Soul Food

In my family, we receive revelations during dinner time. Fried chicken sizzles a whisper of history through our brains and gumbo, is the best presentation of our character, mirroring our harmony of differences with its content so there is no need to ask about who is the fairest, because the flavor, does not discriminate its love from anyone’s taste buds. I first learned of this from my father. I’ve watched him beat eggs with an iron fist and make pancakes look like gymnastics as he shows his best method of love. My siblings and I recognize this as his best quality. We understand that he goes searching for Mother Nature in the possibilities of our kitchen as he keeps his family fed and secure. I guess that’s why they say, “ooh you put your foot in this!” when a meal is good, because the soul in their food often came from their feet and I often see my father dancing to the rhythm of his past when he cooks. He remembers, the long conversations he used to have with his stomach while searching through Louisiana Fields for a meal. And no one encouraged him more than the growls in his belly and eventually, the growls began to sound like a promise, that hunger, would never be thought in his household. So every day, he drives down memory lane looking for the next meal to hitchhike onto that promise. Sometimes, it’s hot-water cornbread, archaic from a time when milk was scarce but not so necessary. Sometimes, it’s banana style French toast. He believed in the value of being an extra beyond normal. Sometimes, it’s grandma style lasagna, stacked high so we can glimpse her stature in my father’s eyes. And sometimes, I think he recites her prayers during dinner time; uses the name Father as the final spice and the stove serves as the tool for a seance. I discovered, that swallowing pride taste better when it has been served by a loved one. It sits at the very pit of your soul and marinates your body in its goodness. My siblings and I, walk into the world never without our father’s presence. My brother’s core, has been wrapped in the inspiration to show the power of the kitchen. My sister, walks strong, as if her feet were made of brass skillets. And I know, that my father shows his best method of love with a passion, a stove, a fire, a spice, a fork, a plate, an inspiration, and a knife. If you ever, want to know what soul food looks like, just take a look at my father, and come join us for dinner.