Why I Write About Food
Since this letter has gained a few newcomers in recent weeks, I wanted to take some time to introduce myself.
Hello! My name is Ryan.
I am a professional writer, the father of three, soon to be four, beautiful children, and the husband of a thrifty, creative, loving, gorgeous wife, Briana, who has an excellent newsletter of her own, The Fiber Diaries. I am also a budding homesteader trying to turn nearly 3-acres of overgrown, rocky New Hampshire hillside into a small, regenerative farmstead.
Now, let me tell you why I write about food.
I write about food because I love it. This is not the kind of love you automatically think of when someone says “I love food.” I like to eat, certainly. I enjoy tasting flavors and dishes from all over the world. But what really gets me going about food is the love rooted to its core.
My mother always says, “Food is love.” It may seem wishy-washy or clichéd to say, but she is a wise woman. Can you honestly say that you have never once eaten a meal that someone poured their very soul into? I sincerely hope you have.
Making a meal is one of the greatest expressions of love I can imagine sharing with another person. When I or my wife put food on the table for our family, we are giving part of ourselves to our children. We’re taking the time to sizzle together meals that will fill the bellies of our children. At the same time, we’re doing so much more than merely providing sustenance. We are sharing in a great tradition that stretches back to when man first cooked meat over flame.
My heritage is Irish, Italian, and Acadian (that’s Maritime French-Canadian for anyone unfamiliar). If you haven’t been able to tell from previous posts, the Italian side of my family has been the biggest influence in the development of my love of food. This tracks, because, of all the nations in Europe, Italy is the most deeply connected to its food. France and Spain are close seconds.
The reverence Italians have for the food on their plates comes from a history of making due with next to nothing. All of the foods we love (and, quite frankly, take for granted) the world over, pasta, pizza, and the like, were made out of necessity. Those came from family food cultures, recipes passed down from generation to generation. I have a feeling that, were I to travel back in time and sit with one of my great relatives in Calabria, I would be able to communicate with them solely through my knowledge of how to make pasta.
My love of food is also spiritual. As a Christian, breaking bread with others is an act of love and sacrifice. We become one body; one family. Christ broke bread with his disciples. He fed the five thousand with loaves and fishes. On his third appearance after ressurection, he ate breakfast with his disciples on the shores of the Tiberius.
Christ is the Bread of Life. He nourishes and strengthens our spirits. The physical food we eat is an extension of that spiritual love. It comes to us in the form of cultural traditions that continue to be passed down.
Yet, there is another reason I write about food.
I write about food because the heritage I’ve just described is threatened by glib attitudes. Why bother to prepare a meal from scratch when we can just roll up to a fast food restaurant and get a pre-made meal for cheap?
I ask, how is that feeding your soul? It’s not. There is no heart in a Big Mac. Where there is heart in hand pressed beef patties, grilled over propane or charcoal, and served on a simple bun. Why? Because someone took the time, care, and attention to make it with their own hands. It’s the same reason we’re impressed by carpenters assembling timber frames, painters creating a masterpiece, or watchmakers meticulously calibrating minuscule gears.
One of the reasons my wife and I homestead is to make sure we honor that soul by developing a deeper connection to our food. We want to one day be able to bring in milk from our cow and use it to make yogurt, butter, and cheese. We want to be able to go to our freezer and access meat we grew and butchered ourselves. We want to be able to pick tomatoes and green beans fresh from the garden, and apples fresh from the orchard.
It’s a quest for quality. What better quality is there than food you grew yourself? I tell you truly, there is no Michelin-starred restaurant in the world that will produce better food for me and my family than what comes out of my own kitchen. Not because I am the greatest chef in the world, but because my heart and soul is on every plate.
That is why I write about food.