THE FOOD FOLDER

By Jayden Gracias

I’ve been asked many times why I keep a food folder. The folder, in question, is a collection of over a thousand food pics I started taking about five years ago. I don’t really have a specific reason for it; it’s just something I do. I think, however, as time has passed, the folder has become a reflection of me. It’s somewhat of a journal where I document my life through food, and the biggest reason I do it is memory.

To me, food is memory, or at least, a big part of it. It’s perhaps the most universal instance of shared experience. A picture of banh mi reminds me of a time when my friends ordered in and argued about who cheated during poker at one a.m. A photo at a Korean fried chicken place reminds me of when I saw Oppenheimer with friends and the conversations we had after it.

In that way, seeing pictures of food reminds me of my favourite memories—the culmination of photos over time becomes a sort of photo album of my own experiences with those I love.

I’m half-Indian, and that means half of the food I had growing up was Indian. I never felt like we were the most ‘Indian’ family—we spoke English, and I couldn’t name too many Indian dishes. But if I had a food folder as a kid, a large number of photos would include homemade curries made by both of my parents. I would have snapshots of my auntie’s biryani or my Nana’s famous ‘yellow (saffron) rice’. I would see pictures of naan that took up my Nana’s entire dining table. The folder, however, also contains my own creations.

It’s a creative hobby, but that’s all it needs to be. I don’t have any desire to work in a restaurant and feel the pressure of getting plates to tables on time. It’s how I unwind on my days off while still feeling like I’ve created something. It means I’ve done at least one thing for someone else that day.

I started cooking after high school, and while I’m no Gordon Ramsay, I’ve become somewhat of the house chef. Initially, I started cooking as a way to help my parents out; I’m in my early 20s and still living at home, and to me, the very least I could do for my parents was give them one delicious meal to come home to every week. To this day, it’s something that gives us a chance for some quality time together at the table. Cooking on my own came with so many benefits. By knowing what I put into my body, I’ve developed a healthier relationship with food as a whole. I’ve even become more creative and confident in myself along the way.

I’ve been able to introduce so many different cuisines and new dishes to my family. Being able to go to the international aisle, or dedicated Euro delis and Asian marts (two shops that we didn’t have access to until recent years), has opened me up to so many different condiments, spices and even foods I didn’t know existed before. I’ve come to learn that, generally, countries or regions cook with the same ingredients: Korean meals usually use gochujang and gochugaru, Japanese meats are often marinated with soy sauce and mirin, and the Middle East uses similar spice blends across different dishes.

Those aren’t my cultures, though I’m nothing short of grateful that so many people have shared their recipes with the world. While my home growing up wasn’t short of a range of multicultural food—albeit they were usually the standard kits and ‘westernised’ versions at Coles—it’s become a privilege to be able to learn and cook so many of these multinational recipes.

Ironically enough, I never cook Indian food. I’m mostly self-taught, and the meals I make aren’t—for the most part—handed down to me by my parents or grandparents. However, that doesn’t mean the food that I do eat with my family holds any less importance to our shared experience.

Perhaps one day I will pass down what I’ve learned to a new generation of home chefs, whether it be my children or the people I will one day live with.

Of course, that’s not to say I won’t be passing down the meals my parents cooked for me. As a child, I spent so many weekend mornings playing on the Wii while eating my dad’s signature French toast. This wasn’t just sugary sweet toast: Dad laced the bread with Keen’s curry powder—a house staple that was itself used in copious amounts of curry—creating a spicy, soft and delicious French toast variant. For the same reason, one thing I will never try to make is chicken schnitzel because it just won’t be as good as Mum’s. If culture is passing down what we know, then a family staple is my Nan’s Christmas pudding recipe, a recipe handed down to her from her parents which now finds itself in my mum’s own cookbook.

Regardless of the taste, price or region, all my favourite meals have one thing in common: they’re all comforting. Dad’s French toast is comforting, as is Mum’s schnitzel or my (other) Nan’s sausage rolls. The most comforting meals, though, are the ones I make as midnight snacks with a shameless lack of effort. It’s those iconic late-night bites you make after a long day at university. A personal favourite of mine is putting cheese, Kewpie mayo and pepperoni in a wrap before putting it into the sandwich press.

During my undergraduate years, I spent almost every week at Don Don, a Japanese bistro in Footscray. I spent an almost unhealthy, obsessive amount of time eating their obento box with beef strips, chicken, tofu, rice and pickled ginger. It was comforting to eat the same meal every week, just as it was comforting that the owner knew my order without me having to ask (and was surprised the one time I ordered something else). Since graduating, I’ve tried to incorporate some of these ingredients into my own meals just to regain that same delicious taste and enjoyment I felt for those three years. After all, those obento boxes are how the food folder first began; the first 50 photos mostly comprise of Don Don or from the seemingly dozens of bubble tea places in Footscray.

So, my little food folder has become the culmination of my memories, my experiences and the food I share with my family. Whenever my family makes me French toast, schnitzel or biryani, I’m experiencing what’s been handed down. When I cook for them, I’m creating new memories in turn and perhaps sowing seeds of what will one day be recipes handed down for generations that will follow suit.

Admittedly, the photos aren’t great, like at all. But there’s a certain charm I enjoy about these blurry and poorly taken photos that I’ve just stuffed into a folder on my phone. When I show it to people, I’m showing them a snapshot of my life. I’m showing them what Christmas with my family looks like, or what I did with my friends on the weekend. I’m showing them how I connect with my family, and I’m showing my creative side.

Maybe one day I’ll start a food blog or turn the folder into a physical scrapbook, but I only worry that by introducing any kind of pressure, I will lose my enjoyment for this fun little hobby I started five years ago.

‘Perhaps one day I will pass down what I’ve learned to a new generation of home chefs, whether it be my children or the people I will one day live with.’