When you come home

There's a saying bantered about by my brothers and me that when 'the prodigal son comes home, our parents kill the fatted calf'.

Today was a rare treat: time for me to relax at home and to spend some time with family. As is normally the case, mom and I began in the kitchen, preparing the salt fish and bakes (isn't it funny how some people eat to live and others live to eat?). This time around, we did twice the amount of fish and a single recipe of the bakes, but that's ok, because we can always stuff the bakes with more protein.

It wasn't long after breakfast dishes were cleaned up that we were already discussing lunch - dim sum of course. The restaurant is well known to us, and we're realtively well known to the proprietors and even to one or two of the ladies who push the carts, laden with their wares. This is just as much a social gathering, and time to visit with family and-or friends as it is a time to have lunch.

The lunch ritual complete, we were off and running in search of ox tails, yet another Caribbean delicacy, which dad then turned into a scrumptious stew, served with boiled rice and fried plantain on the side.

No wonder I said somewhat puzzled after all this gastronomy that I felt as though I'd gained at least a pound or two ... but then again that's just what you do when you go home to a house like ours. Eating is central to all that we do. The kitchen table is the place where the stories get told, where the visiting happens, and where we tend to learn the most about the goings and comings of our respective lives. If you're not at our table, you run the risk of being left out, or of being the proverbial last to know.

Oh, don't worry, we did other things too today, but that's the stuff of another post.