Cooking as a Love Language✨

A good meal is best served hot, with a side of hearty laughs!

I write this on the heels of my birthday dinner celebration. For 27, I curated a beautiful night of good food and even better company. The menu was a marriage of diverse cultures and cuisines- slow-roasted pork shoulder and baked chicken, garlic mashed yuca with rosemary + thyme, and a side of kale and mushrooms for a lil something green. We merrily drank peach cocktails and tea, a homage to my Georgia heritage. And we capped the night with a red-velvet cake, made from scratch.

The energy in the space was electric- buzzing with chatter as guests played a rousing game of "how do you know Sydney". But like clockwork, all conversation ceased when the food came out of the oven; heads curled over plates and silence filled the air, broken only by slurps of contentment. I looked around the room in pure delight at the fruits of my labor being enjoyed by my loved ones.

While today I feel a deep connection to the kitchen, that has not always been the case. I have a long, complicated relationship to food and cooking. Growing up, cooking was framed as a chore that I must to do as a dutiful wife to satisfy my imaginary husband. Over and over I heard, "No man will ever stay with you, if you can't cook" to which I would crassly reply, "well me and that nigga can both starve". My relationship with food was further complicated by my curvy body. Being a size 8 surrounded by size 00s felt like a sin. Every bite was scrutinized and criticized. Eating was something to be ashamed of, not enjoyed.

In adulthood, I came to understand the importance of cooking as a survival tool. During my short stint as a vegan, oftentimes my options for sustenance in social situations were fries or starve. I started experimenting in the kitchen- my palette expanded to include spaghetti squash and nutritional yeast and coconut milk (a pantry staple to this day). I enjoyed Thai and Indian dishes- both cuisines known for their expansive plant-based offerings. During this time, I began to reshape my relationship to cooking, but I was far from enjoying it. My spice cabinet was extremely limited and most meal's either tasted the same or like nothing at all.

My passion for cooking didn't develop until sometime later. In June of 2020, I moved into a communal art home- the kind of place with a rolodex of roommates who've matriculated through the space over the years. In my tenure, I inherited a fully stocked kitchen with spices from all over the world, ornate pots and pans, and all kinds of kitchen gadgets and gizmos. Cooking became my pandemic hobby- I was working fully remote, producing digital art, and cooking was my connection to the physical realm. It grounded me.

Despite living in the backdrop of a global pandemic, this was also where I got to practice hosting loved-ones. My home became the hub for backyard bbqs for holidays, birthdays, and just because. I loved bringing my bubble together and crafting cocktails for projector movie-nights! Hosting, and by extension cooking, became a way to strengthen community, and create a space to commune.

Cooking as an offering of love:

My dear friend called me one afternoon to commiserate about struggling under the weight of late stage capitalism. I was distraught, unable to offer her much besides kind words. She mentioned being homesick and craving a home cooked meal. We got off the phone and I looked around my kitchen, pondering what to make. My eyes settled on some chicken breasts and fresh rosemary on the counter, and I decided upon a chicken pot pie. Who could be sad with a belly full of pot pie? I pre-baked the pie crust in the oven and got started on the filling; a mixture of roasted chicken, heavy cream, carrots and peas. Just before the bottom crust reached a golden brown, I pulled it out and assembled the pot pie- crust, then filling. I gently applied to the top layer of crust and brushed wide strokes for a generous egg wash. 40 minutes at 375 degrees and we had a delicious, flaky chicken pot pie. I couldn't wait for them to come over to enjoy, and enjoy we did!

From family meetings to community meals, the kitchen is a sacred third space where relationships are deepened. Life lessons are shared while snapping peas and thawing chicken.

When I cook, I feel connected to my foremothers:

Zula Mae & Rosetta

Constance Edwina & Minnie Lee

Kimberly Janae & Karen Janean