There are many things I admire about my mother; her style, confidence, kindness, warmth, adaptability, humor, and her uncanny ability to send me random texts with information I did not know I needed. A wonderful vessel of life’s most profound wisdom and truths, I do not believe I have ever breathed a day without thinking, “wow, I am so lucky to have her as my mum.” Maybe with the exception of one day in my teenage years when she insisted I eat vegetables instead of ketchup and fries for the twentieth time for dinner.
One thing I have always adored about her is her nurturing of community, especially her female friendships. Growing up in Ghana, I watched my mom fellowship with sisterhood at least once a week, leading gatherings with some of the smartest, most dazzling beings I had ever seen. When we moved to the US, I saw her navigate this landscape again, forming deeply rooted friendships with women from all walks of life. If I needed a hairstylist, she already knew the woman for the job. If she did not know the answer to something, she knew someone I could talk to. If she was craving a dish she did not yet have a recipe for, an auntie was just a call away to bring some over to the house.
So when I began my twenties, this became something I really intended to nurture… being rooted in community and sisterhood. And when I made the sharp right turn into my thirties, it became something I truly treasure. To celebrate this new season, I dreamed up a small gathering I called the Tiny Kitchen Supper Club. Since my apartment is relatively “charmingly quaint” (a term I have picked up from too many Airbnb searches in Europe), and since cooking is not really my forte, I sent the challenge out to a few friends: help me warm up my home by making a dish I could manage in my little kitchen but one that meant a lot to them.
And answer the call they did.
On a cozy fall Saturday night, I got to witness the kind of friendship and warmth that pulled me right back to nine year old Tracy eavesdropping on the women’s fellowship in the courtyard. As we ate, laughed, cheered, danced, and even church stomped, my heart and belly were so full, and my apartment so warm.
The next five blog posts are dedicated to the recipes they shared with me. From flavorful history inspired jerk chicken, to a battle with a food processor for Oreo candies, and a Nepali fusion in between, these recipes have already become favorites. Like the process of making meaningful friendships, I know my attempts to recreate them will not be perfect on the first, second, or even third try. But through trial and error, I hope to get them to a point of warmth and deliciousness that make my kitchen happy for years and years to come.
To my girls who cooked that night, thank you for being my friends, confidants, partners in crime, cheerleaders, inspirations, and now fellow chefs. To all my friends near and far, know that your presence in my life adds flavor in countless ways, and one day soon I hope to have each of you at my table. And to my mother, whose fellowship in courtyards and kitchens shaped my earliest memories, thank you for teaching me that nourishment comes as much from people as it does from food.
With lots of love,
Bella
The Recipes:
Friendship Folded in Dough: Paneer Momos
Khadijah’s Oreo Truffles for Breakfast
Paging Comfort: Bri’s Scampi Story
Dani’s Brooklyn Roots: Jerk Wings
Priscilla’s Tiny Kitchen Arayes
