cooking up some love
Today is cold, and grey, and dreary. Today is soggy. Today is a day when I would rather spend the whole day on the couch sipping tea than do anything else at all.
I'm not sick. I'm not overly tired, nor depressed. There isn't anything *wrong* with today. There just didn't seem to be anything particularly *right* about it either.
So I did the only thing I could think of to do, at that point. I pulled on my apron and started cooking.
I simmered ingredients for soup. I mixed up dough for bread and set it on the counter to rise. And then I combined butter and sugar with flour and eggs and other yummy things and popped them in the oven and ten minutes later Evie and I each had a cookie, hot from the oven.
And the house was warm, and full of good smells, and I felt better.
It's not the healthiest coping mechanism--turning to food for comfort. I know that. Everybody knows that. But it doesn't matter. There's something about the act of cooking that does something for me. You take these disparate ingredients, and you use your skill and knowledge and experience, and you get as a result something that is hot and delicious and nourishing. For me, it goes beyond just the biology of a pleasant experience on the tastebuds. Cooking is a little tiny act of creation, a mundane miracle that I get to have a hand in performing.
How did that commercial used to go? "Nothing says lovin' like something in the oven!" And for me, it's true. Cooking doesn't just feed my body; it feeds my soul. And for a day like today, it's just what I needed.
I'm not sick. I'm not overly tired, nor depressed. There isn't anything *wrong* with today. There just didn't seem to be anything particularly *right* about it either.
So I did the only thing I could think of to do, at that point. I pulled on my apron and started cooking.
I simmered ingredients for soup. I mixed up dough for bread and set it on the counter to rise. And then I combined butter and sugar with flour and eggs and other yummy things and popped them in the oven and ten minutes later Evie and I each had a cookie, hot from the oven.
Messy kitchen = happy heart.
And the house was warm, and full of good smells, and I felt better.
It's not the healthiest coping mechanism--turning to food for comfort. I know that. Everybody knows that. But it doesn't matter. There's something about the act of cooking that does something for me. You take these disparate ingredients, and you use your skill and knowledge and experience, and you get as a result something that is hot and delicious and nourishing. For me, it goes beyond just the biology of a pleasant experience on the tastebuds. Cooking is a little tiny act of creation, a mundane miracle that I get to have a hand in performing.
How did that commercial used to go? "Nothing says lovin' like something in the oven!" And for me, it's true. Cooking doesn't just feed my body; it feeds my soul. And for a day like today, it's just what I needed.
3 comments:
I swear I could have written that, except for the Evie part, mine would have been a boy. I am baking this afternoon and I probably will tomorrow too. It is my therapy. I have learned that although I bake it doesn't mean I have to eat all of it. That is the wonderful thing about the kids being in school. I send snack for there teachers on thursdays. Have a great rest of your day.
Weird--I had a really cranky day yesterday too...for no apparent reason. Today I feel better. Go figure.
I so totally get this, even though I don't completely understand it. From the outside, cooking can look like a ton of work. But it really is therapy for me. If I'm stressed out or feeling down, I cook. And I feel so much better. Maybe it's the art of creating or maybe it's the soothing rhythm of measuring and stirring and pouring. Maybe it's the smells or the textures or licking the spoon. I don't know. But I know it works, and my insurance covers it.
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