I was raised by a pack of wolves on the outskirts of normal, and instinctively knew to survive meant going back for seconds, even when I hadn’t completed my firsts. My five brothers were bottomless pits, and they were fast eaters, too! If you didn’t grab what you could, when you could, you wouldn’t get a grab of grub. Honestly, I have no recollection of either of my two sisters during mealtimes. (Sorry Mel & Rach.) I’m sure they were there, and that they ate sufficiently to last to the next family meal, but I don’t remember them eating. My brothers are noisy, obnoxious, and a lot of fun to be around, and they dominated mealtime banter. Based on the banter passed around, it’s probably best to have flown under that radar undetected.
My mother had her standard homemade fare she prepared for us, and they were all favorites: Goulash on Wednesday, Macaroni & Cheese with Stewed Tomatoes and Green Peas on Monday, Roast Beast with Mashed Potatoes & Gravy on Sunday, Shepherd’s Pie on Thursday, whatever you could find on Saturday, Meatloaf on Tuesday, and Lemon Pepper Pork Chops on Friday.
I come by my love of food and family mealtime honestly, and I think I can probably eat most grown men under the table, but I digress. While my daughter and I have busy schedules, it’s rare that we don’t sit down and eat together at the table every single night of the week. Our favorite meals, always home-cooked, too, are constantly changing since I rarely make the same dish twice, but mealtime isn’t really about the food, itself, as much as it is about the time together that eating provides, and the memories made around the kitchen table are the ones I wouldn’t trade for all the fast food options in the world. Of course, there are many reasons I opt against fast food, but I digress again.
No, I don’t want to eat anything too quickly; I might miss something really important: my family.