Sunday, March 4, 2012

Kitchen Therapy (Slice 4)

There is something completely therapeutic about working in the kitchen. I really don't understand people who don't love to cook, as it's something completely ingrained in me. I have a photo (see below) in my current kitchen of me as a child, helping my mother in our kitchen (at the aforementioned Pottersville house), and it makes me smile whenever I see it, that even then I loved this thing. I was thinking of this today, as I spent a couple hours making my dinner. It was a new recipe, and I don't think it'll be a repeat, but I was smiling to myself at how I was enjoying it.

It's a sensory thing, for one: the sizzle and hiss--smell, sound, feel--of onions hitting the hot cast iron, the way they turn a new color as they're stirred; the way my chef's knife organizes the disorder of spinach leaves into uniform strips of green; the way flour and butter thicken milk to a bubbling gravy. These are simple things, and I love them for it. I love that, given enough time in my kitchen, all other stress can pass from my head. I love trying new things, learning new things, and the feel of success and accomplishment when it turns out. (I don't really mind when it doesn't--so long as it's edible, which it generally is.)

I joke with people that I am a not-so-secret fifties housewife, minus the husband. I love nothing more than cooking for other people--one person or a crowd. A friend identified it as a love language, and I had to agree--it's a way I demonstrate love, compassion, hospitality. And don't get me wrong, there are days when I don't feel like cooking, but in general, it's something I look forward to, even--especially--after a crazy day.

This same friend and I were laughing the other day at the idea of either of us settling down with a man who only ate pizza and hamburgers. A marriage with such a man would never work--he would starve in my kitchen. I don't try to nail down particulars with God about the man He has for me, but one thing has to be certain: he's an adventurous (and enthusiastic) eater--or he'll learn to be with me.


(Incidentally, that's Mewie--also mentioned in yesterday's slice--in the bottom right. A cat is a necessary kitchen companion...)

2 comments:

  1. Chandra,
    I enjoyed your slice. I'm one of those people you talk about in your post. It's not that I don't enjoy cooking; it's just that cooking is more survival in this busy house. I look forward to the day when cooking can become therapy. I'm going to try to think about your words the next time I'm hurriedly fixing dinner before we rush off to the next event.

    When I'm busy slicing and dicing to get dinner started I'm going to think about your words, "It's a sensory thing, for one: the sizzle and hiss--smell, sound, feel--of onions hitting the hot cast iron, the way they turn a new color as they're stirred; the way my chef's knife organizes the disorder of spinach leaves into uniform strips of green; the way flour and butter thicken milk to a bubbling gravy. These are simple things, and I love them for it."

    Maybe this new lens will make a difference.

    What a fun picture of you and Mewie!
    Cathy

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  2. Thanks, Cathy!
    I try to take my own joy in the kitchen with a grain of salt--cooking for one is way less work than doing it for a family! But it's definitely one of my prime enjoyments! :)

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