Ode to the Apron

Written by Mark Grapengater

More than anything, the simple act of putting on an apron means there’s work to be done — a prep list to tackle, food to cook, a table to set.

When I place the strap over my head, I am putting on glasses that focus me for the task at hand. When I shake out the apron to smooth it over my torso, I am shaking off all the other cares in the world—that which distracts me from the task at hand. When I wrap the waist strap around and tie it taught, I am readying myself to transform, not only the raw ingredients before me, but those who are gathering around my table this time.

As I put on the apron, I am reminded that the main ingredient I am adding to this food is love. It’s the care and concern, the focus, the attention that I have for this food, so that can pass this love on to those who are gathering around my table. It’s knowing that this food will nourish the bodies, enliven the senses, comfort the downtrodden, replenish the exhausted, and focus the fete.

Aprons allow you to keep the most essential tools of the trade at hand. A wet and a dry towel. A tasting spoon. A turner, a thermometer, a sharpie. It allows you to work as a machine and turn your cooking into a dance, that then allows you to invite others in.

Perhaps above all, the apron is a priestly garment. In it we are reminded of the sacrifice we are making through the preparation of a meal—the cost, the time, the life that is given to nourish other lives. The apron puts us at the mediating center of life and death and life again in our preparation. And it reminds us of the priest who himself was the sacrifice that gives eternal life to all those who accept his invitation to his table.

And this is when the apron comes off, and we find ourselves at the table enjoying this feast and the company that makes it festive.

Keep the feast!