Now, as I approach the cusp of 30, I have begun to feel a great sense of nostalgia towards those younger days. The shift that occurs in a person between their early and late 20s is far greater than anyone had ever warned me. It is hard for me to clearly note the specific changes that have occurred in me over the last few years except to say that much has been gained. Much has been lost as well. Storms have been weathered with as much grace as I could muster, but within me now is a great desire to reflect. There is a longing for those old familiar routines, the simplicity of childhood, the comfort that comes flooding back to memory with the smells and tastes of those old church staples.

With them are all the things that shaped me into who I am today. The lessons I was patiently taught in Sunday school. The friends who have come and gone, as people do, spending a season in my life and leaving their own marks along their way. Those rare people who have earned a title far greater than just a “friend,” who have remained in my life and become a cornerstone to my own identity. The boys I loved. My parents and their stories, their encouragement and the discipline that they practised to instill character. The adventures I set out to have, the dreams I hoped to accomplish and all the little hopes that fill a young girl’s heart as she grows into a woman. These are all the things that come to the forefront of my mind when greeted by that which is comfortably familiar, the cornerstones of the Southern dinner table.

Those memories have become my own journey to Jerusalem, a place where I can find both serenity and salvation. My ticket is provided by mixing together those simple dishes that fill my home with sweet and savory smells. The robust and earthy tones of my grandmother’s pot roast stirred with the rich scent of mulled spices in an apple pie. The sizzle of chicken in a cast-iron skillet as it pops and squeals its way to a crisp golden brown (as close to Mrs. Ida’s as I can manage). Each step being carefully accounted, every ingredient being weighed and measured accordingly. These are the things that keep me grounded in the traditions I was brought up on. These are the things that bring me to that place of joy and longing. These are what bring me home.