I spent two days at the end of last week in a training at work. One of the first things we did was read a list of items that were organized in to four groups. Each group had a letter associated with it. I selected the group that was most “like me”, and then we started an exercise with our selected groups.
Each group was asked to create a “visual map” of what our perfect meeting would look like. The very first thing that came to mind was “it starts and ends on time” and the second thing was “there will be food”. The timeliness of the meeting speaks to my dominate brain which is a “B”, but the food spoke to my secondary brain “C”. For those interested, “A” is my third choice, and “D” is my fourth.
The training continued the next day, and I brought in some chips and homemade salsa that I made last summer and froze. There was plenty of food provided at the training, but it was all sterile conference food, and I decided that the group needed something made by hand. Made by someone who cares. Someone asked me why I brought food when there was already so much there, and without thinking about what I was saying, I blurted out “food is my love language”.
And unlike many things that that come from my pie hole without fore-thought, I realized after the fact that it was actually true. Food is indeed my love language.
For all the time I spend writing, words can often fail me in real life. I have the words in my head, but in many instances I feel like saying them won’t be well-received, or I get so uncomfortable with a situation, and I just blurt stupid shit out. Always that stupid shit is meant to cheer someone up, make them laugh, or provide comfort, but all too often it leaves people scratching their heads thinking I am a nutter. There is never malice in what I say, but I die a tiny death each time I say something and it hurts someones feelings.
Rather that continue to put myself in to awkward situations, I have stopped trying to speak with words, and have started speaking with food. If one were deaf, blind (or both), food is a language that you could understand. From culture to culture, food is a source of comfort, nourishment, and love. Food is a universal symbol where no words need to be exchanged. A handmade dessert, healing soup, or warming casserole is a way to say “I’m thinking about you” or “I’m sorry you’re hurting” or “congratulations”.
Whether it is a fancy cake, or a simple plate of eggs, the meaning is the same – love.
With all the words I put in this space, frugal tips, DIY projects, and gardening, it is the food and the recipes that I gift to you and show my affection, my friendship, and most importantly, my gratitude. I’m so thankful that you are here, in my life and am constantly in awe of your intelligence, kindness, and encouragement. If Willy Wonka could perfect the miniaturization technology that tripped up poor Mike Teavee, I’d send you all a tasty homemade cookie or cupcake. Not to give you a sugar high, or type 2 diabetes, but rather to say thank you. And I love you all.
Food is my love language, and I appreciate getting a chance to speak it with you.