prepare this pizza, and all these traditional foods, and share them here with you in hopes to bring us all into a sensory experience, together.
A remembrance of what the hands before us lovingly created, re-making memory and creating new ones. Honoring our ancestral gifts by nourishing ourselves, each other (and in turn, feeding our holy dead). And doing so out of pure joy (with a side of grief as well). To honor those who came before us, those who are still here and those no longer with us— and to feed our bodies and those of our communities in gratitude and belly understanding of the entire spectrum of the ancestral (and immigration + non-consensual assimilation) experience. This food, when made with attention to detail and magic -- it is a spell to invoke our ancestors and the wellness within us. It brings us around the kitchen counter AND dining table, together. So we can tell the stories to each other. Cast prayers into the dough. Dance a bit with the taranta music playing in the background as we stir the sauce. Without a little story, without a little relationship — food is just something to eat. With the story and connection — it becomes something about life, the good life, the hard life, all of life. It becomes about who we are and who we have been and who we are remembering we can be. It becomes true and beautiful medicine for the soul in these trying times.
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