Headed into the new year, we are supposed to be thinking less about food, right?
Unfortunately, the belly rules the mind. Or so says a Spanish proverb.
In the case of at least one inky wretch, when the smell of meat on the grill or biscuits in the oven hits the olfactory senses, all bets are off; the belly indeed has taken the wheel.
Food not only nourishes and keeps us upright for another stab at another day; it binds us culturally, spiritually and emotionally. It fills us up every which way.
Where else could a boomer and Gen X’er find common ground other than at one of Arkansas’ grand old steakhouse dives?
“He/she should be in jail!”
“Yes, but the porterhouse was seared to perfection. And how ‘bout them Hogs? Oh, and please pass the rolls…”
We think it could go something like that. The joy derived from good food is one of those heavenly gifts that transcends, erases boundaries and levels playing fields — and one that few take for granted, in the South, anyway.
After all, how often do we associate our experiences in other places based on the quality of the dining experience? For most, it is likely close to 100 percent of the time.
“Sure, the Eiffel Tower was something else, but the baguette at that little corner cafe…”
Besides, what higher honor is there than to be cooked for or to be asked to cook for someone?
The Spanish chef José Andrés Puerta once described his attraction to cooking: “I realized very early the power of food to evoke memory, to bring people together, to transport you to other places, and I wanted to be a part of that.”
A beautiful sentiment, and we concur. We prefer another sentiment, though, one attributed to that late, great enigma Orson Welles:
“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”
Here’s to a 2025 in which we can put aside our differences, if only temporarily, and break some good bread together.
