It’s the onset of long evenings in the garden, picking lettuce for salad, sitting outside after dinner with a glass of wine, the pleasure of dusk that lasts for hours. There is something about this time that, even more than the beginning of Spring, inspires me to think about cooking. Not just cook, ‘prepare meals’. I know you know the difference between the two! Preparing a meal takes longer, it’s true. If you’re doing it ‘right’ that time feels fantastic. It’s meditative, a whole body experience. You are in flow. The dreamy, social media version of this involves jazz music in the background, a glass of wine, a cheeky apron and an almost painterly approach to creation. To be honest, that has been what you would see of me in the kitchen in the past. My red apron makes me smile and sav blanc is still my favourite chef’s assistant. The last few years, however, with teenage food refusals and lockdown exhaustion and pandemic response efforts, have actually seen me shun the kitchen altogether. We’ve eaten more takeaway in two years than in all the years before them, drunk more wine and soft drink, and eaten barely anything coloured green. I cringe to see it in black and white and sit straighter in an effort to hide the roll around my stomach that has been the result.
Coming home to the kitchen is long overdue, much longed for, and so much harder than I expected. It feels like a chore. Like the teenagers I stand in the centre of the pantry with my hands on my hips and think ‘there’s nothing to eat’. It’s patently untrue, the pantry is full. All the ingredients are on standby for baking, every possible grain known to man is represented here, there are cans of beans and coconut cream and ready to cook curry paste. Two big bags of rice. Pasta and cereal and dozens of eggs. Sauces of all varieties are on the shelf alongside a full stand of dried herbs and spices. Seriously, we could feed an army if they dropped in unexpectedly. We could… if I could be bothered.
It’s the creative cooking muse. She’s missing in action. It’s been so long she has no idea that I’m back. Without her I can still make a peanut butter sandwich, a cheese toasty and heat up a frozen pie. We won’t starve. Without her I can still look after the orchard and plant herbs and vegetables in the garden. But, without her, all of that will go to waste and be fed to the chooks as garden scraps while we wait for the fish and chips to be picked up.
I sat on the stool beside the fridge and stared at the shelves. How do I convince her it’s worth her while to return? She turns up when we are out and about camping. She’s on my shoulder as I write the shopping list and by my side as I create outdoor feasts on the stove to serve on plastic plates. These days she recognises me by my pink beanie and the scent of campfire smoke! It wouldn’t be the worst outcome to have to cook outside all the time, would it? The heavy rain and flooding outside the Eyrie window suggest that I am going to need to work on the alternative option – traditional indoor kitchen food prep. Sigh.
I was introduced to the concept of bibliotherapy in The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George and knew it immediately to be a truth long known. This beautiful story tells the tale of a bookseller who has an instinctive knack for prescribing just the right story a reader needs, be it something to lift the spirits or a tale to heal a broken heart.
The act of reading as my self-prescribed remedy is delicious. Bibliotherapy to tempt the creative cooking muse is definitely a good place for me to start.
My starting point on the road back to the kitchen is to read through the novels that first stimulated my love of cooking. Under the Tuscan Sun and Dolce e Salata inspired an increase in simple pasta dinners, fish and green salads. Blackberry Wine is next in an effort to reintroduce fruit to our diets. I’ve planted Fir Apple potatoes in the garden. I’ve been curious about such potatoes since the first reading of this book in which Joe planted jackapples and so many other varieties of the humble spud. Who knew? Friendship Bread will be last in an effort to send me back to the oven baking sweet treats. This is not about completely clean living – balance is important!
From novels I move onto the recipe books. Just a small step forward. Each naturally falls open at favourite, much cooked recipes. Ah, the potato curry from the Thai book bought in Bangkok in 1993. The soffrito from Frances Mayes. And sesame pork from Donna Hays! Yes, this is helping. Small steps.
Bibliotherapy is now an offering of The School of Life, it has nearly made it into mainstream clinical practice!!! In fact, bibliotherapy is a term coined in the early years of the 1900s but it was describing a practice that dates back to 300 BC when ancient civilizations placed inscriptions over library entrances that stated that within the building was healing for the soul. Isn’t that beautiful?
I’m thinking how much I love my garden and I am remembering that it used to bring me such pleasure to wander around, collect bits and pieces, and cook according to what was in season. I am thinking that I want that back.
The months of daylight saving are motivation enough in themselves. There’s no rush to eat. Dinner doesn’t feel late if it’s still light outside and even when we eat at 8pm the time for our meal is exactly right. The summer garden is inspiring and generous as well. And so here I am, standing in the kitchen with my red apron on and a pair of scissors in my hand. The garden has lettuce to offer. And spinach. There’s basil and copious amounts of oregano, parsley and sage. I can feel the curious but fleeting presence of the creative cooking muse as she pops in to see if the rumours are true and I really am back in the kitchen. She’s tempted to stay, I can tell. It’s going to take a while to prove to her that I am serious about this but I’ve made her a promise I’m determined to keep. I won’t ask much of her, I’m here to do the work. If she’s bored and got a spare moment to waste, though, I’ll be in the kitchen ready to create whatever she’s in the mood to try.
Except for offal. No need for that.
Good luck. You always were creative in the kitchen. J
Thanks! Come on round, there will be plenty of test meals to try out🍽
I feel happiness in every word of this weeks instalment ❤️. Sounds like this season of your life is treating you well, so deserved xx
I’m so glad it resonated for you! Seasons are very much on my mind at the moment (clearly) and it fascinates me to see what comes with each new one.
Are we even related? I’ve never heard cooking described like that – I obviously am only a carrier of that gene mutation 😂
Tried to add in a laughing GIF but it exceeded my tech skills. We have much to talk about! In fact… there’s a blog I’ve just drafted about the difference between the two of us coming up in a few weeks…😉
I have the cooking dreads…. I’m hoping that my newly planted vege’s bring some inspiration or perhaps I may mull over your blog & inspiration may transfer via osmosis! who knows?! Thankyou for providing food for thought – literally!
There is something about the investment of emotion in a vege garden that makes turning that produce into a meal and finding that it tastes almost magically good that tempts the creative cooking muse back to your table!