FOODSTORIES

We Are What We Eat—Intersections Between Food, Memory, Identity, and Our Stories

WHAT IS IT ABOUT FOOD THAT TIES US TO WHO WE ARE? A dish or food item is something that can resurrect the memory of an unforgettable celebration, it can become the monster of what we do not want to recall—especially if it involves allergic reactions—and, sometimes, food is a part of something that marks a turn in our lives.

Within global and cultural memory, food can be as complex as the British salt tax put in place in India in the late 19th century, or the holiday tradition of sweet potato pie among some Black Americans with its roots tied to everything from violence and enslavement to holiday celebration.

Foodstories: We Are What We Eat—Intersections Between Food, Memory, Identity, and Our Stories is a 2024–2025 National Arts Strategies Community Fellowship project that I designed to collect stories from individuals bringing together food, memory, and storytelling. It’s also a project that was co-created by many others rooted within my memory and lived experiences. What is shared below is told in snapshots from various Foodstories contributors. These vignettes are connected to 80-plus stories that have been collected statewide, regionally, nationally, and globally—because food, much like stories, doesn’t know borders.

These specific stories are grounded in New Hampshire, either from those living within the state, with memories rooted here, or through travel.

These texts have been lightly edited for clarity and style.

People my age who grew up in rural New Hampshire all probably recall hating these moneysaving foods and go right back when we laugh about it. Food has changed a lot in half a century. —Heather

KRISTA
Penacook, New Hampshire

I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire, on a dead-end street with a yard that was just big enough for a modest swing set and a vegetable garden. Some of my earliest outdoor memories are of my dad turning the soil with a shovel in preparation for planting tomatoes, green peppers, and beans. At some point early in our family’s gardening life, my mom took over, and our little salad garden was replaced by arrangements with a couple of neighbors, which allowed us to plant additional gardens on their much larger properties. Suddenly, everything was happening at scale.

My mother canned, froze, and dried massive quantities of fruit, vegetables, sauces, jams, and jellies. We had a root cellar lined with jars of applesauce and tomato sauce, two large chest freezers in our barn jam-packed with frozen corn, green beans, and Swiss chard. Our pantry shelves bent under the weight of gallon-size jars of dried apples, plums, and other fruit and nuts.

My mother made her own yogurt, baked her own bread, and sprouted her own sprouts.

The incredible irony, which it has taken my siblings and me decades to admit to ourselves and each other, is my mother was… dare I say it? A pretty mediocre cook. In fact, it turns out, she’d always disliked cooking. Laying up massive stores was one thing. Making a mac and cheese was… just tedious.

My mother married young and was a “stay at home mom,” which she called being a “homemaker.” She loved that life and her role in it, truly. I don’t doubt that for a minute. But when I think back on how that tiny backyard garden made her restless, and how much earth it took to bring gardening to a scale that felt challenging to her, worthy of her energy, talents, and vision, it makes me wonder. That’s all. I just wonder…

HEATHER
Pittsfield, New Hampshire

I am almost 70 and some. Growing up in the ’60s in rural New Hampshire, we had a lot of homegrown food. All of us kids we hated it. Oh, how we just hated the green beans that our mothers froze and put in the big chest freezers because they were always spongy, and my sister nicknamed them air beans. Even now, we laugh over it. Food was very expensive and our mom ‘n’ my friends’ mums, too, made us drink dry powdered milk because it was less expensive even though there were plenty of dairy around. Also, we all hated homemade maple syrup. We wanted store-bought maple syrup. Our most favorite meal of all time was a TV dinner. These were a rare treat. We went [to] Concord once a week or less to shop. My mom would splurge on a “grinder” at the deli—it was her only time to not have to cook. People my age who grew up in rural New Hampshire all probably recall hating these money-saving foods and go right back when we laugh about it. Food has changed a lot in half a century.

These vignettes are connected to 80-plus stories that have been collected statewide, regionally, nationally, and globally—because food, much like stories, doesn’t know borders.

ANONYMOUS
Manchester, New Hampshire

My family doesn’t really have any food traditions or many traditions at all. That’s what comes from coming from a fractured and spread-out/distant family. We also didn’t have a lot of money. From the age of 10, it was just me and Mom. We had a lot of food, and when I look back, it was cheap but filling because it was just us. We didn’t bother much with Thanksgiving, and one year we joked that we were just going to have hot dogs. I liked this plan. I liked hot dogs better than turkey anyways (still do, lol). At school, they asked the typical, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” questions. I told them about the hot dogs because I was excited. The school thought that meant that we couldn’t afford to buy a Thanksgiving dinner. We probably couldn’t, but it wasn’t worth it for just the two of us anyway. The school did a food drive for us. We came home to two big boxes of food on our doorstep including a 10-plus pound turkey. My mom was embarrassed but saw the human in it. I think she donated most of the food to someone who actually needed it or could use it. We still talk about the time I accidentally got us a free Thanksgiving dinner. I love how the school tried to help a kid they thought was in need even if I actually did want hot dogs!

DANIELLE
Dover, New Hampshire

Something Sweet Before Something Hard

The bananas are past peak. Do they still serve a purpose?

Yes.

They are ready to transform to be in harmony with sugar, flour, eggs… I forget the ingredients now, but I remember making banana bread for the first time. I made it to bring to middle school. The stakes were high. A performance piece. No practice. Have I always put this pressure on myself?

Maybe.

The risk paid off. The candied crust was perfectly crunchy. The smashed bananas peer[ing] through the nooks and crannies, as if to say, “I am still here. Still me, but better.” Baking always intimidated me. My mother is the best baker I know. Is that why? I hear from my daughter at times that she doesn’t want to paint with me because I am the best.

Why do we pause in the footsteps of our parents?

Of course our parents are experts at something they love to do. I want Heidi to join me or find what she loves without comparison. My mother does make delicious banana bread. And so do I. I only think to make banana bread when I see the bananas turn. They are calling out to me to give them a chance to be transformed. I embrace the opportunity. They are ready and so am I.

The baking involves taking a chance that it might burn, dry out, or undercook. But when it comes out right, the reward is so sweet. Crunchy, sweet, soft, and satisfying. On its own, or with cream cheese, or with butter. Warm out of the oven, or cool from the fridge. It presents itself in the morning so that my day can start off right. Now, my breakfast is a prelude to cushion the blow from my chemo pills.

I haven’t invited the old bananas to be a part of this ritual yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe instead of waiting for my bananas to overripen, I could go to the store and save the ones that could be discarded. Can I be their savior? Certainly not for all, but for some. It is decided. Tomorrow, I will make the time and allow the transformation to take place. If it isn’t perfect, that is ok, too.

I will enjoy it with cream cheese if it is dry.

I will cut off the edges if they burn.

I will put it back in the oven if it is undercooked.

These bananas will rise to the occasion to be present for the controlled poisoning. The intentional practice of swallowing the large pills that will block the cancer from returning. Something sweet before something hard. I will give the bananas a new purpose.

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