Is food part of my identity?

I'm a combination of Italian (1/2), Native American and French (unsure of the fractions here). I'm not a "die-hard" ethnically proud person. Sure, my heritage is part of my identity, but it doesn't play a large role in defining who I am. I don't fly the Italian flag, or boast about being Native American. I never choose food based on my ethnicity. I mean, I love Italian food, but who doesn't? Have you ever had Native American food? I wasn't raised on it, but I spent several years living with my mother in Oklahoma and went to enough Pow Wows to know that Indian Tacos aren't really my thing.

Though I will admit, sometimes I’m a little bit jealous of the Irish at our annual St. Patrick’s Day parade. Those people are damn proud!

However, I do make choices based on my identity as a grandchild of an Italian woman. I choose to make the same dishes my grandmother made, because it's nostalgic and it makes me think of her. I have her tiny wooden handled spatula (way too small to be efficient for anything, nowadays) and I use it every time I cook one of her dishes. I like knowing that her hand held the same wood that my hand now holds, as I cook the same dishes she used to cook for me. It's how I stay connected to her, now that she's gone.

I always regretted not having her teach me how to cook. When you grow up with someone who is always there for you, you never really consider the thought of them being gone. Maybe that’s our brain’s way of protecting us from worrying about the future; avoiding anxiety. By the time I was old enough to realize this, her memory had gone. She couldn't remember her recipes anymore. Sure, I had a few of them written down, but I never learned the technique. That's not something you write down, it's a skill you learn by watching and practicing. I've tried pretty hard over the years to figure out her technique, and think I have been somewhat successful with some of them...others, not so successful.

I'm taking this lesson of regret and applying it to my own children. My oldest son is about to start his sophomore year at UMass Amherst. He just got his first apartment, off campus, and is excited to live on his own. So, since he's been home for several months due to the pandemic, we decided it was time for him to learn how to cook. And so far, we've chosen all Italian foods. Not because we are proud Italians, but because we love the food! And for me, it's a way to keep my grandmother alive, in the recipes I'm passing along to my son. He will not grow up and regret asking me how to make his favorite meal. He will not struggle to learn my techniques. He makes a killer chicken piccata now, and if he's lucky, maybe I'll pass along my little wooden handled spatula to him someday.

Jack's soon to be famous chicken piccata!