What happenswhen you return home after many months abroad – especially during Covid? This homecoming showed the author how to find comfort in little – and tasty – things…
Returning back across the pond for the holidays was a bittersweet feat.
After moving to two countries in 2021 and getting sick with Covid-19 just shy of Christmas, I couldn’t wait to return to my hometown in North Carolina, USA. I knew things could not be the same as when I had left one year earlier, yet the three weeks I spent in NC were more difficult than I could have anticipated, pulling me back in a depressive spiral I’d worked so hard and long to climb out of.
I did not expect the trip home to be heavier on my mental health than it was comforting. But what was comforting, was food. And there was plenty of it.
Jetlagged from my late Christmas eve arrival, I wake up on Christmas day to my Mamma’s traditional breakfast of Pandoro – Panettone’s cousin – and densely creamy bittersweet hot chocolate. It’s sunny like a summer day, and sitting in the piney scented Carolina air is a fresh breath from London’s cold and cloudy days spent commuting.Family – you love them when they’re far and can’t stand them when they’re near. I fell back into my high school brain after a misunderstanding with my brother and Mamma, and in a panic I drove off until the gas was on low, playing nostalgic music as I winded ’round the mountain roads. Unconsciously I stopped at a Bojangles, a popular southern American fast food chain, for some Cheerwine – Carolina soda – and mashed potatoes, enjoyed in the warmth of self-pity and a heated car.Whenever I have struggled with my mental health, I could always lean on my dog, Rascal, who’d usually lean right back. Rascal’s licked my tears dry in the hardest of times, and it was such a joy to be with my best friend again. Impatient like the old man he is, Rascal will whine at the dining table while we eat, scratching our legs and those of the chairs. Here I’ve taken him out on the porch to satisfy his greed with a small bit of greasy bacon – but not until I get a few pictures.I’ll take 500 for American Consumerism. Everyday the question is, “what do you want for dinner?” as we accumulate food and alcohol faster than we can intake. I know my mom means well and wants me to taste all those homely flavors while I’m back, but I’m overwhelmed. In Europe, fridges are half the size, and on my budget, I only buy food for 2 days so nothing goes to waste.Facetiming my dear friend Edoardo while I prepare lunch and he prepares dinner in Cagliari, Italy. The last time we talked on the phone was when I was isolating in my apartment in West London, when we had an awkward but supportive conversation about mental health. Like many in their early twenties, we tend to isolate (no pun intended) rather than share our struggles, even with those who love us most. We decided we’d both benefit from cooking together again, something we did often when I lived in his city.No matter what happens between us, I can count on Mamma to bring me an espresso in a mini tazza first thing in the morning. After yet another disagreement between me and my mama, she waves a white flag for peace marked in bacon grease. I’d asked her for an egg to go with my usual morning caffè, and she popped off with a whole brunch. When words can’t do it, food can.Out with the old, and in with the new. I’ve come to my wits end like the bottom of this strawberry syrup jar Mamma and I replaced with the homemade equivalent, made by a friend of hers from Rome. With Covid cases on the rise, we missed our traditional gatherings with the Italian expats community, making for an offbeat and lonely holiday. What makes a home but the people you’re with? I realized I’d made a home in London, and couldn’t wait to get back to the new life I’ve only just begun.
Love this. A beautiful reflection.