Sadly, there is absolutely nothing "slow" about my food these days. Mornings are filled with scones and cappuccino from my favorite little French deli. Days are filled with scrounging through cupboards for canned sardines or protein powder. And my evenings? Well, let's just confess that I had Thai takeout last night, and hastily drank olive oil and half a bottle of wine for dinner the night before (don't ask).
It wasn't always this way, so there is really no accounting for it, and I really can't explain to anyone (let alone myself) what happened.
I used to the COOK. Often. And well. I'd throw sometimes legendary dinner parties that took 2 days to prepare and seemingly longer to linger over and eat.
It's a bizarre and slippery slope, this move to a fast-food lifestyle (and no, I'm not talking about McDonalds). For me, the "fast" in my food is the complete disregard with which it's prepared, and the fact that it is seldom prepared by me, let alone anyone who knows and loves me.
I am compelled by the idea that the love we put into the preparation of food changes the actual quality of the food - not only in taste, but in property. Sort of a "Like Water for Chocolate" applied on a grand scale. While it seems like a dance into the world of magical realism, think on it;
Does any food in the world make you FEEL better than:
- The clumsy PB&J sandwich made for you by your child?
- The omelet and pancakes made for you by your lover?
- The soup made for you by the parent or friend caring for you when you are sick?
Slow it down. There is a reason that entire generations of civilization make references to food that is "almost as good as Mom's."
-Heather... guiltily off to (again) buy a morning scone...
Posted by: Christina | March 08, 2006 at 10:56 AM