This will probably not come as a surprise to any of my readers, but part of the reason I've been reading so much lately is that I joined a book club this fall. It forces me to read books outside of my normal list, as well as gives me a due date. Before the pandemic, this group met at the bar and everyone discussed the merits of such literature over cocktails. Unfortunately (actually fortunately in this case!), we are confined to the online space.
Tembi Locke's From Scratch was wonderful in so many ways. She discussed her time abroad studying art history as a black woman in Europe, her romance and eventual marriage to Saro, the adoption of their daughter, and his cancer. We start in the middle of the story when she is fully gripped by mourning, suffering in grief after he died. She makes trips to Italy to feel closer to him and show their daughter the world of her father. It is beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. But there was one thing in particular that drew me to this book...
The food! Always food. Every chapter is filled with dishes that wrap around the story like a hug. While I appreciated every word, it was the recipes at the back that caught my interest, especially dilanti con lenticchie, which is pasta with lentils. She comments that it was the first dish her mother in law made for her when she visited, and her husband Saro revealed that lentils in Italy "Are fortune, and they are fate."
Yet it was Tembi's words that struck me as most profound: "But they are also a mourning food. Lentils bring the full human experience to the table. Lenticchie were the food this family turned to for comfort and sustenance when life gave you something irreparable."
When I read that about this dish, I knew I had to make it. I'm still feeling the effects of COVID, so the more strenuous tasks knock me out early. I bought all the food two days before, chopped everything throughout the day, and put a chair in the kitchen to sit down when I became tired. It was necessary labor for me, my first meal I've cooked in over a month.
I am in mourning now, mourning the loss of hundreds of thousands of Americans, many of them elderly, poor, and black or brown. I am mourning the loss of every event, every plan I made for 2020. And finally, I am mourning the part of myself that changed when I tested positive for COVID, the fear when my health declined suddenly, and every day that I feel my body is not my own. I hope that I am not irreparable, but that remains to be seen by time.
And while the mourning continues, I loved the food. I topped it off with pecorino and a side of freshly made bread from the bakery nearby. There was wine and gelato later, once I made room in my stomach. To be honest, I couldn't smell it, and my taste buds found it bland, but my fiance said it was delicious and I think I'll take his word for it!
I'm not sure if I learned a specific lesson from this book, or if it was just what I needed at this exact moment. In any case, the food did offer comfort. There's quite a bit leftover too, so I don't have to cook again for a few days. There are little victories here, one day at a time.
~Kristen
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