Bringing Them Home

If it is indeed true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, then can it also be true this same principal can be applied to bringing home, those who has been away too long?  I wonder if perhaps by preparing their favourite foods or meal, we could create a cumulus cloud of aromatics that would somehow wind their way through the atmosphere, like a flying carpet of familiar scents, swirling and twisting, in search of, then finally finding, them. 

They, the one who has been gone, will turn their head slightly, a quizzical expression will come across their face, then they will wonder . . . where is that coming from?  Stopping in their tracks, or pausing from their tasks, they turn their nose up a bit and inhale deeply; they exhale, then inhale again.  Trying to discern whether the scent they are picking up on, is real.  That universal knowledge of smells igniting memories will give rise to a flood of pictures reminding them of when they last tasted the foods their noses are detecting.  When was the last time I ate those braised pork chops with eggplant, tomatoes and fresh rosemary?  They ponder.  No one makes oatmeal chocolate chip cookies the way she does.  They muse. 

The dish or meal may be the simplest, the effort minimal, but the reception always broad and deep reaching, for both the cook and the diner.  We may not be sure of where they are or what they’re doing, those who have been away.   We only know we miss them.  We worry about them.  We want them home, safe and sound.  We wish we could free them of burdens that may be causing injury or confusion.   We want, more than anything, to have them back at our table, bathed and clean shaven, bent over a plate, eating our food.  This can sometimes seem a dream of far reaching possibilities.  But it is possible.  It does happen.  I’ve read about it.  I’ve been told stories of families coming together after months, sometimes years, of separation and difficulties. 

Surely they must come together at the table.  I see them, talking, laughing and sharing.  Stories abound that so-and-so did this, or someone else moved into a fixer-upper, or had a baby or was offered a big promotion.  All those things that happen in every family, every day.  The one who finally returns is sad to have missed out at the time it all happened but is glad to finally be back and hear of the news now. 

So if I am correct, if my intuition is on the mark, then centering my thoughts on the child I love and miss so much, can best be served by preparing his favourite foods.  Should I embark upon the preparation of his much loved fish tacos, moist white fish gently poached and richly seasoned, nestled inside the folds of a crunchy corn taco, lined with a soft flour taco, and embellished with chopped tomatoes, diced red onions and shredded cabbage.  A small amount of fresh cilantro, a squeeze of fresh lime then drizzled with Frank’s Hot Sauce and crema Mexicana.   He loves my fish tacos.  No rice or refried beans, he doesn’t like them.  Only a glass of iced tea or lemonade to wash them down.   For dessert, I am almost certain, by now, he is craving yellow cake with milk chocolate icing.  No fillings or frills.  A simple two-layered cake accompanied by a cold glass of milk.  This meal always made him feel happy, fulfilled and comforted.  I will prepare these two foods in hopes they will create a ubiquitous fog of good food and family memories that will envelope and surround him.  And perhaps bring him back home. 

Recipe for my fish tacos tomorrow.