F O O D 2

Couldn't eat chicken when I was a child. Its smell and taste touched my nose and tongue and images of frantic the dead and dying clawed at me like birds from an old Alfred Hitchcock movie. Hasn't changed much. Deep in me I've always sensed the essence of what I ate. After years the body recognizes it will not be honored in the way of true living, and accepts compromise. As a shield, Mommy always used prayers to guard against disease, and to strengthen food without its core 'medicine powers' intact. This worked well enough, for me, until a break in the practice allowed a disease of the heart entrance.


Now on the other side of heart sickness, well and steady of beat, I have changed my relationship to food in an ever-present need to keep joy in eating alive within me. The joy of eating, for me, is fundamental and a part of the joy of living. These joys maintain a good heartbeat for me. This might be a bit off the subject, but it is part of my reaction to chicken.

‘If a cook, or chef lacks a sense of the sacred their food will be testament, at some level, of these paradigm.” Gregory E. Woods