On Food

Awhile back, I was hanging out with a group of friends, and I was asked this question:  "Amber, with all the people in your family, how many refrigerators did you have?"  "Just one", I responded.  "Oh wait, no, we had another one in the basement that we used for overflow".... several seconds later.... "Wait, there was the walk-in cooler and freezer too".  And finally, "Oh! There was also the condiment fridge by the kitchen table".

I grew up with a father who would drive to all the Krogers in Lafayette if he couldn't find what he wanted, cater his own office parties, and fill the house with ridiculous amounts of produce because "it was a good deal". My mother prepared amazing food for a squad of people breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and supported my father in all of his crazy dinner schemes). Deliciousness was never sacrificed.

Is it any wonder, really, that I turned out the way I did?

I have few interests relative to the people I spend time with in Utah. Not only fewer, but less intense interests. Except for food. (Which just so happens to be something that everybody loves because everybody eats. Translation: I'm really just kind of lame. But I'm a lamo who will happily make you dinner.)

I don't think either of my parents ever set out to teach me about food, or cooking, or eating well, or even agriculture and gardening. But the message was implicitly woven throughout my growing-up years. While other children were watching Tony the Tiger on TV ads, I was picking sweetcorn with dad (not always because I wanted to) and watching mom make biscuits. We ate breakfast and dinner together almost every single day. Our Christmas plans were really "What are we having for Christmas dinner?" plans. The two pretty fool-proof topics of dinner conversation at my house: food and farming. Even the coupon-clipping days in my early childhood, marked in my memory by cream of mushroom-filled casseroles, it was clear: food is important. It is important enough not to waste. Important enough to spend time and money on. Important to try and important to like. And whether a hot dog or a filet mignon, important to appreciate.

I would say that when I went to college most the people I interacted with had grown up in a similar way to me. But the more time I spent in food policy and nutrition classes, the more I realized that I had had a very privileged food childhood. It's not that I believe that everyone should grow up just like I did. I do believe, however, that every child should experience homemade food. They should see the eyes sprout on a potato and they should know that you harvest apples in the fall. I believe that every adult should have the experience of making food. Which means that they should have the access, knowledge, and skills necessary to plan a nutritious meal, purchase those ingredients, and prepare that meal. Why does it matter? If convenience foods can offer us equivalent nutrition to homemade foods, what's the point? Because food touches so many areas of our lives. When we eat a meal that someone has prepared for us, we receive their love and hospitality. When we grow food or make food for other people, we give of ourselves. It requires our knowledge, creativity, patience, and practice. In return, it gives us a rewarding sense of accomplishment. One of the best feelings in the world (surpassed maybe by like birthing a child or something- I wouldn't know) is successfully making a delicious homemade loaf of bread.

Sometimes I look back and wonder why I studied food science- the degree of the people who gave us pop tarts and easy mac and took away our desire to make our own food. But it taught me so much, and I have a real appreciation for the food industry. They also gave us sour cream and cheddar Ruffles, mustard pretzels, and Wheat Thins (not to mention American Cheese), all of which I have difficulties imagining my life without. I firmly believe that every food has it's place. I studied food science because I love food. The reason I didn't join the food industry after college is simply because my passion does not lie in providing people with mass-produced food.

I've spent almost two years now in Green River, Utah, and things haven't always gone like I've planned. The non-profit world is not always fun or easy, personally or professionally. Sometimes though, Flor begs to make fresh fruit popsicles again, or I hand off a box of fresh produce from the garden, or I watch Brian run to the chicken coop to gather eggs, and I'm reminded of the thing that explains all the things I have done and will do:

I believe that making food and eating it with others is an essential part of the human experience. I believe that it connects us to God, to each other, and to a deep part of ourselves. In so many ways, I believe it's worth spending a lifetime on.