Is food a love language?

For those who wanted to hear I love you but were fed instead. Inspired by a comment from @ambatakazi.

Photo by Christian Bowen on Unsplash

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When you think back to your childhood, what’s the first memory that comes to mind? Is it the smell of your mother’s cooking, the warmth of your grandmother’s kitchen, or the sight of a dish carefully prepared just for you? For many of us, food is intertwined with our fondest memories, silently reminding us of the love our families poured into us. But how often do we pause to appreciate what those meals really meant?

For me, the heart of our home was my grandmother's kitchen. Small and unassuming, it was a place where love wasn’t just spoken but cooked, stirred, and baked in the form of coconut bread, and melted real butter. “Just like back home.” My grandmother, a proud Trinidadian woman of quiet strength, didn’t just see food as sustenance; she saw it as a language of love. Every dish was an expression of her care, though as a child, I didn’t always recognize it.

Like many children, I yearned for love to be shown in ways I could easily understand—more hugs, more verbal affirmations. I didn’t see that her early morning breakfast preparations, which included fresh carrot juice, the heavy bags of groceries she lugged home, and the effort she put into cooking every night were her ways of saying, “I love you.”

Love Expressed Through Food

My grandmother’s daily ritual of making carrot juice is a vivid memory. Every morning, without fail, she’d prepare a tall glass, convinced that the vitamins would improve my poor vision. As a kid, I loved my special cup of carrot juice and savoured drinking it, it made me feel special. To this day I feel warmth when eating carrots or drinking carrot juice and barely a day goes by without consuming this yummy veggie. You see, tt wasn’t just about the juice; it was about her concern for my health and her desire to take care of me. Looking back, I can see the love in every sip, though at the time, it didn’t dawn on me she was expressing her love. I thought it was just what grandmother’s do.

My grandmother was also a master of sneaking vegetables into our meals. Knowing that my siblings and I weren’t fans of greens, she’d hide them in our favorite dishes—like her mouthwatering rice. She’d chop up carrots, peas, mixing them so well that we hardly noticed. We’d happily gobble it up, oblivious to the nutrition hidden within.

She even adapted her traditional Trinidadian recipes to suit our American taste buds. She wanted us to experience her culture but knew we might not take to the spicier, more intense flavors right away. When she found out I loved bitter gourd, or bitter melon as she called it or that time I made her cou cou, a cornmeal porridge she has not made for us growing up, thinking we wouldn’t like it, she actually called home to tell them I could cook, “like a real trini,” she was so proud.

Despite my grandmother toning down the pepper in her curry chicken or make the roti a bit softer with extra butter. Yet, even with these adjustments, the food retained its essence—the love and richness that only a Trinidadian grandmother could infuse into a meal.

Of course, she wasn’t perfect. Despite her efforts to keep us healthy, she had a soft spot for sweets, often indulging us with cookies and ice cream. She’d say, “Don’t eat all” But she’d never stop us. Looking back, I realize that she never wanted to withhold anything that might bring us joy, even if it wasn’t the healthiest choice.

The Universal Language of Food

As I grew older, I began to understand that every meal she prepared, every grocery she carried home, was a profound expression of love. She might not have always said the words, but she showed it every day, in ways I only fully appreciated later in life.

And it’s not just in Trinidadian culture that food holds this deep significance. Across the world, in countless cultures, food is intertwined with love and care. In Italy, it’s the nonna who insists on serving you an extra helping of pasta, because “mangia, mangia” is her way of saying she cares. In Japan, it might be a lovingly prepared bento box with every piece of sushi shaped just so. In India, the aroma of ghee and spices tells you everything you need to know about a mother’s affection. And in the Middle East, a table groaning under the weight of a feast is a sign that you are not just welcomed, but cherished.

Even research supports this idea. Studies show that preparing food for others can increase feelings of closeness and empathy. When someone cooks for you, they’re not just giving you a meal; they’re offering a piece of their heart.

Photo by Daniela Paola Alchapar on Unsplash

A Gratitude Lesson from the Quran

But as Muslims, we know that the ultimate provider is Allah. Every grain of rice, every piece of fruit, every drop of water is a gift from Him. And even the grandmother who lovingly prepares your meals has been given to you by Ar Razzaq, the Provider, who has also named Himself, Al Wahhab, the Gift Giver, and al Wadood, The Most Loving!

16:18

وَإِن تَعُدُّوا۟ نِعْمَةَ ٱللَّهِ لَا تُحْصُوهَآ ۗ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ لَغَفُورٌۭ رَّحِيمٌۭ ١٨

If you tried to count Allah’s blessings, you would never be able to number them. Surely Allah is All-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

What are some of the foods that remind you of your family’s love? Is there a dish that, no matter where you are, will always take you back to your grandmother’s kitchen or your mother’s dining table?

How can reflecting on these memories draw you closer to Allah?

Much love,

Nour Cauveren