Food For Thought
“The explanation is that I consider cooking to be an act of love. I do enjoy the craft of cooking, of course, otherwise I would not have done so much of it, but that is a very small part of the pleasure it brings me. What I love is to cook for someone. To put a freshly made meal on the table, even if it is something very plain and simple as long as it tastes good and is not a ready-to-eat something bought at the store, is a sincere expression of affection, it is an act of binding intimacy directed at whoever has a welcome place in your heart. And while other passions in your life may at some point begin to bank their fires, the shared happiness of good homemade food can last as long as we do.”
My greatest food memories date back to when I was a young girl. Over the years certain traditions established themselves. St. Patrick’s Day, for example, was always an occasion. My mother would make dozens upon dozens of green cupcakes for my father to take to the office. Then we would feast on corned beef and cabbage for dinner—every year. There are no words to express the influence my parents played on my food journey. Food is the bond that will always connect us. Eating was considered an act of celebration in our home, a sincere expression of affection.
On Sunday, February 21, I lost the man who taught me about shared happiness around the dinner table: my father, John Walsh. My father and I shared many interests, and one of those was the love and appreciation of good food. I remember him waking up many mornings and the first words out of his mouth were, “What are we having for dinner?” Sunday evenings were always reserved for my mother’s roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.
These traditions will live on with my own family now. And when I think of my father, I will try not to tell him how much I miss him, but rather to be thankful for who he was.
Dad, thanks for being my biggest fan. I know you loved to read these letters. This one is dedicated to you.