Treats, the Sequel

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By Liz, wondering how we’re even at the end of 2024?

We’re heading into the holiday season, otherwise known as food season. 

Does anyone else think of it this way? Those couple of months where calorie intake doesn’t really rate as something to think about often, or when sweets become a major food group and no one questions it?

Yeah, same. 

I made my favorite vegan chili this weekend—one of my favorite things to do when the weather gets cold and the days get shorter. I leave it simmering in the crock pot for a day or two and just eat it constantly. And it always gets me thinking about the role of food in our seasons, our lives and perhaps more importantly, in our relationships. 

I grew up in an Italian family so food has always been front and center as a way you show affection, a way to greet and make guests feel at home, a way to center the family around a common event or activity. I think that’s why I have so many fond memories of holidays at home as a kid. The special things like my mother’s homemade fudge or the cookies my grandmother and my great-aunt made just for Christmas.

The Christmas Eve pregame food that other families would mistake for the actual dinner (yeah, always wear elastic-waist pants). The homemade apple pies that I had a hand in when I was little. To this day the smell of baking apples brings back so many memories of standing on a stool in the kitchen while my mother showed me how to measure out ingredients.

Food cultivates relationships. But it’s not just the fancy, special holiday food. 

Today, I have a lunch date with a very old friend. We used to work together when I worked at Market Basket during my high school and college years (Massachusetts peeps, I know you can relate to some good old MB memories!). He was a father figure to me when I was struggling with my bio family. To all of us younger people on the crew, really, but we definitely had a special found-family bond. 

We both worked in the back of the store, me wrapping produce and him heading up the store’s ordering and delivery department. His desk was about 20 feet from where I spent a lot of time with hot plastic and overripe fruit. We talked a lot when the days were slow. 

He looked out for me. Mostly he wondered, often, if I ate enough. Especially when I pulled double shifts for some extra college money and never bothered to take a break. 

He didn’t wonder at me, though. Instead, he would leave me treats at my work station. Food from the deliveries that were overstock. Meals that his wife prepared and sent along a portion for me. If a package of cookies or some other treat was damaged, he’d deliver it right to our produce station. 

I swear that man kept me fed for four years. So much so that I wrote an essay about him for one of my first college classes, predictably titled “Treats.” When I got my paper back with an A, I made a copy for him. 

He told me he still has it to this day. 

We don’t get to see each other all that often—a couple times a year since I moved back to the area, if we’re lucky. But when we do get together, we make sure it’s at a place where the food is good and the desserts are plenty. 

The conversation, well, that’s just a given. 

Since my own father has been gone for nearly a decade, it’s been comforting to still have his presence in my life. To have the conversations I imagine my dad and I could have had, after time had passed and fences were mended. 

The creme brûlée doesn’t hurt, either. 

So I suppose I should send him a copy of this blog post. It’s why I called it “Treats, the Sequel.” 

But first, I’m going to enjoy the lunch we’ll share and the time we’ll spend together today.  Food always tastes better when it’s shared with love, yes? 

Readers, how has food influenced your life or your relationships? 

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Published by Cate Conte / Liz Mugavero

Cate Conte writes the Cat Cafe Mysteries and the Full Moon Mysteries. As Liz Mugavero, she writes the Pawsitively Organic Mysteries, the first of which was an Agatha Award nominee for Best First Novel. She lives in the Boston area with her rescue pals.

20 Thoughts

  2. What a special friend you have, Liz! Have a lovely lunch together.

    Food has been central to my life. I grew up baking with my mom. I learned to cook new things with my college roommates in our off-campus house. Every new international food I eat, I try to learn to cook it (from curries to sushi to African peanut stew to Brazilian feijoada). I taught my sons to bake and cook. And now I write books with recipes in them!

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  3. I loved the time I spent with my mom and dad when they were baking/cooking. I learned so much and we had some good chats while I was peeling veggies or measuring flour. I still make the foods they taught me to make. Family gettogethers were some of the best times of my life. Catching up and yummy foods – great times!!

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  4. That’s so sweet (pun may or may not be intended).

    And Liz, I will prepare my annual pot of chili on Friday after Thanksgiving. My husband hates chili, so when he and the guys head out to their annual hunting camp trip, I cook up a big pot and eat it for lunch and dinner EVERY DAY. By the time he gets home, I’m sick of it. Until the next year.

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  5. Growing up, special food was a holiday thing. My mother wasn’t a gourmet cook, but she did holidays. She did cookies. Grandmothers did pies. My dad’s mom did a fruit salad with handmade whipped cream – I can still see her at the counter with her egg-beater whipping up the cream.

    These days when I get together with friends, food is always center. And laughter, of course.

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  6. When you grew up in the age when food was made from scratch and eating out was a rarity, you had a home where the smells of something cooking was usually in the air. So much so that certain smells can evoke fond memories of a certain event, a visit from someone years ago or just who lovingly prepared it.

    Being happy to be in the kitchen and sharing the bounty of it was definitely a trait passed down from mom to daughter. Maybe that’s why I was partially attracted to hubby – because we shared that love of being in the kitchen. Now some 42+ years we still love to both be in the kitchen working together like a well-oiled machine cooking/baking. We may have learned to reduce portions and recipes to feed just us two seniors, but the excitement of heading to the kitchen still exists. Whether it setting the table for more than two or doing as my mom did at Christmas of baking oodles of goodies and making goodie boxes to delivery to the elderly, homebound, ailing or just someone who needed a visit, baking satisfies that inner hunger to create with food, evokes fabulous memories and helps us to stay connected with our fellow man through sharing.

    I feel that baking has influenced my past, present and I foresee it doing so in the future as long as I’m able – then I’ll supervise. 🙂
    2clowns at arkansas dot net

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  7. What a wonderful tribute to an old friend. Certainly send him a copy of this blog. My mother was a caterer so food was the center of our life. I grew up being the food prep queen. I didn’t think much of it at the time. It’s just what I did. But as an adult, I really don’t enjoy food prep or cooking. I’m good at it, but it is a necessity of life, not a joy. I envy all the joyful family gatherings.

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  8. It’s amazing how memories are associated with all the senses. Food smells and tastes definitely bring up memories. As does certain songs that put me back in other times and places.

    Enjoy your time with your friend. And I’m glad you explained the title. I thought you were referencing an earlier blog post when I first saw it. 🙂

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  9. Large family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas until the family grew and moved away. Aunts and Uncles, Cousins and Grandma were all central figures growing up. The food was always so good and we always had enough for everyone. An orange in my stocking along with some candy was such a treat. Thank you Deborah

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  10. What a lovely post, Liz!

    Italian German here. Mom was the Italian side, and the cook. You statement about Christmas Eve pregame makes me laugh. When my father went to my mother’s house for the very first time, the first course was spaghetti. Dad, being non-Italian didn’t understand that it was a first course. He filled up and could only nibble on the rest. Family lore has it that my grandfather banned him from the house and didn’t come around until mom bought the wedding dress.

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