This was the highlight for me. 

As the youngest in the family, I had already seen my brother and sisters do their stint in the kitchen.  There were no canned goods or blenders, no measuring cups or scales, no gloves or easy buttons to simplify the process.  No, we did it all in the back yard, with tools that made you work every muscle in your body.  “Matta Odo en Matta Pensil” (mortar and pestle), “peppeh stone” (a large flat granite rock and a smaller one used to grind food to a pulp, by hand), fire stone (a three-stone outdoor fireplace, where you set a fire with freshly cut wood).    

Talk about cooking from scratch, this was it.  You went to the market to buy fresh ingredients daily and process them for your daily meals, by hand.  We had everything we needed, even that ‘thing” that made Mum know exactly how much of everything should use.  Her investment secured a place for all of her children among the league of great cooks.  Of course, I’m that confident!  Ask those who we’ve fed on a regular day or those special holidays where there is food beyond what a single table can cradle.

Once the creative fireside sessions were complete, the phase that posed a challenge for my young mind started.  Especially on holidays like Christmas and Easter, Mum would line up her fine dishes and baskets where she would lovingly heap scoop after scoop of food to be delivered to family, neighbors and friends.   My eyes would dejectedly follow each bowl out of the kitchen, on their journey to warm up someone else’s heart and belly.  I would frequently peek into the pot to monitor what was left for me.  Oh, and for the rest of my family too.  “Does she not realize that we have to eat too?  Why does she always do this?”

One day, when I could no longer bear the torment, I ventured to finally satisfy my burning curiosity.   “Mum, why do you always send the best portion of the food out to all of these people when you haven’t dished ours out yet?”   Mum didn’t skip a beat.  She knew my eyes were larger than my little stomach and she was sure her days of forcing me to sit still and finish the limited portion of food on my plate were still not behind me.  In the way only Mum would impart a lesson that carries you through life, she handed me another gem.  “When you give a gift to someone, you don’t save the best for yourself and give them what’s left over.  Always make sure you give from the heart and do it in a way that ensures you have enough left for yourself.”  At that point, all my young mind wanted to entertain was the assurance that there will be enough food left for me to enjoy.  That fireside lesson, however, makes so much more sense now and still guides me each time I serve food.

My love for cooking was such a big part of who I was as I grew up.  Imagine the disappointment I felt when, as a teenager, Mum objected to my desire to pursue a career in foods and nutrition.  But this was what I loved! 

“Why would you want to go to school to learn something you already do well?” 

They say mothers know best so despite my opposition to her logic, I defaulted to other things I enjoyed doing, but never shied away from my love for cooking.  What Mum knew then that I hadn’t even entertained, was that there was a fine line between a hobby and a chore. 

You see, I’ve never looked at cooking as something I “had” to do; as a chore.  I despise chores and could never associate cooking with doing chores.  Cooking was a favorite pastime that I enjoyed.   It compares to that natural high others get from shopping but for me, cooking trumps that any day.  Well, not unless we’re shopping for shoes.  As long as I did it because I wanted to, I would enjoy it.  The moment cooking became a job I had to do or a chore that was required, it would lose its excitement.  Mum knew her youngest child well enough to protect that special connection I had developed with cooking.

What is it about cooking, you ask?  Hmmm, all of it, I would say!  It is the thrill of creating something special each time I enter a kitchen.  It is that innate desire to make a wish come true when I ask my loved ones “what would you like to eat?”  I could very easily go into the kitchen and prepare what I want or think they should have, but there is something special about creating a meal that I know someone desires; their favorite dish; a dish they haven’t had in a while; something they’ve been craving; that special thing they may only be able to get from my kitchen.   It is the joy of effortlessly putting together a series of ingredients to unveil love on a plate, even if one of those ingredients is shellfish that I am both allergic to and have no desire for.  It is honoring a gift God has entrusted to me.

On a typical Saturday afternoon, my curtains would be drawn to let in the beautiful natural light; my front door and the door to the back patio would be open to let in soothing breeze; smooth reggae music would be blaring from the Music Choice channel on my TV, or the collection of my favorite reggae and African tunes; the air would be saturated with the sweet, inviting aroma of food wafting from my kitchen; and if you dare to peek in, you will find a thoroughly engaged me, wrapped in my “lappa” (wrap) and comfortable tank top, singing and swaying contentedly as I systematically add a pinch of salt, a sprinkle of herbs and a healthy dose of love to the dishes under creation.

So often, I get requests for my recipes.  Whether it is for rice sticks, salmon stew, curry shrimp, or jerk turkey, my response is always the same:  I don’t share my recipes but I will be happy to cook for you.  For the few people who I have ever shared a recipe or two with, I have heard the same thing: theirs doesn’t taste like mine.  But of course, all of my dishes include more than the listed ingredients.  How can anyone else add love like mine to a recipe?

No, I don’t eat much at all, to the chagrin of my loved ones.  My satisfaction that comes from serving my loves, my family and my friends from my kitchen feeds my body, fills my heart and nourishes my soul beyond description.  So, when you sink your teeth into the next bite of one of Vic’s creations, close your eyes and let your heart be flooded with the healthy dash of love in each spoonful. 

Indulge!  There’s plenty more where that came from.  Dinner is served!

~~Vic~~