I know what’s the food of love

The epic question has finally got an answer for me. I found it as an epiphany while I was doing Tai-Chi the other day. I must confess right now: I am not the meditative type. Not at all. Just the idea of being still and breathe for twenty minutes in a row puts me on edge. But I like Tai-Chi, it involves breathing, of course, but also action and focused thinking to memorize and execute the sequences created to give my body and mind resilience and flexibility. It really helps me feeling better and fitting better in my daily routine. Anyway, I was doing my morning Tai-Chi session and in the middle of it I thought of homemade bread. The texture: crispy, crunchy and intimately soft. The colors: a full palette of golden-brown hues. And the smell. A fragrant, unmistakable smell of yeast, flour and water. The smell of bread just out of the oven. Maybe it was the consequence of the deep connection with my most cherished self I had tried to evoke while doing the Tai-Chi sequence, maybe it was due to the fact that I was hungry, I still don’t know what put me in this state of mind. What I know, now and then, is that I finally knew the answer to a question I’ve been asked a few times and even tried to answer in a cooking contest: what’s the food of love?

I know now: homemade bread.

Homemade bread had been a constant presence in my life in many different ways. As a delicious food. As an intriguing memory of my father’s. As a challenging class full of unknown fellows kneading-bread-fans. As a comfort during the Covid pandemic. As a bridge between cultures. As the simplest and straightest way to show affection and care.