Food Memoir: The Monkey Bread Mantra

Haley Hopkins

 

Ms. Nichole Wilson

 

AP Literature and Composition

 

1 April 2014

 

The Monkey Bread Mantra

 

 

I hate breakfast.

My distaste for the first meal of the day may seem strange, given my immense love of food. Perhaps it is because even when I am not forced out of bed at ungodly hours, I cannot bring myself to enjoy a traditional American breakfast. I am not a fan of bacon (gasp!), orange juice makes me nauseous, and if I had to choose between having my eggs scrambled or sunny-side-up, I would choose neither. Nine months out of the year, though, I do not even have those options. Too often, I find myself stumbling out the door – five minutes late – grabbing the first available edible item on my counter.

 

Mornings equate to rushing in my household. I know I am not just speaking for myself here. It is not uncommon knowledge that Americans struggle to come together for a meal. “The fact that American families eat together as a family much less often than those in Europe is reflected in the difference in family solidarity in the two cultures”(Claxton). It seems that Europeans have figured it out: bonding over a meal leads to a more structurally sound family. Unfortunately, a lack of sleep combined with the pressure to be punctual has left many Americans shouting their goodbyes through a closing door, unwrapping granola bars in the silence of their isolation, wishing for more time. I hate breakfast because I rarely have time to enjoy it, especially with my family. After all, “eating is, preferably, a social activity”(Cornejo Happel), but in today’s culture, our preferences do not seem to matter in the early hours of the morning.

 

Maybe it is the rarity of it all that makes the monkey bread even sweeter.

 

In all honesty, I would be lying if I said my mother was handed down the monkey bread recipe, or if my grandmother taught her how to make it. The truth, according to her, is that once upon a time, she was looking for something sweet to eat in the morning that could maybe, possibly force my family to sit down together and enjoy. She browsed the internet until she found the classic monkey bread recipe. I still remember the first morning she made it. I was not very young; at thirteen, I was already used to dashing out the door. But on this particular morning, the smell of vanilla wafted throughout the kitchen as my mother pulled the bundt pan out of the oven, telling me that if I wanted to try this new recipe, I would have to sit down with her and eat it. And so, I did; for five blissful minutes, I allowed the savory combination of cinnamon, sugar, butter, vanilla, and bread melt in my mouth. It was not exactly a conversation, but it was definitely the beginning of something far more important than I had realized at the time.

 

My mother eventually taught me how to make monkey bread, but she is still the one who makes it for the family. She prepares it on random days. This is done purposefully. It is a reminder. It forces us to ask ourselves: “Why don’t we value time as we do any other good or service?” (Maidment). The concept of time can be tricky, but what is commonly recognized across cultures is that time – and time spent with family, at that – is both fleeting and valuable.

 

When the monkey bread finds itself sitting on my kitchen table, my family ends up having the time we so often find ourselves desperately craving. We use it to talk about the upcoming day, plans for the week, or maybe even the dreams we had the night before. It’s a short conversation – usually about ten minutes – but it is wonderful. Breakfast is said to be the most important meal of the day, but we typically do not treat it as such. “You see, we often get so caught up in our busy lives that we tend to forget just how important it is to truly live in and experience each and every moment in its simplicity” (Peterson). Ten minutes of simplicity, spent bonding with my family over a single dish, is all I need to be reminded of the value of family and time. Both are priceless.

 

I still hate breakfast. But I love what happens sometime around sunrise every once in a while, when the air is sweeter and everyone is smiling, stomachs full of something that is not quite nutritious, but fully satisfying. I love how everything slows down. When my family sits down to share monkey bread, we are not having breakfast. We are not rushing, scowling at the clocks we pass as we scan the pantry for the quickest to-go option. We are valuing time; and, more importantly, the time we are able to spend with each other.

 

I used to wish monkey bread was on the kitchen table more often. But then I realized it would lose its value. Monkey bread is not, by any means, the “glue” that holds my family together. It is simply a reminder of the things that we tend to take for granted. However, I am a firm believer in its mantra: family is great, time is precious, and monkey bread is delicious.

 

 

 

 

Works Cited:

 

Claxton, Mervyn. N.p.. Web. 17 Mar 2014. <http://www.normangirvan.info/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/culturefood-and-identity-6.pdf>.

 

Cornejo Happel, Claudia A.. "You Are What You Eat." . The Ohio State University, n.d. Web. 17 Mar 2014. <http://www.normangirvan.info/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/culturefood-and-identity-6.pdf>.

 

Maidment, Paul. "The Price Of Time." Forbes. 29 02 2008: n. page. Web. 17 Mar. 2014. <http://www.forbes.com/2008/02/28/economics-time-price-oped-time08-cx_pm_0229maidment.html>.

 

Peterson, Jerrica. N.p., n. d. 17 Mar 2014. <http://thoughtcatalog.com/jerrica-peterson/2013/12/enjoy-every-moment-its-time-to-stop-taking-things-for-granted/>.