My first memories of enjoying a meal are at family holiday gatherings as a young child. These were at my grandmother’s home, and she always cooked the entrées (turkey, ham) and the desserts (pies and cakes). Later my mother and my aunt took responsibility for some of those meals, leaving my grandmother with Easter, and eventually as my Bamba aged, she came to our homes for all of those meals. She is the first person I know who cooked with soul. Second was my mother, who taught me to cook. While cooking was frequently a chore (work) for her, she taught me to cook with love.
I moved out from my parents’ home fifty years ago, and cooking became a chore. Something I had to do just for me. But when I cooked for others – whether to take my food to their homes, to have them over, or to cook at their homes – I found the joy in cooking. While I am not a very creative cook, my soul lights up as I play with recipes, making them my own, spicing them a little differently, plating desserts for special occasions. And while I cook, I know that God provided me the food, the knowledge of how to cook, and the soulful joy I now find in cooking, even for myself.