Food is a love language; it really is that simple. I could share countless stories of my mother cooking for my friends and I, kneading naan dough, and running to the grocery store after she forgot a seemingly unimportant but vital ingredient. I could share stories of my grandmother who taught me that simple recipes are the grandest form of love. My dad learned to cook for my sister and me whenever my mother was in the hospital. Before moving to college, my friends and I spent an entire week making different dinners to please no one but our hungry selves. I could share all the stories of my baked goods and the immeasurable love I put into each recipe, but this story is about a bottle of cookies and cream milk.
It’s a rather unassuming bottle of cookies and cream milk. I just picked it up from the store last week, but now it has his name on it. Scrawled in black marker across the top, his name sits there with a little heart next to it. He knows I love food; my eyes glitter with curiosity every time I watch a new food documentary. I love to bake, cook, and celebrate life’s joyous moments with food. I suppose I cared enough about him to write his name on my cookies and cream milk. It was more than just marking his name, though. This bottle of cookies and cream milk is ours, something for just the two of us. We’re using food as our way to remind ourselves that maybe simple gestures hold the biggest impact. Now, as I open my fridge, I see the heart next to his name, reminding me of his incessant and silly rant about how he wanted to try the cookies and cream milk. He’s far away right now and he probably will not be able to share this bottle of cookies and cream milk with me before it expires. That’s okay though. Food is a love language; similar to honey, the memories shared with food are all too sweet and never expire.