Soul Food Sunday

My Dad is the best chef I know. Since I was a child I could always remember him having a “famous dish,” curry chicken, that family would ask him to bring to every event. Making sure everyone is well fed is his love language, very Taurean of him. I woke up early today to arrive at his place at 9 am to be his sous chef. Truth is, I feel his baked macaroni and cheese has eclipsed any other food he’s ever made and I know I needed to learn this recipe. That and the bonding time, two birds with one stone.

I’ve been cooking a lot out on my own. Taco night is any time of the week I feel like it, or fajitas, and I’ve been having real cravings for steak, onions, peppers served over fries. An American lomo saltado, sans tomatoes. I want to be more creative with my at-home menu and incorporate more vegetables into my dishes and sadly, I don’t think potatoes count as far as nutrients go. Not only that but I find cooking for just myself, a single serving, is hard! As someone who doesn’t like to meal prep, or eating glorified leftovers, I find I still cook enough for five or six people. As my father’s daughter, I do find satisfaction in cooking enough for a family but now that’s it’s just me I need to learn to downsize.

By 1 pm, it felt like a scene from Soul Food. My Dad cooks from his soul, which is to say, he cooks without any real measurements and listens to the Ancestors when seasoning. I’m pretty sure I got a few recipes down but I may have play his assistant again. I will say, there was not enough taste testing along the way for my liking. Side note, that is one of those movies I watched hundreds of times growing up. Word to Terri, “Fuck the family, the family fucked my husband! That’s right, Faith fucked my husband!” Even as a child, I fully understood why she started chasing her husband with that knife. As the eldest sister, she compromised and over gave to entitled family members the least they could have done was kept their hands to themselves, whether her marriage was on the fritz or not. That scene always sticks out to me. There is so much to be said about this movie but I’ll leave it here because the overarching message was family!

My dad was giving Ahmad, getting the family back together through food cooked with love. And I was a dutiful sous-chef! Smoked chicken, collard greens, green beans and potatoes, shish-kebabs, Rasta pasta and more including the star of the show: the baked macaroni and cheese that browned a little extra on the top because we forgot about it. This didn’t bother me because my family would say I like my food burnt — I would say lightly overdone. Crispy cheese especially is always gonna do it for me. Crispy edges around pancakes. The perfect crispy fry. Crispy anything. At this point I’ve yet to eat but I’ve already imagined my first plate and my second.

Is this a big back blog? I could talk lovingly about food for hours.

Speaking of family, my brother Jaden turned 15 and my sister Dana turned 13 within the last few days. I fully named my brother and would try to make him fall asleep on my chest any chance that I got. Now I look up to him but I always have to remind him who his OG is. Years ago, I helped my sister begin her locs by braiding her hair and she just took them out ahead of her birthday. My girl keeps me humble and I’m very thankful for that! It feels so unbelievable. To be part of their lives, watch them grow both in height and in maturity is an honor I don’t take lightly. I’ve loved watching their personalities develop as they’ve discovered their ambitions and dreams for the future. Two Leos, they’re really both my pockets full of sunshine.

Time seems to be all that we have and since it is of the essence, I’m making it my mission to spend it doing more of what brings me joy as opposed to dwelling on what has brought me distress.

Two or so weekends ago I attended a black women’s writers workshop. It was rather intimate with a few writers, poets, and screenwriters at the Newark ArtSpace. Which, side note, the gentrification is serious in the city but it looks so good too, how much could I really complain? A lot, apparently. My first job was at the Burger King next door and I was so scared to work the drive-thru and speak over the intercom but after a while, I gained so much confidence in myself. Shoutout to them, ‘cause nowadays I cannot shut up. It hurts to see a true stepping stone in my own life disappear and replaced by a Chick-fil-a.

This was their first in-person workshop since the pandemic and I had almost talked myself out of going. I’m good for making plans and backing out last minute but I’m trying my best to keep promises to myself and others. I may falter but I didn’t want to talk myself out of this because writing is one of my passions and I’ve been struggling for inspiration. Not only that but I’m looking for more community and support locally, what better way to get that than to surround myself with those who look like me? Networking has never been my strong suit but I want to get my foot in the door.

It’s hard to make writing a career but not impossible. We more discussed the process as opposed to revenue streams during this workshop, though freelancing essays is always a possibility. One thing that stuck with me is how the guest speaker referred to writing as unenjoyable. It’s a check in with yourself and many of us tend to run away from our truths. I think it’s one of the reasons people struggle with journaling, let alone writing and sharing their work online. I find it hard to sit down and write, though not impossible, when I’m in a good mood and things seem to be going well in life. When things aren’t that great, I pick my journal back up but why not write when I’m happy to be able to reflect back on the good memories? I’m unsure. Is doing unenjoyable things easier when your mood isn’t the best? Probably. Possibly.

I told them how when I’m writing poetry I could get caught up on a line that I’m crazy about and I’ll attempt to build the whole poem around it. Meanwhile, poems are their own entity and they write themselves. The group urged me to write a poem about being stuck on a line. An idea I have yet to take advantage of and you know what happens to ideas you don’t take advantage of? They get passed to someone else. This is not an idea I want to let go, but where to start?

We even discussed AI. I watched I, Robot many times as a child so I’m not a fan of technology so advanced it takes away from our humanity. Allowing technology to create art, to me, takes the soul away. It doesn’t matter how much you program them — they’ll never grasp the full depth of the human experience. Our creativity is our freedom.

While full off my first plate and contemplating the to-go plate, the living room and backyard filled up with family members I hadn’t seen in such a long time. What a blessing. And not a single scoop of baked macaroni and cheese left.

I wasn’t hurt…just disappointed.

xoxo,

Ashanti

♡