My wife and I used to cook a lot. We’d email each other during our workdays at our offices and figure out which ingredients to buy. We’d spend time cooking together when we got home and enjoy a nice meal. These days, we both work at home, and take care of our toddler. We tend not to go to an awful lot of effort on the food front. We eat a lot of Grubhub and I order in from Stocked By Three Owls, a good readymade meals company.
That said, it’s been a challenging summer on the personal front and we’re a tad discombobulated. My dad, who cares full-time for my mum, who has Alzheimer’s, cooks a lot with her. It’s something they can do together–he generally keeps things on track, and she helps. It gives structure to their days together and of course, the outcome is also delicious to eat. On Sunday I rang him up and he was making a chicken and leek pie with mum. It sounded rather delicious. This all coincided with a special offer from Fresh Direct to get fifty bucks off a grocery delivery. I went into our old folder of saved recipes and found one for chicken roasted in milk, by Jamie Oliver. I didn’t remember cooking it. That’s what three and a half years of parenting will do to the memory, I suppose. Unless I have early onset Alzheimer’s. Which could be a thing, but let’s move right along! Still, I could see where my wife had drawn little pictures of the different ingredients. At some point I bought an Olivetti typewriter but it didn’t survive our various moves. It was nice to see how I’d paraphrased the recipe and typed it up. There are a few more recipes in our folder and I’m excited to try them.
My dad’s tip for doing a roast chicken is to buy the best quality chicken you can. I found an organic one on Fresh Direct that had servants during its wonderful life, based on the price. We cooked it up on Sunday afternoon and watched a nature documentary with our child. The smell filled the house accompanied by the dulcet tones of David Attenbrough.
When it comes to eating a meal you’ve made, I’m always surprised at how quick it is. There’s more in the anticipation and the afterglow than the chomping itself. But it was a positive experience and we agreed to do more cooking over the coming weeks. As I’ve been typing this, I’ve had a daal on the stove. It’s a recipe by Melissa Clark of The New York Times. You cook lentils with grated sweet potatoes and turmeric. You serve it with a garnish of shallots fried in coconut oil with mustard seeds and ginger. That’s the funny thing about Ms. Clark, I’ve found. She’s all about spending $30 on garnish ingredients. Still, I’m up for investing in some culinary experiences as a way of steadying the spiritual ship.
There’s something about the patience you need to cook well, how the ingredients forbid you to rush. That’s the meditative and healing experience I’m seeking. Writing is similar. It tells you: Take your time. You can’t order it in. I read a lovely newsletter this morning about how streamed music “is an affront to God.” The author, whose hip-hop-influenced style I generally admire, made the point that when he was a child, it was hard to get music. Nowadays it’s all free on the Internet:
Your boy Young Spyplane is old enough to have spent untold hours as a kid posted up in my bedroom next to my radio, with a blank cassette in the deck and my fingers poised to smash the ‘Play’ and ‘Record’ buttons — waiting for a song I’d heard & loved to come on again in the hopes that I could POUNCE, tape it, and make it mine.
If something has value, it comes into the world at its own speed. I’m trying to slow down and appreciate difficulty in creative work. The world values ease and pace. But the world I want to live in values the product of the opposite more. Those are the values I hold onto during difficult times and the ones I have faith in. They’re what tell me it’s all going to be alright eventually. Or, you know. It isn’t. But they’re what’s worth holding onto, regardless.
Thanks for reading, as always. Please share this email with anybody you feel might appreciate it.
—Matt Davis is a communications consultant and writer for a wide variety of clients. He also teaches yoga and lives with his wife and son in New York.
