The sincerest form of love is the love of food.
George Bernard Shaw, 1856-1950, critic, playwright, author, 1925 Nobel Prize in literature.

Ever since Mark Twain reminded us that, “Sacred Cows make the best hamburger,” I’ve been enamored with guys who can peel back the onion skin of the human psyche faster than the magic food chopper on the Home Shopping Network. I love how they carve through the gristle, poke into the meat of the matter, and grind up illusions like potato peels whirling in my garbage disposal.

I came across these quotes while searching for answers to a pressing question. I admit, every now and then I must ask myself; given all the things a person can write about why is it that I’m content to busy myself with talk of food, food, food? Am I that shallow, that basic? And you! Why are you reading this instead of something more noble and enlightening? In existentialist times such as these it helps to turn to the wise among us to smooth away such nagging doubts.

To edify, I’ve recently returned from a fabulous journey through Alaska and Canada. As with all good journeys, this one allowed time to think and read. The world is so grand, so vast, and gosh, there’s so much to be done out there. And all I do is write about food!?

As I string together the myriad threads of consciousness that occur during stimulating and challenging times on the road, elemental truths and answers to questions I didn’t even realize I had appear out of nowhere. As with a Rorschach test, with our empty headed, vacation mentality we may see bunnies in the clouds or dragons in the granite tiles of the bathroom floor. I saw food. (Not on the bathroom floor, thank goodness!) Everywhere else I saw people revealing their love of food. (It wasn’t just because I was on a cruise ship, either. There’s love and there’s lust and I beg to differentiate.)

Rather, everywhere I went I saw people in the midst of happy and heartfelt connections to food. Whether milling about fabulous vendor markets in Granville, Vancouver; or lolling away their time on heated patios in Whistler; or awed with eyes big as tarts at the sight of enormous, fresh King Crab in Anchorage; or skipping work to cast a fishing line off the bridge in Ketchikan when word got out the salmon were running, I observed an undeniable driving force as basic as the air we breathe — man’s search for sustenance.

In the evenings during my journey I read Pillars of the Earth. Here, too, I found amid the drama, heartache, history, intrigue, a leitmotif of rumbling bellies until it became evident that behind every character’s herculean quest lurks a single one rudimentary struggle – to be well-fed. To always have something to eat – and to eat well – could be the greatest reminder that we have it really good compared to our forest foraging, half-starving, drought-riddled ancestors, or all those people on earth EVEN NOW who go to bed hungry. It’s a very big deal.

At the same time, it occurs to me that regardless of our modern sophistication we really haven’t traveled that far. Although I didn’t realize it until I sat down to write this, the greatest take-away of my worldly observations on this trip, whether during daytime wanderings or nightly reading, was evidence that food remains the primary wonder of the human world. It drives us, compels us, and keeps us alive.

Okay, that may be too obvious. But whether you’ve stopped to think about it or not lately, being well fed is what keeps us working, happy, healthy, strong, and even wise. Without food, we obviously wither. Love may be the answer; art may be the soul’s nourishment, but ask any baby –if he could talk he’d tell you food comes first. Before anything else he bellows when he’s hungry making it all rather self-evident what’s most important. Give anyone food served with a smile, or a little seasoning, toss in a bit of good humor, and few people would reasonbly ask for more in life.

So why do I write about food? Because what could possibly be more meaningful, especially during challenging times when so many former indulgences seem superfluous and even obnoxious? Or maybe it’s just as M.F.K. Fisher said, “People ask me: ‘Why do you write about food, and eating, and drinking? Why don’t you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way the others do?’ . . . The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry.” Besides that, I know you love it, too!

Ah, and now I see it’s now time for lunch. Let’s all raise a glass to those who feed us, the farmers, retailers, restaurateurs, servers and cooks.

Eat hearty, be happy, give thanks and remember to share!