Food Is Love, How We Show We Care

A year ago, I wrote an article on the AAPC blog showcasing my mother’s best homemade meals. I shared my favorite dishes from my mom’s catering business, as well as the more nostalgic meals she would make just for me. However, I may have left out some details underneath the glamour. Back when I was in high school, my mom’s business was just starting up. I still remember the chaos of the first day working for her. Since it was her first time, we didn’t realize how many orders and deliveries she had actually committed to until we were in too deep. As you can guess, we were scrambling for time, resources, and patience. There were about 50 orders of sushi bake across many households that needed to be fulfilled, and only 3 of us were working out of my small household kitchen. Within those walls, we fought about everything and anything, from sushi rice to water ratios, burning food in the broiler because someone would forget to set a timer, and overall presentation of each order. From that day on, I was really traumatized by the idea of making sushi bake again and even consuming it. 

Despite the chaos, that first delivery was a success. We prevailed. Many people reordered and expressed their delight on my mother’s Facebook page. She expanded her scope to curating weekly and holiday menus and even catering individual events. Thus, Christmas Eve of the following year, my mom racked up an unprecedented amount of orders. This time, it was not just one dish, but an entire holiday meal from the salad to the entree to desserts. We started early in the morning, working tirelessly to prep and fulfill the orders. I remember while topping off one of the salad trays, I had accidentally tipped over too much roe onto the salad. It was a giant orange pile that sat right in the middle of the tray. I stared at it, mortified. I felt like a little kid who knocked over a lamp while playing around the house. My mom turned around with horror and got very angry, and I remember that the argument ended with me storming out of the room. If it were a real job, I would’ve definitely gotten fired.  

I’m telling this story because now that I’m older, I can understand why she was so upset. When I was seventeen, I immediately thought she was overreacting and was ungrateful for yelling at me, even though I was helping her for free. However, I am able to look back on all the times I have helped my mom in the kitchen, and I recognize a greater lesson. My mom has always paid utmost attention to detail that brings the presentation of her dishes to the top. She explained that you eat with your eyes first, and having a neat presentation, like making sure you wipe the edges of your dishes and containers to make them stain-free, and adding colorful garnish on your dishes, makes all the difference, even if it’s subconscious. Besides the visuals, implicit is how much intention and care you put into making sure the dish meets your own expectations before serving it to your customers. It not only shows off your artistry, but also your humanity.

Needless to say, I inherited a heightened sense of paying attention to details, and I’m able to notice it in other dishes that I make or have served to me when I’m out at restaurants. I’m not the best cook myself, but I have a greater appreciation for the work that goes into preparing food and, more importantly, the love that comes with the effort for the people you serve.