I made yummy breakfast yesterday for a date and one of my favorite neighbors, and I thought about how many times I had poured time and love into the final results of this breakfast. I originally took peaches and canned them into peach sauce and peach syrup. Friday night I took peach sauce and syrup and made peach bread. Saturday I took the peach bread and made it into baked french toast casserole, topped with the peach syrup or homemade cinnamon syrup. It was definitely processed food at that point, with none of the nutrients from fresh peaches, but I feel so much better about it than store-bought baked items. I know exactly what went into each recipe. No corn syrup. No ingredients I can't even identify.
More than that, I could feel pride in it, knowing I'd invested of myself and made tasty things because I care. Making food for others is definitely one of my love languages, even though it's not an official love language. We'll call it a combination of acts of service and gifts.