Hey! I’m Walker Henderson, a third year finance student from Memphis, Tennessee. I’ve really enjoyed getting to crowdfund for Battlefield Farm this semester and learn about food deserts, sustainable pathways, and how Knox County can improve in the process.
As I think about food and the memories I have with it, my mind drifts to cooking. My affinity for food started in my grandma’s kitchen, rolling and cutting out Christmas cookies before graduating to baking cakes with her. Though these were great steps, I remember the first big cooking project I took on my own, with May’s (my grandmother) supervision of course. I had decided I wanted to make homemade maraschino cherries. The recipe itself isn’t complex, but preparing the main star of the show–cherries–was. After 30 minutes of attempting multiple pitting methods and realizing just how much I take readily made maraschino cherries for granted, I had my own homemade version to show for it as well as deeply red stained hands and a shirt marred by cherry juice that I never wore again.
After my cherry pitting lesson, I turned towards cooking for myself and my older siblings over our summer breaks. Up to that point, I hadn’t ruined anything too much or made an overwhelming mess in my parents’ kitchen. One afternoon, I put my cooking acumen to the test by making my brother and I grilled cheese. This was my first time cooking for someone else. Much like the cherries, grilled cheese is simple, but it got away from me as the bread began to burn. I ditched the sandwich in the trash, turned off the stove, and frustrated by this failed attempt, convinced my brother to take us to Gus’s Fried Chicken instead. As we ate, we received a rare midday call from our mom: the smoke alarm had gone off and firefighters were headed to our house. That was the only meal I have ever ‘dined and dashed’, my brother leaving cash on the table for our chicken tender plates and hurrying back home. Though everything ended up alright, it was a crystallizing lesson for me on food safety and how not to make grilled cheese in the future.
After turning 16 and fueled by my parent’s expectations that a job would get me out of their kitchen, I turned to cooking for my first summer job. I reached out to the same family of chefs my older brother worked for, securing a position as pantry chef at Magnolia & May. I was ecstatic to be earning my own paycheck and even more excited to work with food. As pantry chef, the dish I feared most was raw oysters. Shucking them is dreadful. My first solo shift, tickets rang in at a rush, orders for oysters accompanying them. I rushed to get the chilled platter out, shimmied the oyster knife between its crevice, and as it slipped past the shell, sliced my thumb. From that day, I treated the item with a greater reverence, wrapping each one in a dry towel and taking each order one oyster at a time.
Food, and the care that goes into cooking it, becomes an act of service, elevating the mere act of it into an experience I get to share with someone else. As I think about my cherry-stained shirt, the set off smoke alarm, and my sliced thumb, it represents a memory–whether good or bad–that some will never get to experience. By donating to Battlefield Farm, you will empower someone else to create their own memories with fresh food and each other.
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