“Food is symbolic of love when words are inadequate.”
– Alan D. Wolfelt
A Sunday morning in Teaneck where the birds are chatting softly outside. The birds' soft whisper is such a contrast to the unrestrained laughter from the night before. I yawn and walk into the living room where there was not much to say except "well that was fun" and "let's make brunch". Everyone nods. Instantly, a thousand recipes rush through my mind. I love these people and I want a brunch spread that reflects that.
Within five minutes we hand over the finished grocery list which includes ingredients for a roasted vegetable and vegan sausage frittata, cinnamon rolls, turkey bacon, fruit bowl, avocado toast, blueberry pancakes, and fried plantain. In the kitchen, we create ambrosial smells of cappuccinos and cinnamon rolls. The fresh aroma of garlic and vegetables wafts into the living room and initiates a taste test of sorts. "We're almost done".
Our spread shocks us. "Oh, we did that". The quiet morning quickly turns into great conversation as we pick up exactly where we left off last night. Jokes. Adventure planning. These are my people. I see my friends take thoughtful bites of the brunch that Sabrina and I prepared. Farrari takes a bite and dances with her eyes closed. Marvina says "wait...this is fire". Umar nods and says "This frittata though". Satisfaction.
