Harriet’s seasoning was epic. The stuff of legend. Her second significant other in life, Burt, used to joke around that nothing caused him greater stress than Harriet’s great love of seasoning. He liked things blander. Quieter. Less flavorful. Everything at the opposite end of the spectrum from where Gram lived.
I was at the dinner table with them once. It was just the three of us. She had made this amazing chicken and Burt was aghast at “all of the green stuff everywhere.” He asked if the chicken was so terrible that it required such a massive “cover up”. Gram laughed and told him that seasonings weren’t an attempt to mask the flavor of food. If done well, seasonings would enhance the flavor. It would make that chicken the best version of itself. Burt grumbled and then ate every last bite. One of the best parts of that story is that Gram told me that she purposefully dulled her seasoning a bit to please Burt’s simpler palate. His state of overwhelm was in response to her attempt to underwhelm. Magic. Hilarious.
There are two nuances that have become evident to me over time with respect to this particular piece of advice. The first part is the admirable enthusiasm Gram had when preparing meals. When my grandfather was alive, despite progressiveness in many areas, there was still an expectation that she would be the proper and responsible party when it came to food preparation. Most folks would react unkindly to such a notion. Even if they agreed with the bottom line principle, they might eventually feel bored or “over it.” Not Gram. She relished the opportunity to nourish her family.
I acknowledge that she might have been different with her children, but I can tell you that as her grandkid, and someone who shared many meals with her, I always saw her cook with love and joy. In my life with her, she never mailed it in. Even if she was just making a bowl of tuna or a scrambled egg, there was a process and it was done with zest and adoration. Tuna was made with balsamic vinegar and chopped onions and peppers and celery. It was seasoned with pepper and garlic powder and all the dill. A scrambled egg (often an egg white) was treated with a little seltzer to keep it fluffy and then in went the eggplant tapenade, cherry tomatoes, and veggie cheese. I never heard her say that something was too much of a production unless she was being silly in her self-deprecation. And she did that. She acknowledged that she was meshuga (crazy) and had this need for mishegoss (foolishness) when it came to preparing food. It never seemed foolish to me. Or crazy. It was pure love. Pure joy. Pure passion. I do this today. I am one human, living alone, and I rarely mail it in when it comes to food preparation. I cook like Harriet always did. With zest and happiness and purpose.
The more existential part of this advice? Sometimes there is value held in the enhancing of things, situations, and people in life. We can keep things as they are or decide that we want something a little bit…well, more. Right. So, how do we season people or situations? The very same way that Harriet always approached cooking. With passion and love. We don’t embrace complacency or laziness. We put in the effort. We have courage. We use that bravery to put ourselves out there.
That all sounds really lovely but what does that mean in real time? Well, it is easy for folks to take each other for granted in a relationship, whether platonic or romantic. Time passes and we tell ourselves that a relationship is forever. That a person is forever. We take our foot off the gas. By the way, this ties into yesterday’s post but goes in a bit of a different direction. This seasoning I’m referring to is used amply and generously, but only with those folks or situations that we’ve determined deserve it. We season selectively and with all information in front of us. We use very sparingly with everyone and everything else. ANYWAY, once we’ve made the commitment to seasoning, we look at the person or situation and make the choice as to what that seasoning looks like. My mom used to call this love snacks. Making breakfast for someone unexpectedly. Picking up a cup of coffee for someone just because you are doing it for yourself. Paying a [genuine] compliment. Initiating intimacy of any type.
Backing up for a minute, the compliment doesn’t have to be on someone’s appearance or skill set. Sometimes it goes a long way to tell someone that you are grateful for the role they play in your life. You are telling them that you see them and that you don’t take what they do or who they are for granted.
I know this is going to sound a little odd, but whether you are cooking a meal (for yourself or others) or going about your business at work or in a relationships, this kind of effort will always make for a better result. Maybe you are asking yourself how that’s possible. Maybe you are thinking about a time when you put in more work or tried to cultivate something special and were burned in the process. Yes, that happens. Often. I am not suggesting that the work will always lead to the longevity of a relationship or the achievement of some goal. Not at all. Sometimes we have to put in all the effort to finally see how dead-end a relationship or friendship is at the end of the day. Sometimes we have to step our game up to finally realize what we want to demand of others. There is no clear cut path here. You are going to have to find your own way, but like me and Gram, I would recommend going big or going home. Huh? Well, if something does work out then it feels that much more satisfying and lovely if you’ve given it your all. If something falls apart, there is something reassuring about the notion that you tried your best to prevent its unraveling.
This is your journey. Your path. You have to decide which direction you want to go in. What I’m providing into a road map. They are the signs along the road. Informational. Warning. Suggesting. You take that information and go from there.
More tomorrow.
L.
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