Where The Kitchen Gods Live.
There is something about cooking that just connects me with my ancestry.
Putting aside all the drama, all the bullshit, all the cycles of abuse, food brings people together. Food helps you remember. Food calls the spirits.
Because irregardless of who all your ancestors were, they all ate at one point or another. And out of all those people who all ate dishes that reflect and echo one another in histories and ancestries, there are bound to be some who really just … get you.
*Steamed dumplings on a bed of seasoned bak choy and green onions.
There are bound to be those who were the drags queens, and fags, and trannies, and witches, and outcasts of their time periods too. Or maybe it was a time far back enough, when the drag queens and trans peoples and queers were also the high priestesses and witch queens and temple masters, kinda like how we continue to reclaim now.
So make a meal, stir up that wok, grease up that casserole, set your wards, pray with good intentions, and see who shows up.
Offer a small plate of food for where the kitchen gods live.
And begin … to remember.
*Offerings to the Kitchen Gods.