I get along well with food. My life long
relationship with it can be divided into 3 stages. The first was growing up in
a house dominated by my mother’s kitchen, the center of our family life, and
heavy with the aroma of garlic, basil, and oregano. Food was seamlessly
connected to family and friends, and was an integral part of all social
gatherings. All visitors were directed to the kitchen table where they were
offered coffee, food, wine, or any combination of the three. This experience
was comfortably tucked away in my psyche where it quietly remained for most of my
adult life - the second stage. The third stage began gradually as I entered into
the so-called Golden Years. As those childhood experiences of food re-surfaced
I began to appreciate how much they helped define who I am, and I eagerly
embraced them. And the association between food, family, and friends so firmly
ingrained in my mind, continues today. I enjoy food more than ever before, and
the enjoyment is always greater when Patience and I are sharing our table – or
kitchen counter – with family and friends.
In
recent years I have become a big fan of the mid-day meal. Regardless of where I
am or what I’m doing I usually manage to find time for the lunch. It doesn’t
matter if I’m hungry or not. At 12 o’clock I leave the studio, cross the
breezeway into the kitchen and call – actually yell – to my wife that it’s “time
for lunch”. The meal is usually a simple affair with little cooking required,
and generally consists of whatever I find in the fridge: leftovers, roasted
peppers, cheese, Mortadella or salami, and a fresh tomato when available. With
Patience’s homemade bread, and a little olive oil and Balsamic vinegar, anything
is possible. A recent addition to my lunch menu is the 8-minute egg – an
undercooked hardboiled egg cut lengthwise, drizzled with olive oil, salt, and
black pepper - simple, elegant, and delicious.
But
in addition to being one of the simple pleasures in my life, lunch has become a
constant reminder of my father, a man who could not hide his enjoyment of food.
Like all farmers, my father’s life was defined by long hours of hard work. His day
would begin with early morning chores and end late in the afternoon or early
evening, interrupted only by breakfast, and the mid-day meal. I can see him
sitting at the kitchen table with his face breaking into a satisfied smile as
my mother places the food on the table. I can even here the soft audible sigh
he would invariably make. It didn’t matter if it was a few leftovers from the
night before, or an assorted collection of cheese, bread, peppers, and other
“whatever’s”, his enjoyment of each meal was obvious and genuine. Of course if
it was pasta the sigh was always a little louder. His mid-day and evening meals
were always accompanied by a small juice glass of his red wine from one of the
barrels in our cellar.
This
simple mid-day meal has become a welcomed oasis in my daily routine. In
addition to the delightful flavors that make it such a treat, there are those
moments when a particular taste or smell triggers a fleeting memory of my
mother’s kitchen. It is easy to imagine my father sitting across from me now,
sharing the joy of this simple meal. We raise our glasses and silently toast
one another. It can’t get any better than that.
Luciano
Pavarotti was correct when he said,
“One of the very nicest
things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing
and devote our attention to eating.”
Bill
Renzulli can be reached at wfrenzulli@mac.com