We haven't lived in Rumania for two years-one year in Austria and one year here. I was forgetting about home. Last week I smelled lilacs and I felt like I was outside my mother's house again. That night I cried just because I almost forgot about home. I am at a potluck party, surrounded by the foods of many countries, many homes.
Food is of the senses-the sight, the feel, the smell, the taste.
I want porridge, you may want chicken soup, another may want rice. If we are in a strange place, new food could well be part of the adventure. However, if we are threatened by the strangeness of the place, we will more likely seek out food from home. Food is comfort, home, who we are. In our offer of food to others, we offer what our world is.