Never Return a Container Empty
This illustration is part of my Collective Food Wisdom series, for which I asked people across different languages and cultures to share a nugget of food wisdom or advice they’ve received that they continue to carry with them in their kitchen, garden, or life.
This special piece of wisdom comes from my dad, Carl, who grew up in an Italian American household in immigrant-heavy Youngstown, Ohio.
What is the most useful piece of food wisdom or advice you have ever received?
Dad: Never return a container empty. If someone is nice enough to share whatever they've made with you, then 1) it's important to give their container back, and 2) you never return it empty. If you get it full, you give it back full. Who knows what nationality or background that person is and what they make at their house. When you return the container with something from your house, it might be a dish they've never tried before.
Who gave it to you?
Dad: Both of my grandmothers and my mom all agreed. Somewhere along the line each one mentioned it to me and it stuck.
How does it show up in your life?
Dad: I always follow this rule and return containers with different foods depending on the time of year. If it's gardening time, I'll fill it with loose cherry tomatoes or cucumbers. Other times it could be baked pasta. Every year for St. Joseph's Day, my mom gives out tins of golden raisin cookies to people with "Joseph" in their name. Some people would probably return that container filled with cookies, but that's not me. I'll give her back some Brier Hill pizza or pizzelles.
This one was poignant for me, because I so vividly remember this being just "what we did" at our house and in our community.
These days, I live halfway across the world from my family, and, to be honest...I can't remember the last time I did this for someone else. It's hard to carry on every tradition alone and/or in a new place.
Back in Youngstown, Ohio, my family cans tomatoes every September. It's a sacred ritual—an arduous one that requires many hands. We all come together for an entire day, roll up our sleeves, and slice, crank, and laugh our way through the process.
I've tried to uphold this tradition wherever I am, but last year was a real challenge. My partner Bjarke was gone, and for some reason, I didn't ask friends to join me. Instead, I rolled up my sleeves and diced, cranked, and slogged through the process by myself.
The lesson? No one person can carry forth a food culture alone. It takes many hands and hearts.
So, next time you leave a container at my house, please remind me to return it to you full. Oh, and, you're all invited to can tomatoes with me this year.
To sink your teeth into more Collective Food Wisdom, and perhaps even hang a reminder of it in your own kitchen, head on over to my shop. Sometimes I sell the originals, too, so make sure you're signed up for my monthly inspiration email to be notified next time they go on sale, and you can snag your favorite.