Food is sanctuary; the light at the end of the tunnel. It is the small victory at the end of each day; the universal language of love and kindness. It is nurturing and comforting. In one of my favourite Hot Ones episodes, chef Alton Brown (of Iron Chef America and Good Eats fame) credits the mourning period after 9/11 for the rise in food television’s popularity. It’s the perfect distraction from the onslaught of fear mongering that makes up the 24-hour news cycle. It's the perfect distraction from your own lack of progress; say from the novel you’ve been “working on” for ten years or so. So what, you didn’t make any progress on editing your video; you made pizza dough with your own two hands that wasn’t terrible. You are now your own self sustaining pizza restaurant. A perfect roast chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes is the perfect consolation prize for every failure to organize your shit so you can finally put together that blog you’ve told people about. Progress is progress, right?
Food is tied to celebration just as much as it is to convalescence. Grieving families are often inundated with food; I know mine was. I remember a huge tray of cheesy chicken cutlets swimming in marinara sauce that sat in the fridge while everyone came to offer condolences in the days after my father’s sudden death. I lived off of that chicken parmigiana while my mother dealt with organizing his funeral. The sight and smell of it stays with me to this day; an oddly vivid memory from a time spent in the mists of grief.
Giving the gift of homemade food can feel like a simple gesture to the one who makes it, but receiving that gift can feel like salvation . People don’t always need or want words of comfort; they probably want homemade baba ghanouj - maybe they just don't know it yet. Much of our cultural memory either resides in language or cuisine - food reaches beyond language. Most people can smell something delicious before they know how to pronounce the unfamiliar ingredients. Food is medicine; it literally heals you in all aspects of mind, body and soul.
Cooking is a ritual both ancient and universal. I’m lucky enough to be comfortable in the kitchen that it seems like a refuge after a long or unsatisfying day. Put the music on; pour a drink and get chopping. My favourite kitchens in all the various apartments I've had are the ones where the counter was a stage from which I could host any event, big or small. I would chip away at preparing a meal while everyone either helps or simply talks shit with a drink in their hand. People tend to gravitate towards the kitchen at any gathering, whether or not there is food being prepared. They’re a hub that provides an alternative to the socialization maelstroms of the living and dining rooms. They can even make a damn fine concert venue.
But now my kitchen is empty due to this collective trauma we all get to share in. Keeping sane during the COVID-19 pandemic means keeping busy in the kitchen. Cooking is my link to memories of a room full of friends and family sharing in the ancient ritual of dinner. The smell of sautéed onions and garlic or some curry bubbling away on the stovetop is a calming presence and reminder of the light ahead as we navigate this long tunnel alone, together.
As the days in isolation begin to blend together into an anxious cacophony of monotony, it is important to have a point in each day/week to focus on. For me, it will always be dinner.