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Cooking can be a way to connect with our roots from "summary" of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
In my kitchen, I tried to recreate the tastes of my childhood, the flavors that reminded me of home. I sifted through yellowing recipe cards and stained cookbooks, searching for the dishes that would transport me back to a time when my mother was still alive. Each chop of the knife, each stir of the spoon, was an act of remembrance, a way to honor the past and keep my connection to it alive. As I cooked, I could almost hear my mother's voice guiding me, her hands moving deftly over the stove. The smells that wafted through the air were like a time machine, taking me back to our old kitchen with its chipped linoleum floors and peeling wallpaper. In those moments, I felt closer to her than I had in years, as if she were standing right beside me, whispering the secrets of her recipes in my ear. Cooking became a way for me to bridge the gap between the past and the present, to keep my mother's memory alive through the dishes she had taught me to make. It was a way for me to reclaim my identity, to hold onto a part of myself that felt in...
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