I sit on an old, faded chair in my grandma’s kitchen and ask her if she ever liked cooking. It must be more than a year now since my grandpa passed away, and she answers that she never really loved doing it but there was no choice with a family of 4 kids and two adults. Also, the times were different and there was no way someone would walk those 8 kilometres, laying in between their grange and the closest village for a meal. Neither was there money for it. I guess there is no reason for her to exaggerate, and I clearly remember that we, as children, were never forced to eat. We were the ones asking what’s for breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and dessert. On the other hand, the weekend mornings at grandparent’s place would start with a smell of waffles and fresh milk, which grandma would bring from the fields. We never felt hunger for too long. Also, there were some cooking books, lying around the farmhouse, written and issued in the former Soviet Russia’s times. Books, so different from today’s fancy readings, not intended to feed your eyes, but designed to fill your belly.
Stories about people eating together are being told throughout the whole history, leaving thousands of ripples in the fabric of the reality as we know it, influencing cultures and personal lives. More than 2000 years ago Jesus shared a meal with a group of people, celebrating a wedding. He also fed more than 5000 people with a few fish and some bread, as well as shared the last supper with his disciples.
And you know what strikes me the most? The history books fail to tell us if the meals were delicious, fancy, or healthy. The fact is that you do not need to be a master chef in order to share a special moment with others. Whatever is prepared and being put on a table – it unites people, makes them stop and live in this short, precious moment.
Just look at the Greeks – sometimes it can take them several hours to drink a small cup of strong Greek coffee. If you think it is one of the reasons why they have been in such a deep crisis for a few years, you have not participated in their daily lives enough and must look closer. It is not about the politics, even though they talk about it a lot and are way more educated in the matter than Western kids. It is about their culture and the bonding of people. Yes, you will find all the “kafeneios” full on a warm Mediterranean night, and it is okay, because that is the place where the news gets shared, where families meet and a lot of beautiful dances are performed. And the Greeks live really long, so there must be something in the way the world dims around them, when a hot meal and a cup of steamy coffee is placed on a table. Their whole culture invites you to sit down and share a meal.
A couple of days ago two of my most favourite “food sharers” left for their home country and I immediately started feeling an empty space in my heart. There were many afternoons and evenings, spent watching ice hockey, drinking tea and eating meals. I am guaranteed that in several months I will not remember a single dish I prepared for those special occasions, but the friendship which develops once you start putting your heart into preparing food for others is not likely to fade any time soon.
