When I was growing up in a Muslim household, food was rarely just food. As the youngest child, my job was to bring out a large water jug with a matching basin pot and soap to help the family wash their hands. Mum would distribute freshly baked breads to everyone to have with the soup or curry. Dad would have me sit next to him as he presided over the gathering – asking questions, giving directions all the while passing food and utensils around. My older brother would take turns helping everyone wash their hands.
There was even a small ritual around something as ordinary as a piece of bread. If it fell on the ground anywhere in the house or was even seen on the ground outside, we would pick it up, clean it, kiss it respectfully and place it somewhere clean and safe. Food was not to be treated carelessly.
