They say a way to a man’s heart is through is his stomach. I’ve not really tested this theory (intentionally), but I do believe there is some truth to that statement. I mean, what normal, red-blooded man doesn’t like a warm slice of bread baked fresh from the oven? Or an apple, cherry, or peach pie that’s made from scratch? Or my personal favorite: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with thick, cream gravy, and green beans seasoned with a little salt pork and cooked to perfection?
I know in our own home, when I start rattling the dishes in the kitchen and the tantalizing smells begin to permeate the house, my crew usually comes running. Well, not literally (but sometimes.) Often, their motives are more subtle than that. Hubby will wander in for a glass of iced tea. Child one (when he’s home) will just say outright, “Yum. When will it be ready?” And child two will skip in, glance out the window, and pretend not to notice (or care) what Momma’s cooking.
Honestly, sometimes I think I could serve them an old shoe garnished with a little parsley and they’d think it was deelish. (Especially these days with my hectic, rat race schedule.) I’m very blessed; my family is always so appreciative no matter what I fix.
In Book One of the series I’m creating, food plays an important role in the story. As far as the main characters go, it’s more of what it stands for than just the mere preparation process: heritage, culture, comfort, memories, independence, and love. There’s a bakery involved and it becomes a bone of contention. That’s not the plot; it’s just one piece of the whole pie.
For anyone that remembers the old television series, “The Waltons”, you may recall that, often, Grandma and Grandpa, Momma and Daddy, and the entire Walton brood used to gather around the farmer’s-style table for the evening meal. They’d ask a blessing on their food and talk about the day and what was new in each others’ lives.
For them, the supper hour wasn’t really about the food. It was more of a bonding experience. A time to share. A time to love.
Call me sentimental. I admit it. Call me old-fashioned. Yep, I am a bit. Call me a romantic, a traditionalist, a dreamer. And I’d have to say…guilty as charged. I’m guilty, guilty, guilty!
Now. Want to know what’s for supper tonight? Something tasty, tempting, and tantalizing served with a big, ol’ side dish of love. Dinner’s at six.
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How do you spell “love” in your family? Do you have certain habits/traditions that you observe with those you love?
Comments 4
Food plays an important role in my book, too. A lot of it has to do with setting the scene in the mountains of WV–canning vegetables, memories of churning butter or making apple butter. Some of it has to do with LOVE. My main character’s mother makes her favorite dinner as a way to show love (hmmm–just like my mom!).
Author
Now I know we’re cut from the same cloth, Sarah. 🙂 My momma does that, too. Of course, she did threaten to one day turn the stove into a planter after I was older. (That’s been a couple of hundred pies ago.)
“turn the stove into a planter” Haven’t heard that before, and had to laugh. When our daughter was home, we always ate together at the kitchen table. Now that she has a family all her own, I can’t get hubby to eat in the kitchen, so we pull out the trays in the living room. (I guess that’s our new tradition). The family always gathers around the table at my daughter’s house, so we join in; who gets to sit by whom is always discussed. Fun times.
Author
We still have family meal time, Patti. Our oldest is away at college, but the rest of us sit down each evening to eat, dish, and laugh. And the planter thing…we still tease my mother about that one. (Her stove’s still goin’ strong.)