Seeking solace through culinary endeavors:

[Gifted Gourmet]

Every once in a while in this life, we experience some sort of pain and sadness ... from any number of issues, which I need not elaborate upon here ...

My question to you is: how does the simple act of cooking, either for yourself or others, help to dissipate your sadness and grief?

Does it restore, revive your flagging spirits?

Renew your energy?

Focus your mind outward?

Does it revitalize and refresh your soul?

Does the mere act of creating something anew make your spirits soar?

Is there any one dish which you turn to to alleviate that feeling of despair?

[intraining]

it does nothing but put time between when the pain began, which is the process of healing.

that wasn;t very elaborate was it?

honestly, it can be a nightmare to try and do something worthwhile when in despair, especially cooking a nice meal when all you have is a bottomless pit called your stomach.

hey, i'm being honest.

but, then, gradually, after a while, you come around and start enjoying things again, esp. cooking.

[lovebenton0]

Cooking has always been a "place in my soul and mind" that I can turn to energize myself, to give me joy in creating, and share that with the people I love.

For me it is not any specific food, but more the ability to go to the food on hand anytime and let that place take over, focusing me outward into activity and the pleasures of handling foods, the process of concentrating my energy on that.

This is more important to me now than ever before as I am essentially housebound and cooking/baking not only fuels body and soul, but exercises my mind.

Of course, eG is also my mind gym, and exercise buddy.

[adegiulio]

When I look back to the most painful episodes in my life, I don't think there is anything in the world I could cook to make me feel better. Having said that, cooking will improve what is already a good mood...

[snowangel]

My son, Peter, was scheduled to be born on November 29. The day before, we received received a diagnosis on our daughter Heidi of cereberal palsy (turned out to be incorrect). Totally OT, but we received this news from her ped neuro while looking at a picture of Tom Hanks as Forest Gump, autographed by Tom Hanks.

I'm not sure if it was nesting, or the diagnosis, but I had to go to work and do something that would alleviate the pain. It was cooking or washing area rugs (turned out, I did both).

So, I made stock. I simmered and skimmed, I reduced, and froze said stock. I made a burnt sugar cake. I made a pan of lasagne which I froze. I made a wonderful dinner that night. For dinner, I improvised on Julia's potato leek soup. I made a loaf of bread. We ate that burnt sugar cake. I made the comfort foods of my youth. The ones my grandmothers taught me to make. All the while, knowing that they were smiling down on Heidi and that unborn child who was going to be known to us the next day.

When my best friend's mom died, I was asked to be at the private family time before the visitation. The minister asked people to share memories. In a room full of silence, I decided to break the ice, and mentioned her cinnamon rolls, for which she was famous. The ice was broken, and I was surprised at how many of the memories revolved around the nourishing comfort of food. After the visitation, Barb's kids and I went back to the farm, rolled up our sleeves and made her potato rolls, and toasted her with these rolls until almost dawn.

[LaurieB]

In the (thankfully) rare times where I've experienced pain and sadness, I don't want to cook or eat. At all.

In the (less rare) times when I've merely experienced tiredness and stress, I don't really want to cook at home. BUT, at these times, the Zen of working and cooking at my job, in a commercial kitchen, have made me feel immensely better. These times help me re-focus and re-gain my normal good humor.

When I'm really really happy, tho, look out. I'll cook up a storm.

[fifi]

Good topic...

I recently lost a close friend. She was a cooking buddy. We all decided that for the gathering after the services that we would all contribute her favorite dishes that she had always requested when we would get together at our homes or hers for a big do. It made for a lovely gathering with many fond memories of our friendships with her.

While I was making the dish that I brought, I somehow went past the tragedy of the situation and was transported to lovely memories of her. I was trying to remember how much cilantro she liked in the dish, how much she enjoyed it the first time she tasted it, all of those gatherings in her home where she would hesitantly ask me to bring it. It all seemed to help.

I wonder if that is part of the foundation of the tradition of bringing food to the gathering after a funeral?

[snowangel]

I wonder if that is part of the foundation of the tradition of bringing food to the gathering after a funeral?

←

Food = Love.

At least in the midwest.

[StudentChefEclipse]

I tend to eat more than cook when I have pain, or even just a little existential angst. It's not the best thing to do, but I suppose it is better than other things I *could* be doing.

Generally, I tend to cook more when I am in a great mood. The cooking and sharing of finished dishes really enhances that feeling. When I hurt, I would rather eat a Safeway and just have the rest of the world bark off.

[Timh]

I've always found the kitchen to be my refuge from everything else in life. Once in my jacket, everything else was left at the door(still is , but in a private setting now). The focus required is a type of escapism for me.

[maggiethecat]

July 7th, 1993, (day before my birthday) I got a long distance call from my father in Ottawa. "Your mother is in a coma. Get on a plane."

I remember getting the ticket, and I remember that my daughter packed for me. Only sixteen, but she was taking care of me. On the flight from Chicago, I was numb; I was picking the hymns. I was thinking of my father, who adored her. was thinking about my sisters, fraternal twins: one Downs Syndrome, one schizophrenic. I was crying in the windowseat, mourning the wit, the brains, the chic, the fun that is my mother.

Twenty-two days trying to shore up my father, who is ordinarily the strongest person I know. Twenty-two days driving to the hospital and holding my mother's hand, and screaming at her to get better. Twenty-two days of cooking for my little family, shell-shocked and trying the imagine the unimagineable: life without Marilyn McArthur.

I cooked. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. To me it tasted like ashes, but I had to do it because no one else could. I think it probably tasted like ashes to them too, but the routine helped. Weeping when I peeled onions was an easy cover for my tears. Knowing that I was keeping to my mother's high standards at mealtime gave me a hard push through my fatigue and grief: I had to feed people. And I did.

The good news: Mummy pulled out and got better. If you're ever in Ottawa you'll eat the best osso bucco, the most magnificent standing rib, the greatest truite almondine of your life. She shines on brightly, and at least half of our Sunday phone call is cooking discusion.

Sometimes just going through the motions and doing the best you can is therapuetic.

[marie-louise]

Cooking grounds me. When I'm too busy at work, when I'm sad, when I have free time-it doesn't seem to matter. It is always good for my soul.

The comments about loss made me think of this article about Laurie Colwin. http://www.thefoodmaven.com/diary/archives/00000212.html I worked with the Janice Bracken in this story, and FYI-this is a good cake recipe.

[Jaymes]

About two years ago, I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. I damn near died. Recovering from surgery, I had IV's dripping morphine and medication. And pints of blood, giving whole new meaning to depending upon the kindness of strangers. I had tubes up my nose and down my throat. And I could eat nothing. My breakfast, lunch and dinner arrived straight into my veins without passing go, without pausing to tempt eyes, nose, palate.

Days passed like this, then weeks.

So what food did I dream of? What was it that I would indulge in as soon as I was able?

Cake batter. That's right. It was cake batter. Cake batter that when I closed my eyes I could see pouring, always pouring, in a luscious, golden stream from the stainless steel mixing bowl into the baking pan. Cake batter that I could smell. Cake batter that I could taste. Cake batter that I licked from spatula, beaters, bowl. Cake batter that in my dreams I ate until I made myself sick.

I puzzled about this for some time. Why wasn't I envisioning a steak, or BBQ, or my beloved Mexican food?

Finally I realized that it wasn't just the cake batter itself for which I longed, but all that it represented. Me, in my own kitchen, mixing up something good, pouring it, anticipating the taste, cooking for my family, my friends, surrounded with warmth and love, giving and receiving and sharing. I'm in my kitchen and God's in His heaven and all's right with the world.

Edited November 4, 2004 by Jaymes (log)

[adegiulio]

I hope nobody takes offense at this, but I just can't take this thread anymore. Between recalling my own pain from my first post and reading of others' tragedies, this whole thread is bringing me down way too much...much more than I think was the intention...

I miss my poor Vinnie

[Jaymes]

I hope nobody takes offense at this, but I just can't take this thread anymore. Between recalling my own pain from my first post and reading of others' tragedies, this whole thread is bringing me down way too much...much more than I think was the intention...

Yes, and that's really the lesson here, isn't it?

When a person is feeling sorry for themselves and miserable over some silly something, something not all that important in the larger scheme of things, perhaps they should remind themselves that some folks are dealing with true tragedies, like yours, adeqiulio, and like others in this thread.

Kinda puts the "other things" that some folks can get all wrapped around the axel over into perspective, doesn't it?

[snowangel]

If I thought about it long and hard enough, I might feel the same way.

But, with a severe diagnosis on one child (the real and true diagnosis proved to be far more severe), I returned home 16 hours after giving birth.

Friends and family abounded. We pulled out that pan of lasagne, someone brought a salad, another bread, another wine, another dessert.

It was balm for the soul. We rejoiced in the simple pleasures of food, looking at a new baby, and looking at Heidi, recognizing that she was perhaps the most perfect of us all. It was the excuse of food that brought us all together.

It was over food that we rejoiced about the gifts of my grandmothers.

Food.

[Gifted Gourmet]

You got it right about cooking being a balm, snowangel ... that is what I was hoping to hear ...

never wanted anyone to feel "down" in any way and whatever you chose to share here was, of course, solely at your own discretion ..

my primary focus was to find out whether cooking has properties apart from merely celebratory events .. does cooking's power to heal and divert one's attention, make it something to utilize in "repairing psychic damage"?

[snowangel]

You got it right about cooking being a balm, snowangel ... that is what I was hoping to hear ...

never wanted anyone to feel "down" in any way and whatever you chose to share here was, of course, solely at your own discretion ..

my primary focus was to find out whether cooking has properties apart from merely celebratory events .. does cooking's power to heal and divert one's attention, make it something to utilize in "repairing psychic damage"?

←

For me, in those times of pain (I can still taste the tears), it was a way to stay busy, and a way to nourish. To revel in the sensuous aspects of the food items, to divert attention. And, then, to serve that food, and cry, laugh, ponder the future without the people who are in my life now, reveling in the memories of those who are no longer with us, or whatever part of that person who won't be what you expected. A way to toast these people is a tangible way that brings people together. So many of the memories of my grandmothers revolved around the kitchen. Not just the food, but the lessons in life -- be it how to behave, how to put up fruit and veg, just what kind of lunch to make to take to the men who were combining, just how purple a tongue can be when one eats grape pie. The important stuff.

To add some levity, on that day we got the news about Heidi, I needed to keep busy. It was either that or mop every damned floor in the house. Cooking was much more fun, and far more rewarding. With every bit of bad news, I resorted to the kitchen, and not the kitchen floor, either.

[fou de Bassan]

When I'm sad or upset I make coq au vin. I have a friend who makes pans and pans of biscotti in times of crisis. I think what draws us to these foods is the slownes and attention they demand. When I focus my energy outward I become more centered and thoughtful. On the other hand, when I'm really happy or pleased I'll make quick, bright food.

[Gul_Dekar]

I'm a college student, and sometimes when the exams I sit for don't go too well... I go home and cook something nice. No particular dish, as long as I get to stay in the kitchen for a while. I guess it's 'pain' in a sense. Then again, I go home and cook when an exam goes well too...

*edited to delete smiley cuz it seems a bit insensitive for this thread*

Edited November 4, 2004 by Gul_Dekar (log)

[Marlene]

Cooking grounds me. When I'm too busy at work, when I'm sad, when I have free time-it doesn't seem to matter. It is always good for my soul.

←

I really think this statement sums up how I feel about cooking and how it gets me through just about everything. Cooking is very therapudic, - for example there is nothing more satisfying than to pound on some veal when I'm upset,- but it is also one of the deepest and most honest expressions of who I am.

And often, when we cook, we are saying things that we might not otherwise be able to put into words:

A dish made to cheer someone up says " I am here for you"

A dish made to celebrate an occassion says "share this important occassion with me"

A dish made to comfort oneself says "I did this. I can be successful."

A dish made for your family says "I will always take care of you"

A dish made for someone special says "I love you. Be with me."

[Carrot Top]

Cooking definitely helps alleviate the dreadful despair that I would feel at needing to eat at McDonalds if I did not know how to cook.

[FL Heat]

I've never been very good at dealing with strong emotions. When terrible things happen to family or friends, other than holding their hand and listening and letting them cry, I don't feel like I can do anything other than nourish them. So when my brother was sent to Iraq, I made a lot of his favorite cookies and sent them. And I sent some to my mother as well, since she was upset by it more than anyone else, I think. When recent tragic news came in my life, my boyfriend brought home everything I needed to make cookies and asked me to make them. Not because he's insensitive, but he knew that if I needed something within myself to cling to, and that's what the process of cooking & baking gave me.

Marlene said it very well:

A dish made to cheer someone up says " I am here for you"

A dish made to celebrate an occassion says "share this important occassion with me"

A dish made to comfort oneself says "I did this. I can be successful."

A dish made for your family says "I will always take care of you"

A dish made for someone special says "I love you. Be with me."

Diana

[Marlene]

I think this is what makes us more than just "foodies" . While we appreciate good food both at home and in dining out, we also appreciate and embrace all the nuances of food and the subtleties of how it makes us whole as people.

[Jaymes]

Well, there's a reason why 'comfort food' is called that. And why 'welcoming others to your table' has many connotations. As does 'nourishment.'

Rosanne Barr used to tell a funny story about 'fat mom' vs 'skinny mom.'

"Say you've had a bad day at school," she'd ask. "You forgot your homework, flunked your exam, got dumped by your boyfriend, he's now with your best girlfriend, you tripped in the cafeteria and all the kids laughed at you. Which mom would you rather have, the one that says, 'Oh my, that's terrible. Let's have some brownies and cookies and ice cream and a cup of hot cocoa.'; or one that says, 'Oh my, that's terrible. Let's have some celery stalks and jog around the block.'?"

Edited November 4, 2004 by Jaymes (log)