So Good
I’ve been re-reading Shauna Niequist’s book Bread and Wine, both for the way she talks about food and in anticipation of her new book coming out in April, I Guess I Haven’t Learned That Yet. The book is a collection of essays and recipes, centered on food and home and hospitality, and the role the table plays in a life of love. It’s one of my favorites, and I make recipes from it often–in fact, I did it today, and the loaf of bread is cooling on the counter.
We love to eat around here. My parents always liked to have people over for dinner, and when we had weekend guests, there were always little bowls of candy everywhere, and plenty of chips and snack food. In high school, one of my favorite things was a Friday night after my little sisters had gone to bed when I would hear my dad in the kitchen putting a pan of French fries in the oven, or dropping them by handfuls into the deep fryer. We’d bring big platters of chips with bowls of salsa and tall, icy glasses of Diet Coke into the living room and watch movies until we were exhausted, or until one of us fell asleep on the couch.
Food is still central to everything we do as a family. Last night, my kids and I drove around Louisville, shopping and eating snacks in the car while my husband finished up the work he had to do in town so we could pick him up and go to dinner. Joe and I lived in Louisville when we first got married, and as we drove, I kept pointing out to my kids places where we ate–almost entirely cheap places, mostly chains, as that’s what fit the budget for a teacher and a law school student. But there was also the little diner housed in an adorable cottage, and the tiny bakery down First Street where our pastor took us after church. There was the little restaurant off Fourth Street with its outdoor tables and beautiful meals that we always walked past on the way to the park, and there was Luigi’s downtown with the best Italian food I’d ever eaten. There was the Starbucks where my best friend and I joined a church girls’ group and the Mexican restaurants where we went with our couples small group.
There are a million things we did in Louisville, the place where we learned how to be married and built a foundation for everything that was to come, and I have countless stories. But as we drove through town, I found myself pointing out where we ate, where we shopped for groceries, where we wanted to eat but never did. When Joe called for us to come and get him, I said, “What do you want to eat?” and the negotiations began.
This afternoon, I am stretched out on the couch before I get ready to go to a funeral visitation. Joe and the kids have gone to pick up groceries. Every now and then, I put down the computer and slip into the kitchen to tear off another piece of the bread I just pulled out of the oven. It’s been a gray day outside my house and inside me. I cried through a worship song in church and have felt heavy all day. So for lunch I made pizza, a slow process of rising the dough, pressing it out, baking it. I made a loaf of bread, and I accidentally let it stick to the bottom of the pan, so I’ve been ripping soft and crunchy pieces from the bottom of the pot, savoring the textures and the salty, yeasty taste on my tongue.
Mostly when I have a day like this, I dive into books, eagerly seeking something to take me out of myself. It’s possible that my books are at their best on a day like that, when they let me escape the world. They are just so good.
Today I leaned into my feelings and my own skin as I pushed my hands into a bowl of dough and kneaded, the dough sticky against my fingers. I inhaled the comforting aroma, and crunched warm baked bread between my teeth.
It was just so good.
