Osmosis. The process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas or knowledge
It is a warm summer night. It’s 7pm and it’s still 85° out. We set the table outside. Eating outdoors, one of the great delights of summer. Our friends arrive, they are back to visit after moving overseas last year. A summer meal to celebrate our reunion. Grilled artichokes with shallot vinaigrette, baked tomatoes and zucchini flowers stuffed with parsley & anchovies, olives marinated in coriander seeds… I watch Pablo play and smile. He follows me from the backyard to the kitchen and back, while I carry the food out. He gets excited when he spots the artichokes. The boy lovesartichokes. Everyone marvels at his mastery when scraping the meat off the leaves with his four front teeth. We all feel warm inside and out. It’s good to be together.
What we learn in life by osmosis seems to be much deeper and more meaningful than what we learn in an explicit or deliberate way. When we learn osmotically (first time I use that word!), we learn organically. Maybe because it’s a process. Or because it’s gradual. Or because it’s unconscious. And all things related to human connections and relationships, all things complex and subtle, can only be properly learned by osmosis. You don’t learn how to nurture friendships by reading a book (those who try come through as “trying too hard”). You don’t learn empathy or mindfulness in a classroom. And I guess you don’t learn cooking in a cookbook either. You learn it in the kitchen, practising, failing, tasting. It’s barely noticeable that you’re learning. But you are.
When we can find osmosis with something, that’s when we “got it”. That’s when we can get it right. That’s when things feel right. This goes for writing, for cooking, for love and friendship.
This is another area where children set the example for us baggage-ridden adults. Young children are automatically in osmosis. Their whole life is about the process of gradual, unconscious assimilation. With all five senses, exploring their world and learning, synapses going all directions. On that warm summer night, I become aware Pablo is learning so much by osmosis: the meal, what went into it. The friends. The warmth. The flavors. Artichoke. Tomatoes. And mint.
When it comes to teaching children to enjoy good food, it isn’t so much by telling them that “broccoli is good for you” or to read the labels on food packages that they will truly learn the value of good healthy eating. And all the richness of values around food in our life (the human connection, the pleasure of the senses, the enjoyment of the present moment, of nature’s bounty, etc) can only be taught… by osmosis. Kids have to “bathe” in it. So we go pick the thyme and mint and sorrel in the backyard. We smell it. We sit down together for a meal, we savor each moment. We get excited about a new recipe. About an ingredient. We share a meal with friends to bond.
I myself have recently felt very much in osmosis in the kitchen. I have been cooking since I was a child, but only now, through this blog, a medium that is very much process-centric, do I feel like I’m truly learning. About cooking, writing, photographing, parenting, living. (I can see it now, the title of my future book, “Cooking or the meaning of life” ;-))
Back to summer night osmosis. I bring out the zucchini mint terrine I found in an old French recipe book recently. I had lot of mint, it’s zucchini season, why not? We all take a bite, and the mint just breathes some fresh air into our bones. We sit back and enjoy, with a sigh and a smile.
Admittedly, this isn’t one of those quick “whip up at the last minute” dishes (in fact, you must prepare and cook it at least a day before you serve it), but it is so delicious and refreshing that it is worth the effort.