A Land of Milk and Honey: What Food Means, Here.

Food occupies a special place in all our lives. And in particular, there seems to be a strong connection between closeness (romantic or otherwise) and food. This is very strongly reflected in our language. Many of the most common terms of endearment are food-related: honey, sugar, sweet-pea, pumpkin, muffin, cookie. Maybe even pork-chops or dumpling, among good-humoured (and often older) couples. A person can marry his dulcinea (dulce = sweet) and then go abroad to Spain on his honeymoon.

Not all such terms are used for family and lovers. An old schoolfriend and I, when we were young, used to call each other spagetti-brain or noodle-head when one or the other of us did something particularly silly or stupid. It was not a positive term, but it had a level of fondness and affection in it which acknowledged our closeness to each other. We knew that it was something private that we shared. Nobody else we knew used it, and we could be as creative in our choice of noodles as we liked, depending on our mood.

Certain body parts are also frequently linked with positive traits. Skin can be caramel or chocolate, creamy or milky, soft as peaches and cream. Or it can be unhealthily pale, white as salt. A woman can have cherries in her cheeks or cherry lips. Coincidentally, women also seem to have an affinity for attracting fruit-related terms for her body parts (and melons is only the tip of the iceberg). And any person with a pleasant demeanor may be called peachy (or sweet, as opposed to sour and bitter).

Take a look in the next women's clothing catalog (or turn on the TV). How many clothing colours are named after wines? The most obvious are burgundy and champagne, but there are many, many others. Moreover, how many things are described as scrumptious, delicious, tasty, &c. that are not, in fact, fit (or meant) for consumption? (And then there are lemons, which have to be taken back to the factory because they are not fit for anything.)

I can think of a plethora of other examples, not all of them English. When I was in Germany, this summer, my godbrother's parents, Rolf and Reni, were always calling each other by the pet-name, Spätzlein. Likewise, one of their sons called his spouse Spatz, so I asked Reni what it meant. She explained to me that Spatz means 'sparrow' (hence, Spätzlein means 'little sparrow'). She also explained that Spätzle is a noodle-dumpling dish from the Black Forest area where she grew up that she used to make in huge pots and take to Rolf's house when they were dating, because he loved it dearly but didn't have a stove big enough to make it in his apartment. Thus, they were actually calling each other 'little dumpling' -- a cute little hidden reference to a favourite dish that played a part in their courtship.

Perhaps it is because food is so integral to our lives that we place it, metaphorically, on other things we highly value, as though to draw a comparison. Perhaps its associations to bounty and fertility are linked to its dependable productivity, its ability to provide health and life. There is certainly something striking about our language and the way it is used. The true question is whether idiomatic statements reflect a conscious reality or whether they are merely repetitions of the commonplace. For instance, did my father call me pumpkin-pie because he was fond of it (which he was), or did he merely say it because his mother used it as an endearing term for him, when he was younger? Where is the significance most felt, and how far does it extend? It's not an easy question to answer. Most people are normalised to the idiomatic phrases of their own language, so to some extent they do not note them, yet at the same time they would notice if it were not present. For instance, I could say that her cheeks were red as a rhubarb and it still sounds nice to the ear, but it is something noticably unfamiliar. Whereas red as a radish might not arouse quite the same reaction.

Whatever the reason, whether deliberate or unintional, it is clearly no accident that the imaginary paradises of our cultural imagination* is a Garden of sorts. One is called Eden; the other, the Land of Milk and Honey.

* I do not mean to impose Christianity on anyone by way of this statement; however, Christianity has contributed a great deal to the English language, both before and after the foundation of America, and is also a source of a great many of our metaphors and allusions. It is to this legacy that I refer.