If you’ve ever worried that diabetes has turned you into a finicky guest, or wondered “how do I cook for a diabetic loved one?” take heart.
Karen Francis-McWhite is not only one of my favorite writers, she is also an amazing communicator in an older, foundational language: food. Here Karen shares how cooking for health has deepened, not disconnected, her family food traditions.
It is a great joy to have friends who are passionately good at what they do. Thank you, Karen: I admire not only your cooking and writing, but also your advocacy, insight, and ability to stand firm within the space of what is, yet never lose sight of what could be.
Friendship Sur la Table by Karen Francis-McWhite
I cannot remember a time when I didn’t love to cook. I have vague but warm memories as a young child, watching my grandmother move purposefully and possessively around her South Carolina kitchen, whipping masterpieces from her garden, her pantry, and her bacon fat jar. Guests – trespassers – were not welcome in the space as she worked her magic. But when dinner was served, it was done so with love and satisfaction.
My stepfather was a tyrant in pretty much all things, and when he grilled, it was less of an act of love, than it was a showcase of his devilish obsession with dominance. He could barbecue the way Robert Johnson played the blues, and I would not doubt if they’d both made the Devil’s Bargain. My young contempt for the man and my powerful sense of personal autonomy led me to reject his gift of a kettle grill on my 13th birthday. But my love for the flavors of his ‘cue, led me to occasionally sneak a peek at his process of seasoned boiling, slow grillin’, and strategic use of soaked wood chips, that would yield a meat so tender and flavorful that it would hush all conversation at the tables where it was served and relished. Silent adoration was what he’d always wanted and expected, after all.
Through my late grandmother whom I adored, and my ex-stepfather whom I abhorred, I observed cooking as a personal meditation and process. The hospitality came in the serving, not in the preparation, and most definitely not in deciding what and how food would be prepared.
As I grew as a home cook, I listened to The Splendid Table religiously, taking notes in a kitchen notebook I’ve since lost in one of my many moves.
I cooked with a fixation very similar to my forbears: I would choose the menu and do the cooking; my guests would do the eating … and the dishes.
Special “requests” would be considered but, admittedly, rarely honored because I knew what I knew and I knew that I could cook it well (most of the time).
So they were welcome to bring a side dish, if they were concerned. But if they were coming to My Table, then they were coming for my carefully curated experience.
My obstinance evolved as my health and weight have fluctuated over the years, and as friends dear to my heart and always welcome at my hearth began to experience their own health and wellness challenges. I had to retire my signature and über decadent white chocolate raspberry cheesecake as it was clear I was becoming lactose intolerant. The challah bread I perfected in high school became a no-knead and slow-rise confection, and will soon become a sourdough challah due to some digestion difficulties.
It was the first Whole30 that I completed a couple of years ago – largely on a whim – that compelled me to really examine what I cook, eat, and serve … and why. Going without refined sugars, dairy, wheat, and alcohol for thirty days made me the “finicky” dinner guest. But it also made me acutely aware of how good it can feel to eat cleanly. It also led me to ponder: if eating cleanly feels better – less bloat, more energy – and cooking for and spending time with friends and family feels good too, why not try to do better with marrying the two?
That Christmas season, I hosted our annual open house and while I provided some decadent treats (Brie and cranberry relish bites wrapped in filo are my December kryptonite), I also prepared a flavorful broth-based vegetable soup and some gluten-free treats. That soup went faster than the creamy roasted garlic soup!
With each dinner party I’ve hosted since, I’ve tried to add more whole food, big flavor dishes to respect both my own changing health and wellness needs, and those of my friends (who includes paleo and keto fans, along with those managing celiac disease, diabetes, and severe allergies).
I have become more forthright about discerning my friends’ dietary needs, not only to avoid making them sick or feel left out. I find that it is helping me grow as both a cook and a friend.
Like my grandmother, I serve food with love. Like my ex-stepfather, I want to master the tools and foods of my choosing. But for me to make food with both creativity and love requires deep connection, understanding the health and hearts of those with whom I break bread. Their “finicky requests” are opportunities to play and grow in my kitchen and in our relationships. For both, I am immensely grateful.
