“Home” will always be troubled by unrepaired, unaccounted for, untended histories of violence. Our food, our gatherings, no matter the motivation, tether us to relationships between people, systems, and the planet itself. We make ‘home’ anew through meaningful acts of repair – both as large and significant as the returning of stolen land and the extension of reparations – and as small as taking note of our own intimate practices around lives and stories that need tending. With this said, we offer these recipes that constitute one small glimpse of how we tend our lives, our loves, our tables in the direction of ‘home.’
Mia’s Salad Dressing by anna blaedel
I come from generations of excellent cooks who consider feeding people a primary act of love and care. Food is comfort, care, hospitality, and cultural/ancestral connection. My maternal grandma, who we call Ba, was born into a poor Czech immigrant family, learning English only when she went to school. From her I learned to save bacon grease, and how to roll out homemade noodles and biscuits and dumplings. From her daughter, my mama, I learned how to braid the Czech Christmas bread without which the holiday season feels incomplete. My mama also taught me that gathering at table is a sacrament, sharing food is sacred, and community can be seeded, cultivated, and nurtured through giant pots of soup. My maternal lineage follows recipes, and passes them down. I cherish the faded, food-splattered index cards bearing my mom’s handwriting, and her mom’s, and her mom’s. My paternal grandma, who we call Mia, grew up in California; she experimented with new flavors, and loved learning from different cultures. She cooked by taste, and taught me to grow my own herbs. Every time I step outside to pluck a few sprigs of mint, or thyme, or basil to add to whatever I’m cooking, I think of her. Once, when I was young and visiting her, we went to the grocery store. I remember her horror when I reached for a bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch for our salads. She only ever made her own dressing. If I wanted ranch dressing, we would start with buttermilk. That trip, she taught me how to make vinaigrette. Or rather, she taught me a template to play with, adaptable to a variety of preferred tastes and accompanying flavors and available ingredients. Start with olive oil, and add acid. The proportions can be ½ and ½ or ⅓ and ⅔ or ⅔ and ⅓ , according to taste and ingredients. I often use balsamic vinegar, but sometimes enjoy the more subtle flavors of apple cider or red wine vinegar, and sometimes seek the bright bite of fresh lemon juice. Add a little mustard, wherever kind you have, and a hint of sweet. Add fresh garlic. Mince herbs, preferably plucked fresh from your own garden. Add a pinch of salt, and fresh cracked pepper. Taste it. Tweak it. Play with it. Toss with any kind of greens, vegetables, grains, etc. My cooking is a manifestation of this combined ancestry: continuity and experimentation, honoring tradition and creative departure. Sometime, I hope to get to cook for you, and have you at my table for a meal. Ingredients
- olive oil
- acid (vinegar or lemon juice)
- herbs (fresh is best, and creative combinations are encouraged; Mia was partial to chives, dill, parsley, cilantro, basil, and thyme)
- garlic (to taste; grated or minced for more pungent garlic flavor, or marinate a crushed or sliced clove in the dressing for more subtle flavor)
- mustard (yellow, dijon, whole grain, spicy, whatever)
- a hint of sweet (honey or maple syrup)
- salt & pepper
A Recipe Marked “Home” by Robert Monson
My story: Home is a word fraught with emotion for me. I know what people typically mean when they speak of home, but I must be honest that growing up was chaotic and a constant challenge of trying to find safety. I learned to find home within myself because the outside world was much too frightening for me and it rarely made sense. With that said, there are foods that remind me of the best of my childhood home. Recipes that remind me that I came from somewhere and that I am a part of something larger than myself. I remember some Sundays being caught up in the aromas of fried chicken or fried catfish…glimpsing my father make magic in the kitchen. He seemed to be safe when he was cooking and I will always treasure that. Despite so much of his cooking being impressed upon my mind, the way our family made tacos grounds me and causes fresh tears to come. We were poor but we still managed to make meals that seemed like feasts Ingredients
- Taco seasoning pack
- Ground beef (I use turkey these days though)
- Shredded cheese (I’m a sharp cheddar dude)
- Lettuce
- Tomatoes (I don’t remember us having this growing up but…I’m grown now 🙂
- Diced Onions
- Ranch dressing (This came later in childhood and I still prefer it over sour cream)
- Hard taco shells (always)
Instructions:
- brown the meat in a pan
- once done put a glass or two of water in the pan with the meat, then put the onions and the taco seasoning
- While that is happening put the taco shells in the oven until they are nice and crispy
- Serve with lettuce, tomatoes, shredded cheese, RANCH, tomatoes, and whatever else.
- *When I miss my family, and my heart is weighed down…I make this meal (usually with a side of rice) to feel better.
Recipe to Remain Attuned to the Gift of Being a Guest at a (Kind) Table by M Jade Kaiser
I’ve really tried to learn to enjoy cooking, but barring the occasional exception of cooking for/with others, I do it begrudgingly. My relationship to food growing up was complicated, including little opportunity to learn to cook, but also a home table that was often unkind. However, I am grateful to have learned from an early age just how sacred it is to be invited to others’ tables. When playing with friends transitioned to “would you like to stay for dinner,” I did not need to know what was on the menu! Ease. Connection. At worst, uneventful. At best, a part of something communal I craved deeply. I remember feeling a level of gratitude that was imperceivable to my hosts at the time.
I feel it, still, both the gratitude and just how imperceivable its depths are to those, especially, who think what they have to offer is little. Every single time I dine as guest at the table of beloveds or strangers, intentionally sharing with me their food, labor, time and lives, I dare not take it for granted. And if I recount my life in tables of others’ homes – from strangers to friends and beloveds – I sit in awe at how generously my life has been welcomed, nourished, and embraced. I am not a perfect table guest. I’m still learning how and when to align the depth of the gratitude I feel internally with what/how I communicate it. I get in my own way in doing so, still. But this recipe comprises just some of the parts and pieces I’ve learned along the way. Note: Significant substitutions required for tables where love is out of season. Preparation:
- 1 cup of ‘saying yes’ ← recipe depends on this, no substitutions.
- ⅓ cup of being upfront about any dietary restrictions, and not withholding until later. Otherwise, plan to be as flexible as possible at the table as an act of reciprocal hospitality.
- ½ cup of taking note of the intimacy of being invited into people’s homes and/or families/communities. (Set aside, to bring back in later)
- 1 hearty inquiry into what/whether it would be helpful to bring something.
Cooking:
- 1 sprinkle of ‘anything I can do to help?’
- ½ cup of taking internal note of how much love, labor, time, resources, and/or thoughtfulness went into preparation and cooking of the meal by hosts. Make sure to stir well, so the affection and love are fully integrated. Some recipes leave this out, and it strips the whole thing of flavor. (DO NOT SKIP this ingredient in cases of being served leftovers, ‘just whipping something up,’ or ‘what can I order you?)
- ½ cup communicating gratitude for above noticings. Be specific when possible.
- ½ cup of remembering the land and laborers and systems behind the harvesting of food, and letting the remembering be a regular call to action for your part in a more just world.
- 1 heaping portion of being entirely present – no phones and also, be aware of ‘where you are’ in your own mind and heart during the meal and try to focus on the people in front of you.
- 1 set of meaningful inquiries into the lives of those present. Repeat for group taste.
- 3 cups of really tasting the food.
- 1 generous portion of authenticity, trusting your specific presence is desired at the table, as you are.
- 1 cup commitment to confident participation – neither overly centering one’s self, nor shrinking; neither ignoring complicated elements when present, nor over indulging them.
- 1 bit of “paying attention as a form of prayer*” – giving silent appreciation for each person being who they are and for what happens when these specific people come together with love/care for each other.
Clean-up:
- 1 full portion of enthusiastically & joyfully doing the dishes, coupled with appreciative reflection
*Simeon Weil