My precious, kindred-spirit college friend came for brunch this morning.
By “came for brunch” I obviously mean that she brought brunch. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: Wow, what is all of this?
Aliesha: Well, these are homemade blueberry scones. *Lifts out three more containers.* And a quiche with red peppers and onions, zucchini muffins, and fresh berries.
Me: Is this bacon?
Aliesha: Yes. And it’s glazed with brown sugar and cayenne pepper.
Me: Is that cranberry and orange juice?
Aliesha: Mmhmm, and pineapple. It just needs…
*pours in a bottle of San Pellegrino.*
Me: This iced coffee is delicious. What’s in it?
Aliesha: Sweetened condensed milk.
I should mention that she is sixteen weeks pregnant and was also (inexplicably) wearing both makeup and clothes that had buttons and matched.
The longer I live, the more I come to understand why, in every culture, from the beginning of time, people demonstrate love with food. Food for peace offerings. Food for “welcome!” Food for “thank you.” Food for grieving families. Food for new babies. Food for celebrations. Food for getting-to-know-you. Food for community, literal breaking of bread.
Good things happen around the table. This morning, I am so thankful for friends that give love with food.