Part 1.
I’m the happiest in the kitchen.
Friends and family will tell you that it is not uncommon for me to arrive at a party, or a dinner and go straight to the kitchen to make myself useful. Cooking keeps my mind organized, agile, and decisive. Salt or sugar? Blanch or pan fry? Plated, or served directly from the pot? I keep careful notes when I cook, between writing a menu or picking out the right dishes for the table — in the kitchen is where I feel the most love.
It is then of no surprise that in creating a meal for someone is how I show that I care. Sometimes, words aren’t necessary and many times, they aren’t allowed. Despite being an overly articulate human who thrives on communication, I adhere to the old adage that actions, do speak louder than words.
Many years ago, I was on a media mission with the United Nations. We were stationed in Laos for a week, and after a few days of briefings in the capital of Vientiane, we made our way through the rain and mud-ridden roads of the countryside to a tiny village just outside of Savannakhet. There, we stayed while reviewing maternal health initiatives, visiting clinics, and talking to local residents about sexual health. On one particular day, we stopped at the home of the local midwife to greet her family. After all the salutations, her grandmother insisted that we stay for lunch and quickly pointed me toward the kitchen in the back of her one-room hut.
It was the first time in my adult life that I witnessed the importance of preparing a meal for someone — especially if they were new to the scene.
She gave me a bowl of water to wash my hands, then sat me down near a wooden cutting board with four ripe papayas to chop. While she shouted out instructions from her mat, my new grandma — or maetu as they say in Laos — the midwife, an elderly neighbor, and I spent the next hour preparing a meal for the family and our small UN team.
“In Laos, when you cook for someone, you show them that they matter and that they are welcome,” said the midwife, translating for her grandmother.
Many cultures around the world have this same way of showing care. Breaking bread with others — especially in a new setting — is something I take very seriously. It’s not just an invitation to tell a person that they are welcome, but a direct acknowledgment of their value and a true expression of your humanity.
Our collective cooking produced lunch for all.
Part 2.
Two weekends ago, I went to the opening of Sweet To Remember, an exhibition at the Hashimoto Contemporary Gallery in LES. The exhibition featured paintings by Madeleine Tonzi, whose work I’ve always enjoyed (more specifically her murals), and Keya Tama. A South African artist based in New York, I fell in love with a piece by Tama called Carefully Cared For. Nine images of graphic characters, experiencing or giving some sort of care — whether to self or to others — in a style I grew up seeing all over South Africa as a child.
I’m not sure if it was a bit of social anxiety or the magnetism of the artwork itself, but I stood in front of Tama’s piece for a long time trying to work out why it warmed me.
Lately, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what I value, who I value, and how I value. I’m sure, the majority of my thinking is due to my current familial circumstance as many things render themselves irrelevant when a human life is at stake.
“The importance or worth of something for someone,” is how the Cambridge Dictionary defines the word value, and how I’d like to think we all believe it to be.
I often try to keep in mind that what is valuable to me, may not be the same to the man or woman standing next to me on the train on my way to work. We all operate from diverse mindsets and may experience the same things quite differently. I value time spent together, whereas the guy packing my groceries might value efficiency. You, reading this essay may place high value on getting what you believe you’re owed, and I place value on my peace of mind. Neither is wrong nor should be denied, but they should both be handled with care.
Carefully Cared For by Keya Tama. Acrylic on canvas.
Part 3.
Jack’s Wife Freda in Union Square has become my local hangout. As a creature of many habits, I prefer familiar settings where I know everyone’s name to bustling locales which dare I say, care less about the person they are serving.
About two weeks ago, I was seated at the bar talking to Devin, a jovial bartender in her mid-20s, when a gentleman sat down next to me. I’m not one to get startled, but he was a very handsome man — and so, I told him so. I think it’s important to tell people good things about themselves in a world that only points out the worst, if not to extend a little bit of kindness. My colleague Brent does this most exceptionally, for with him, there is never a shortage of kind words, thoughtful gestures, or respectful praises to share.
My compliment was well received, and after thanking me, the gentleman extended his hand and introduced himself. He was in his early 30s, worked for a hedge fund in midtown, and had stopped in to grab some food before heading home. He asked me about my work, and we chatted about having uncomfortable conversations with others and then toasted to enjoying the city as it changed. We were both careful with each other, and I appreciated the value of having a lovely conversation with a man who was no longer just a stranger at the bar. It was an eye-opening experience for me because in reality, I’m actually quite shy, but in my quest to be more present in the world around me, mustering up the courage to tell someone something good about themselves has become normal.
You get more out of life when you put yourself out there.
A portrait by Stella, manager at JWF. 2023.
I meet a lot of people when I’m out on my own and I credit that to simply seeing value in all humans — at least to start with. As time passes, I try to be careful with the people around me, understanding that not everything is as it seems. This level of self-awareness has not come easy, but I can attest to the fact that caring for myself in a deeply compassionate way, allows me to care for others — to be interested in others — with great attention.
In my experience, when you value someone (or something), you are simply not careless with them. Their feelings, perspectives, and experiences become of the utmost importance becasue to care, is to value. And to be carefully cared for is one of the sweetest joys in life, be it platonic or romantic — but to carefully care for another human being is the most exquisite of all gifts.