A Sandwich, A Biscuit, Some Pancakes: How Bryan Washington Reveals Love Through Food in His New Novel Family Meal
You are what you eat, so the saying goes. So, what does it mean for a life to be defined by meals had and not had? How do you measure your feelings by foods that are graciously prepared for you versus the morsels, the comfort, you deny yourself? In Bryan Washington’s novel Family Meal, food is the simulacra, the ultimate symbol, of intimacy and well-being. And, these characters are defined by extremes — the feast and the fast.
The story opens with Cam as he crawls through the tumultuous aftermath of the death of his boyfriend, Kai, and details Cam’s subsequent journey through his grief as he reunites with the unofficially adoptive family of his childhood in Houston. In the second half of the book, we get the perspectives of Kai and TJ, Cam’s childhood best friend, which gives context on the “before” and gently reminds readers that secrets are a key ingredient to love. In all, Washington’s sparse, pointed style blooms into a deeply intimate portrayal of family, loss and, ultimately, acceptance. The novel cycles through feelings and situations, repeatedly returning to them instead of moving past, working to underscore the emotional and physical realities of grief, and mirroring the way that life tends to actually work. The progression of the novel is not linear, but something like a slow, unfocused zig-zag.
In Bryan Washington’s novel Family Meal, food is the simulacra, the ultimate symbol, of intimacy and well-being. And, these characters are defined by extremes — the feast and the fast.
As the novel rotates point of view, there is a constant presence: food. A character’s state of being or how intimate a relationship might be is shown simply by the way food is handled. In the first scene of the novel, Cam is given a chicken turnover by TJ: “So I take another bite of the turnover, tasting the food, rolling it around my mouth. Then I spit it out.” We can track Cam’s progress toward an acceptance of his lot in life by how much he eats, which, at first, is nothing, and slowly builds toward the nourishing, eponymous, family meal. We later learn, in Kai’s point of view, that chicken turnovers was something Cam made for him — an offering of love. When a character can’t seem to figure out how to express themselves, which is often, they do so through food. They bake together, grab take-out, sit down for dinner, or make a snack. Each memory, painful and joyous, is punctuated by what was eaten, an egg salad sandwich, a burrito, mooncakes, scallion pancakes, biscuits, and each meal represents a tiny step toward healing and connection.
Washington’s dialogue is witty and acerbic, charming for its wry commitment to style and the story’s discrete, even esoteric, reality. Cam describes a moment when he sees Kai after his death: “And then he was gone again. Just like that. Like a little bitch.” The humor provides much needed levity for the circumstances, especially once we learn that Kai was killed suddenly and out of nowhere, shot by a police officer on a drive home from a bar while Cam was driving. Despite the initial charm, the near constant volleying of dialogue begins to resemble something more like a Netflix script — funny one-liners and pointed critiques with little interiority or sense of movement. Though we switch between Cam, Kai and TJ, there is little to differentiate the perspectives — other than a change of name and location. All share a similar, if not identical, taste for swearing, sarcasm and deflection. Perhaps that was intentional, to show the way that people can have markedly different experiences despite similar environments. Even so, the differences are much more interesting than the similarities.
The intimate and dynamic portrayal of family is the greatest triumph of the novel. Take the idea of the “family meal.” There is something initially patriarchal about the idea, with father at the head of the table demanding “family time,” yet Washington transforms it into something vibrant, full of choice and intention.
The very last meal of the novel is between Kai and TJ, the only time they ever met. It’s there, pages from the end, that TJ gives the best definition of what it means to be family: “So, here’s my advice. Just keep him close. That’s it. No one has loved me harder than Cam. No one has accepted me as quickly, or as unchangingly. And fucking no one has hurt me harder than that stupid faggot either.” It’s hard, silly, exceedingly vulnerable and totally, completely worth fighting for.
