Hi, I'm Anita Doseck
Food is my love language.
I say this quite often. And it’s true. Both for myself, and, I think, for the human race. When we celebrate, it starts with food. With a special meal and a cake. When someone is grieving, we don’t know what to do or how to comfort them, except by making them something to eat. To be fed is what we first require of our mothers when we enter the world as wailing newborn babes.
Everybody eats. It’s a universal part of being alive. But human beings are the only species on the planet to cultivate the practice of cooking. Of eating for pleasure, rather than only sustenance. Someone learned how to turn a spark into a flame, and elevated the experience of eating meat. We combine flavors and textures, and manipulate the very earth we live on to produce more of the foods we love. It’s amazing, miraculous, if you really stop to think about it.
Food has a narrative. The cuisine of any given culture will tell you about the land, the hardships its people have survived, and what they value. Even in a single household, the food being served tells a family’s story. Our humanity is deeply, and forever linked to the experience of sharing a meal. It is a part of the tapestry of the human story. It is who we are.
In my own life, food is a sense of identity. My favorite meals to eat and cook are a road map of my life, the people I have loved and the places I have been. Meals shared with loved ones mark special memories. From South Indian style scrambled eggs that take me back to breakfast with my dad as a little girl, to low quality (but delicious!) Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches after closing time in college, food has marked the milestones of my life.
My house is on (you guessed it) Liberty Street. And my dining room table is a special, almost holy, place to me. It’s here where I serve meals to my family and close friends. My kids have celebrated their birthdays at this table. My husband and I have argued and made up here. It’s where we do art projects and where my butcher our deer in hunting season. Our table is the center of our household. It’s where I am best able to show my love – usually with food. It’s the heart of our home.
Food is the equalizer that breaks down walls and allows us to get to know one another, to talk about hard things, celebrate, grieve, or find common ground with someone different from us. I believe it’s a meal shared that binds us together in our human experience- it is central to who we are and how we tell our stories.
So sit down and stay awhile.
Welcome to Liberty Street Table.