Eating Well - Part 1

Nearly all of my fondest memories are linked to food. When I look back on my growing years the highlights inevitably inextricably involve food. Be it the dinners on the terrace under a full moon during the holidays when we had kai sadam where we sat around in a circle around an aunt who would roll mounds of rice and place them in our extended hand. Or that summer when we all spent a fortnight or so in Madurai eating mangoes with the juice trickling down our elbows as we raced to lick it before it dripped to the ground. Even the years when my sons were young my fondest stories of them somehow relate to food. Like the time I beat eggs and milk together, seasoned it and it rose so well in the oven that we named it 'wow' and it is now firmly a part of our family lexicon. When I first moved to the UK, food was also how I made friends. I would offer dishes to neighbours and school mums and in an instant a rapport would be established. In short, food is how I communicate, it is how I connect. 

When I think of people, I often think of a meal we shared or a dish they cooked for me (can there be a more definite action that communicates love than to be cooked for?). Some years ago, for a birthday a dear friend sent me a message about how we both loved food and how so many of our conversations were about food. I had no idea I did that and I was delighted that she had noticed and thought to point it out to me. 

Over the years I have never stopped to think of the components that make the meal. I don't pause mid-mouthful to wonder if there is enough fibre in the sambar sadam or if the aviyal would go towards contributing to my daily protein intake. I do not look at yogurt and satisfy myself that I am getting the requisite calcium. What a travesty that would be and a real thief of joy of eating. I do not read a book against a checklist to see if it is intellectually stimulating or if it nourishes my imagination, so why would I do that to the plate of food in front of me?