‘It’s on Me to Recreate the Feeling of Home’
Making traditional family dishes in my own kitchen is tougher than I expected
By Destiné Price
My home in Kalamazoo, Michigan, smells like my mama and dad in the kitchen throwing down.
Dad is chopping onions and green peppers, my sisters are pulling collard greens off of their stems, and mom is mixing cornmeal ingredients into her favorite red bowl.
When I describe home to anyone, I start with recollecting family meals. I know it is home when aromas of spicy collard greens, sweet cornbread, and spices that I have yet to recognize fill my nostrils. Now that I am 20 years old, in college, and living almost three hours away from home, it’s on me to recreate the feeling of home.
My dad made it a point to start every day off with a filling breakfast. For my sisters and me, that “filling breakfast” was a repetitive one: green and red peppers, white onions, melted cheese, and lemon juice suffocating our scrambled eggs every morning.
There is something magical about the way my dad puts just enough of each ingredient into the bowl of whipped eggs before cooking it. I never really took into account the way he orchestrated breakfast until I found myself trying to replicate it.
I consider myself a decent cook because I watched my parents enough and really paid attention. But every time I find myself craving the eggs that my dad made for us, I just can’t get it to smell the same way. I come across this barrier a lot now that I live away from home, especially those first few months away. I never thought about how difficult it is to cook for yourself daily. To have the energy at the beginning and end of the day to create a meal that nourishes your body and desires is hard. It is difficult to even finance that nourishment.
My dad’s collard greens, my mom’s sweet cornbread, my grandpa’s cream of wheat, and my grandma’s goulash are all core recipes that I miss a lot and try to replicate often. My dad’s collard greens consist of crushed red peppers, sugar, smoked neck bones, and chicken broth. I make this when I am feeling homesick.
Every time I make greens, I find myself feeling more comfortable and relaxed because of the familiar scents filling my home. I combine and boil crushed red peppers, a dash more of sugar than my dad usually uses, smoked neck bones, and chicken broth into a pot.
After they come to a boil for about 30 minutes, I begin adding collard greens to the mix, and something within my soul melts into happiness.
My mom has yet to pass down the exact recipe for her homemade sweet cornbread. Every bite brings something so special and soothing to my taste buds, and I hope that one day soon I will be able to create that same feeling when making cornbread for my own family.
My grandpa’s cream of wheat was something only he could make. He would put just enough milk, brown sugar, and honey in it to make every morning worthwhile. Its texture was a perfect mix of thick and creamy. He would pour the milk in the bowl of finished cream of wheat and place a sliver of butter on top, finishing it off with a sprinkle of brown sugar. My favorite part about my grandpa’s cream of wheat was mixing everything up. Hues of brown, sandy white, and yellow would coat the inside of the bowl and smell like heaven. I find it hard to make cream of wheat for myself because of how much I miss my grandpa and the way he made it for me.
My grandma’s goulash is another recipe that I miss a lot. She made it with love and mixed up ingredients that I would have never thought paired well! However, the finished product was always delicious. My grandma’s goulash is uniquely made and is one I beg her to tell me how to recreate. I cook a lot of pasta dishes at home that include several types of tomato sauces, peppers, beef or chicken, and sometimes I experiment by adding things like brown rice, quinoa, or squash. Overall, I feel that each family member taught me not to be afraid of change and experimenting with the unknown because the outcome can be rewarding and delicious!
Living away from home is very challenging for me because I am always seeking familiar smells, tastes, and appearances that match the energy and love I was shown growing up. When I first moved away, I told myself jokingly that I would try new things, create meals that I have never seen before, but I find myself preparing the same meals my family members made for me.
Now, I can’t imagine my morning ritual without eggs. I can’t begin the day right without aromas of peppers, cheese, and lemon at 6 a.m. The dinners I help prepare with my partner mirror dinners my parents made for me. Whether it is baked chicken, mama’s mac and cheese from scratch, the mashed potatoes my siblings and I smashed up in a bowl, or my dad’s peppered skillet green beans, every meal that I create leads back to memories of meals my family created together. My parents always made a meal for us regardless of how little they had and how sparse the ingredients were. When we all worked to put it together, the final product was mentally and physically filling.
Living away from that is difficult to navigate, but I aim to recreate that feeling in every meal that I prepare for myself and the ones I love — and I hope eventually to learn how to bake my mama’s sweet cornbread.
Destiné Price, 20, from Kalamazoo, Michigan, is a ground shaker, an organizer, a big sister, a friend, and a community member.
