By Liz, wondering how we’re even at the end of 2024?

We’re heading into the holiday season, otherwise known as food season. 

Does anyone else think of it this way? Those couple of months where calorie intake doesn’t really rate as something to think about often, or when sweets become a major food group and no one questions it?

Yeah, same. 

I made my favorite vegan chili this weekend—one of my favorite things to do when the weather gets cold and the days get shorter. I leave it simmering in the crock pot for a day or two and just eat it constantly. And it always gets me thinking about the role of food in our seasons, our lives and perhaps more importantly, in our relationships. 

I grew up in an Italian family so food has always been front and center as a way you show affection, a way to greet and make guests feel at home, a way to center the family around a common event or activity. I think that’s why I have so many fond memories of holidays at home as a kid. The special things like my mother’s homemade fudge or the cookies my grandmother and my great-aunt made just for Christmas.

The Christmas Eve pregame food that other families would mistake for the actual dinner (yeah, always wear elastic-waist pants). The homemade apple pies that I had a hand in when I was little. To this day the smell of baking apples brings back so many memories of standing on a stool in the kitchen while my mother showed me how to measure out ingredients.

Food cultivates relationships. But it’s not just the fancy, special holiday food. 

Today, I have a lunch date with a very old friend. We used to work together when I worked at Market Basket during my high school and college years (Massachusetts peeps, I know you can relate to some good old MB memories!). He was a father figure to me when I was struggling with my bio family. To all of us younger people on the crew, really, but we definitely had a special found-family bond. 

We both worked in the back of the store, me wrapping produce and him heading up the store’s ordering and delivery department. His desk was about 20 feet from where I spent a lot of time with hot plastic and overripe fruit. We talked a lot when the days were slow. 

He looked out for me. Mostly he wondered, often, if I ate enough. Especially when I pulled double shifts for some extra college money and never bothered to take a break. 

He didn’t wonder at me, though. Instead, he would leave me treats at my work station. Food from the deliveries that were overstock. Meals that his wife prepared and sent along a portion for me. If a package of cookies or some other treat was damaged, he’d deliver it right to our produce station. 

I swear that man kept me fed for four years. So much so that I wrote an essay about him for one of my first college classes, predictably titled “Treats.” When I got my paper back with an A, I made a copy for him. 

He told me he still has it to this day. 

We don’t get to see each other all that often—a couple times a year since I moved back to the area, if we’re lucky. But when we do get together, we make sure it’s at a place where the food is good and the desserts are plenty. 

The conversation, well, that’s just a given. 

Since my own father has been gone for nearly a decade, it’s been comforting to still have his presence in my life. To have the conversations I imagine my dad and I could have had, after time had passed and fences were mended. 

The creme brûlée doesn’t hurt, either. 

So I suppose I should send him a copy of this blog post. It’s why I called it “Treats, the Sequel.” 

But first, I’m going to enjoy the lunch we’ll share and the time we’ll spend together today.  Food always tastes better when it’s shared with love, yes? 

Readers, how has food influenced your life or your relationships?