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<\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Home is the quiet in-between, the stillness of a deep breath and the silence of the space it contains. While the rest of the world…<\/p>\n
Home is the quiet in-between, the stillness of a deep breath and the silence of the space it contains. While the rest of the world spins faster and faster, blindly barreling forward in a fevered frenzy, home is where I stop, where I can breathe deeper and lie still. Home is simple, it remains the same year after year but somehow feels smaller every time I come back. Did I grow taller? Does my face look the same as it did when I was seventeen? My body feels different, almost younger as I step through the front door and step back in time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Home is the house I grew up in. Forty minutes outside Philadelphia nestled between shopping malls and turnpike traffic sits the town of Willow Grove. Veering right off the main road brings into view a small house covered in white stucco, accented by pine green shutters with a steep driveway I used to ride my bike down every summer afternoon. Inside, I stand in my childhood bedroom and gaze at the four peach-colored walls that glow every evening as the sun sets through my window. Four walls that once enclosed my mind in solitude and solace, isolation and loneliness. I always dreamed of leaving my hometown and going somewhere far away, somewhere with enough space to grow without feeling held back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Home is the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee with cardamom greeting me every morning like the sun on my face or the warmth of my mother\u2019s hug. A plate of eggs, fruit, or oatmeal that fills me up enough to tackle whatever the day might bring. In my house, food has always been my dad\u2019s love language, but it wasn\u2019t until I moved away that I truly realized how every single cup of coffee or meal he made for me was him pouring out his love in words that could not be spoken. When I used to tell my parents about the plans I had with friends, the only question my dad would ask me was if I would be home for dinner. \u201cHave you eaten? Are you hungry? Can I make you anything?\u201d was just the same as \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stepping through the door of my first apartment in the city of Philadelphia, the ache of home ebbs and flows and I find myself missing the stillness and comfort of my family around me. While the distance may only be a short train ride away, I feel as far from my home and my childhood as if I were across the country. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I enter my kitchen, and am instantly reminded of my dad\u2019s love for cooking and the lessons he taught me from when I was barely tall enough to see over the counter. \u201cHeat the pan on high for a moment and then lower the heat, always cook on medium or low heat.\u201d I adjust the silver stainless steel pan perched on top of the metal burner and turn down the dial of my gas stove after hearing the satisfying click of the lit burner. With one hand pouring a generous swirl of olive oil into the pan and the other twirling the pan gently to spread the oil evenly, I recall my Dad\u2019s quiet voice instructing me on what to do next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAdd the onions first and let them cook with the garlic and olive oil to give the most flavor.\u201d I begin dicing a pearl white onion alongside a few cloves of garlic and add them together to the pan. That familiar smell wafts around my head and the soft sizzle I\u2019ve heard more times than I could count touches my ears. I can almost hear the sizzling of the metal pan as my dad shakes its contents, a skill I admire but have never been able to master. In my memory, the diced vegetables gracefully arc and drop, arc and drop, turning their uncooked sides against the heat of the pan and revealing their lightly bronzed faces. A dash of salt, a sprinkle of parsley and maybe a hint of paprika? In my opinion, the more flavors the better as I\u2019m sure my dad would agree. I reach for the cutting board full of chopped vegetables and toss them in with the onions and garlic. A rainbow begins to form of red peppers, orange carrots, and green celery. \u201cCover them with a lid and wait for them to soften ever so slightly.\u201d I place the lid over the top of the pan and watch as the steam begins to billow and cloud, blocking my vision of what\u2019s underneath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moving on to the chicken I had previously coated in a Greek yogurt and herb marinade, I began cooking the small chunks in a separate pan, turning them every so often to ensure every side was fully cooked. Without a strict recipe in mind, I decided on trying my hand at a coconut curry chicken, a dish I had never made before but felt confident enough in my abilities to pull off. Going with the flow of the flavors was how I learned about food growing up as I watched my dad create symphonies of tastes and textures that poured from his heart, not so much a list of steps. \u201cThere is soul in what I make,\u201d he would tell me as I perched on the counter so I was almost eye level with him. \u201cIf you don\u2019t get it right the first time, keep trying until you do.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now that I\u2019ve moved away from the house I grew up in, I\u2019ve found a solace and connection to home in learning to cook for myself. Buying produce, testing new flavors, and crafting my own ideas about food through trial and error along with the patient instructions from my dad, has allowed me to fully fall in love with cooking. I now understand my father\u2019s culinary passion and true creativity that comes with it. It turned out that being able to learn a new skill that brought me peace in the midst of the chaos of work and classes was exactly the space I had longed for growing up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
While my home in Willow Grove may feel small and insignificant, it is the lessons I\u2019ve learned from my parents and their love and support that truly brings life to my memory of home. Each time I saut\u00e9 onions and garlic in olive oil, or throw a new ingredient in the pan out of pure curiosity, I feel the warmth of my kitchen at home that makes me feel closer to my parents than ever before. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n Home is the quiet in-between, the stillness of a deep breath and the silence of the space it contains. While the rest of the world…<\/p>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n<\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"