Food = Love
It is not novel or unusual to grow up in an environment where food is the preferred method of conveying feelings of love. Far too many humans are uncomfortable conveying feelings of affection, much less actually communicating them in a spoken language. And while my family was not particularly remiss in conveying affection, I certainly grew up at a table loaded with edible love. I'm Southern, after all. (All those gothic stereotypes about fried food and dark family secrets in closets are grounded in truth.) So in addition to hugs and emotional drama, I had great heaping helpings of chicken fried steak and macaroni-and-cheese casserole and okra and beans-n-cornbread. I am no worse the wear for it, either.
By no surprise, I manage to show my affection in similar ways. (I chose to minimize the drama, though.) So I dispense hugs and laughter and tears as often as and with equal volume to the food I create in my kitchen: salmon croquets and Earthquake Cake and squash casserole and potato pancakes and meatballs with gravy. Equally not surprising, I find it impossible to break bread with someone with whom I have issues. I have to clear the air first, the hatchet must be buried; I cannot bear ill-will or hurt feelings for someone and cook for them, much less actually lift a fork with them at a common table. In my mind this psychically avoids consuming the black vibes between us.
The thing I've noticed more lately, about using food to show affection, is that one can heap it on whomever one wants without raising eyebrows. With our culture that frowns on kissing between anyone who doesn't share sheets, one can profer dinner rolls and peach crumble, and no one's the wiser as to the chef's motivations. It might be an expression of any level of intimacy ... after all, the chef's hands have been in what the guest puts to his or her lips. After all, my gifts of food are the mingling of my creative urges and my private tastes. Which reminds me that I always did think watching people eat in public was a little bit like watching them have sex. All those wet lips and the smacking and the focused attention on satisfying a basic need.
Perhaps Food equals Love in more ways than one.