Help with a lack of inspiration in the kitchen

[Anna Friedman Herlihy]

Maggie,

My sincerest condolences. As many have said, give it time. My dad died a little over two years ago, and it took me well over a year to get "back to normal" as much as that is possible. For several months both I and my brother did much of nothing. Mild depression is a normal part of grieving as far as I'm concerned.

My family was fairly food-oriented too, and one thing I did for a one-year later remembrance gathering, was to cook some of my dad's favorite foods (lemon meringue pie, crab cakes). Maybe in the back of your head start thinking about planning something like this? Although maybe that would create anxiety. We've also started a tradition of going out to dinner on what would have been his birthday at restaurants he liked, ordering what he would have ordered, and splurging on nice bottles of his favorite wines. I think of my dad in a happy way every time I use the kitchen items from my childhood that he still owned and now live in my kitchen (in particular, a couple knives and a giant mixing bowl). Maybe you could adopt some of her kitchen ware? If these things were in the kitchen, someday you would be drawn to hold them, and that might inspire you to use them. A few tears in the food won't hurt it.

Food/cooking can help heal, but this is still so soon after she passed away, I would not worry about a lack of desire to cook. Give it a year, at least.

[Sony]

Hi Maggie,

I certainly don't mean to project my own experiences on you, but when I lost my father, who bought me my first cookbook, introduced me to Julia, Martin Yan, and the rest of the PBS gang and helped instill me with a love for food and cooking...well, after he was gone, I thought that I'd never want to be in the kitchen again.

Our circumstances were different- he died suddenly, whereas you had an extended stressful time with your mother's death. But what you're saying resonates with me- my ever-present desire to cook was gone. Nothing felt like it would be normal again.....

But those pockets of normalcy (in the kitchen and outside the kitchen) do find their way in. Even if there's a reset of what is "normal". Maybe you'll never go back to cooking as diversely as you did before. Or as often as before. Or as ambitiously as before. But if cooking is a strong part of your identity, I betcha it'll make its way back in its own way. Music (another area where my father profoundly influenced me) never fully returned as strongly as part of my identity, but it made its way back into my life when I didn't force it.

Here's a thought- maybe you'll find comfort in meditatively snapping the ends off fresh beans. Or shelling peas. Or shucking corn. Or pitting cherries. Maybe you'll lose yourself in thinking while you go through the motions....maybe you'll simply focus on the task at hand.

That's not to say that you'll want to DO anything with the produce once they're prepped, but it's a step in the cooking process....and maybe one day you'll find that you want to do something with them, instead of passing them to a supportive husband.

My best wishes go out to you and your family.

[Alex]

As others have mentioned, your loss of the joy of cooking sounds like part and parcel of the grieving process. Also, too much of a good thing, under the wrong circumstances, can temporarily turn bad. (It's not the same as your experience, of course, but one reason I didn't major in music was my fear of losing the joy if I had to practice for hours a day.)

From a psychologist's perspective, it also sounds like cooking, through its association with all the events and circumstances of the past few months, has become a conditioned stimulus producing an aversive, emotional conditioned response. (Dread? Sadness? Anger?) The way past this dark place, then, is to recognize those feelings and to jump back in anyway, slowly, starting from where you're at. Scrambled eggs and tuna salad sandwiches are great. Then, maybe scrambled eggs with lox and onions, or a tuna melt with sweet onion and perfect tomato. Then, well...

[maggiethecat]

You posting this here make me wonder if you want to cook more than you currenty think you do. If you didn't then why would you bother bringing it up?

I hope I don't come off as callous but I imagine you've got the want in you already.

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Good question. But really, the want comes from missing one of the steadiest sources of pleasure in my life. I want the boring old "What'll we have for dinner? Let's try that Bittman thing form last week's Times. Or that enchilada recipe. Or something from Dorie Greenspan's book!" daily routine. "

I want to have that back. I want to want to cook

From a psychologist's perspective, it also sounds like cooking, through its association with all the events and circumstances of the past few months, has become a conditioned stimulus producing an aversive, emotional conditioned response. (Dread? Sadness? Anger?) The way past this dark place, then, is to recognize those feelings and to jump back in anyway, slowly, starting from where you're at.

Yes, dear Alex, I'm sure you're right. I've been lucky in my life -- I haven't experienced much loss, so the bleak lunar landscape of the bereaved is terra incognita for me. Maybe I'll dip my toe into some homemade mac and cheese in a few days.

I'm deeply touched by what you've all shared here, and I'll reread your advice because I know it's golden. Losing the cooking part of my life feels in a way like losing another loved one.

[Lady T]

H'm. First things first.

{[(Maggie)]} Thinking of you kindly, Lady. And the Handsome One too.

I went back and forth -- heh, while fixing dinner! -- about whether I should put my thoughts out in front of folks on this thread or just PM you quietly. Most everyone else has said their say publicly, though, and most of them have spoken to the stuff that worked for me, back in the (now) Long Ago when my parents died.

I can't answer for anyone else, but a lot of my Major Thinking gets done while I'm browning something. Or baking something. Or mixing something. Or freezing something. Or even pouring a glass of something (you know me, after all, Maggie!). I've seen you do some of that, too -- tell me, then, where did that inner engagement go, when you felt under the gun to produce three formal squares per day, without fail?

Time. And peace. It sounds as if you need a whole lot of it, just now, ma'am. And a gradual rewriting of your own definition of the word "normal" ... which, I would bet, has been blown completely to Hell and gone. We are creatures of habit, Mags, and it will take time to re-establish the routines that normally gave you comfort and fulfillment before your mother's last illness.

Allow me to suggest that, once the season begins to turn cool and brisk, that maybe at some point you'll feel hungry for a little something. Nothing extravagant: maybe just an easy little daube that you can eat a deux in front of the fire with a nice Shiraz, or a leisurely weekend brunch on nobody's schedule but your own.

Maybe the most important thing I can say just now is that our thoughts are with you, and that it *will* -- whatever "it" is at this time -- be okay, eventually.

We love you even if you can't stand the thought of picking up a knife right now.

Be well --

SLT

Edited August 16, 2007 by Lady T (log)

[maggiethecat]

:tell me, then, where did that inner engagement go, when you felt under the gun to produce three formal squares per day, without fail?

Dearest Sue, it went when I got home with the groceries to find Mummy dead in the living room. We called the doctor, got tubes unplugged, called the undertakers ... maybe an hour.

I poured a martini for Daddy and me and said: "We're ordering pizza." That was it. I laid down my knife.

I agree that daube weather might help. Perhaps entertaining will help.

[Dante]

, it went when I got home with the groceries to find Mummy dead in the living room. We called the doctor, got tubes unplugged, called the undertakers ... maybe an hour.

you need time to move through the grieving process (you're in a major metropolitan area, yes? Doubtless you've probably got grief-counciling groups out there {of you feel the need for such}- the best ones tend to be run by Hospice programmes).

But you're going to be out of sorts, and for all intents and purposes you're going to be running like someone else is in the driver's seat- that's just the way it tends to go. You need time to move through it and process when necessary. If cooking is truly a part of you, you can't lose it- more than likely its just on hold for a while because that's not where you need to be right now.

Sincerely,

Dante

[maggiethecat]

Dante, I know you're right. but we WASPs show the stiff upper lip and are bemused when we can't carry on.

BTW, I did make mac and cheese last night, although I didn't literally dip in a toe. My husband was away, helping his sister, whose husband is dying of cancer too. (Yes, not in single spies, but in battalions.) My husband hates "white food" so I grabbed the opportunity. It was good, just to stir up a bechamel.

[SuzySushi]

we WASPs show the stiff upper lip and are bemused when we can't carry on.

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See, the stiff upper lip gets you through the crisis when others would fall apart (not everyone could've cooked three meals a day for a crowd). But you are allowed to relax your grip, even fall apart a bit, afterward. {{{{{Maggie}}}}}

[Pierogi]

...but we WASPs show the stiff upper lip...

Ahhhhhhhh, but that's the PUBLIC WASP-face, isn't it? It's perfectly OK to sit on the floor of the kitchen, sobbing, while the dishwasher is running and no one can hear. Trust me.....

Time, dear Maggie, time is the best salve of all. Eventually, when it is your time, and only your time, no one else's schedule fits, you will loose the deep, searing, open hurt and even the memories of your cooking frenzy for your family will give you pleasure and comfort. You will know, in your heart, it was a good thing in the truest sense of the phrase.

That it felt good "just to stir up a bechamel" is a positive thing. Take baby steps, listen to your heart, and it will all be OK. With time......

[SundaySous]

I use that Average Betty "Mac Daddy" video more for anger management. The woman is just out there enough to change my mood that quickly. For inspiration, dealing with the blues even anger management I often rely on Alton Brown.

Don't tell the feds but I know someone (me) that has illegally downloaded about 100 episodes of good eats. If you ask my shrink he will tell you they have helped a lot.

Your next assignment , should you choose to accept it involves partial dismemberment of a chicken with the added benefit of separating the skin, not removing it. (he recommends shears but if you know anything about anger management use a knife, a big knife) How cool is that.

"And in the meantime, listen to your appetite and play with your food."

Alton Brown, Good Eats

[suzilightning]

As Anna N said, the fact that your mom died when you were out grocery shopping is a heavy emotional hurdle to cross. My father died while I was flying 5,000 miles to see him. My husband's mother died during the few minutes he left her side to use the bathroom. It seems so unfair that we weren't around to prevent Death from taking them! But, if you look at it another way, maybe they were waiting for us to leave to release them.

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maggie, i'm so sorry about your mom.

what Suzy says is so true. my mom died as my sister and i were exchanging visiting duties. sometimes i think WE, our spirits, hold them here and they wait until we aren't around to make good their escape from the last of their pain.

give yourself permission to not cook. it will come back to you at some point but in the meantime how about a pb&j with that martini?

[Lady T]

Bump.

Just checking in and making sure you know we're thinking about you, Mags.

A little toasted cheese sandwich with that martini, ma'am? Emmenthaler and Parmesan, maybe, with a coupla herbs chopped in? With a l'il slice of ham underneath?

[jgm]

Maggie, my gut tells me that you should let this be for awhile. During that while, buy very good cheese and very good bread, etc., to keep your soul satisfied. And a few brief forays into food of the Bennigan's ilk, as suggested above, will eventually help, too. It's all subliminal.

Part of it is grief. I adore caramels, and always shared them with a gorgeous black cat named Zues; each had to be halved, and one of the halves, halved again, so that he ate 1/4 to my 3/4. It was a great ritual with us. Then Zeus died, and it was two years before I could eat caramels again. The desire was gone... but it eventually returned. But the next time I allow another cat to acquire me, I'll probably take caramels in my pocket to the Humane Society, and take home the one whose paw shoots out of the cage at me, upon smelling them. Sharing caramels with a cat is such a lovely thing to do!

I go in spurts with my various creative endeavors. I do scrapbooking; I have no children, but my parents are crazy about their great-grandchildren, and think and talk of nothing else, so I do scrapbooks of the little ones to give to Mom and Dad for gifts. I find myself getting on a regular 'bender' about it, and during such times, I can't think of anything but scrapbooking. A single page can take hours, thanks to my extremely anal nature about such things. After the last bout, I wondered if my passion for cooking would ever return, but it eventually did. I just didn't push it. But one day, a recipe caught my eye, and ignited that place in my psyche where passion for cooking lives.

Slowly, the fire rekindled, and thanks to a particularly cold winter last year, I was in the mood to create things in the kitchen that would warm my stomach as well as my soul. And breathed a sigh of relief.

Jenny

[maggiethecat]

I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for your stories and suggestions. Really. In fact, when I checked in a couple of minutes ago and read your suggestions, I wept. So many good people, and smart people. Thank you.

I haven't cooked a thing since the mac and cheese, except for my Sunday morning bacon and eggs.

But, oh the wonder of life! My sister Megan, who has literally cooked nothing in her 47 years, has stepped up. Meg (schizophrenic) has spent her life dealing, very vocally, with her demons and doing little else. No job, no relationships outside the family. She and her twin Julia (Downs syndrome) still live with my father.

We bought a copy of "Great Food Fast" that compilation from Everyday Food Magazine before we left Ottawa because we thought it was simple , straightforward and every recipe had a pic. We bought it for my father. Megan grabbed that book and has cooked from it every single night. She hands Daddy a shopping list and she cooks. Real food. Pad Thai. Pork medallions with cabbage and apples. A different meal every night.

This is a very troubled woman who spent all day.every day for fifteen years in her room blasting The Pogues, smoking and cursing at the top of her lungs. She took over the cooking and she's making meals we'd be proud to serve. Maybe that's the real story here -- some kind of karmic shift. What I've lost, Megan's gained.

[Smithy]

Oh, Maggie. I'm so sorry. I had no idea just how bad your "personal crap patch" has been.

Maybe you have hit on the hidden benefit of the story. I'm betting that it won't be a permanent loss for you, but it may be a permanent gain for Megan. We don't get many of those in this world. Perhaps your mother is helping from afar, now that she's free of her pain.

You've shown amazing strength and discipline, with keeping it together enough to do all that cooking and caretaking. You deserve rest and down time, and it may be that you *have* to do the downtime so Megan can find herself. Meanwhile, take a break. Allow yourself to rest. The enthusiasm will come back, but it takes a while.

We had plenty of time to prepare when Dad was dying of cancer, and it was still hard when he actually left. Healing took a long time, and the tears still crop up at unexpected times. A couple of weekends ago I finally broke out the omelet pan that had been his father's favorite piece of camping cook gear, and for the first time I cooked potatoes and sausage in it. As I cooked, I thought about Papa, and Dad, and how that pan had been a fixture in my grandmother's kitchen. When Dad and Mom were downsizing and I claimed the pan, Dad told me of the camping trips he and Papa had made, and how it was a favorite camp pan, and how sooty it would be after days in the back country - and how angry Papa was when Nana reclaimed it for the kitchen and scrubbed off the soot. I cooked, and smiled, and was thankful for my family. I think the same time will come for you, in its own time and way.

In the meantime, please accept my heartfelt condolences. You have the fire. It will come back. Just bank the coals for a while, and let Megan find her skill.

[MomOfLittleFoodies]

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Give yourself time to grieve... as much time as you need, no matter what anyone says.

[Carrot Top]

Give yourself time to grieve... as much time as you need, no matter what anyone says.

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I completely agree with this. But at the same time I have a feeling that your desire will emerge in a shorter rather than a longer time for some reason. And I also think that your sister will continue to cook even when or if you return to it. Because it was not only your muse she somehow had bestowed upon her but also your mother's. An unexpected gift in a surprising package.

I'd be willing to bet that the idea of cooking surrounds you, in the rooms of your mind. Like a wraith, it's there and then it's gone, whoosh!

Here's a Trick to Capture the Wraith:

Decide that you want a salad. A small salad of dark leafy delicate greens. Salads are always good on any occassion and really, they are not cooking. Besides, all you want is a little salad. Not a big one, not a complex one, not one to serve anyone else but you.

When you get to the grocery store choose your greens for delicacy. Do not buy any salad greens that need to be washed. The best thing to do is to find some pre-washed mesclun mix that you can pick and choose from, but if there is none then bagged greens will do. Contrary to concerned whispers in some quarters, there is no ghetto in heaven where those who use bagged salad mixes are relegated to live. They mix right in with all the other good folk.

After your greens are in your cart, find the garlic. This is important. The garlic must be fresh. It cannot be in a jar, it can not be old, it can not be sprouting. Somehow when you look at it you will just know that this is fresh garlic, sweet, soft, juicy. One head of beautiful garlic is what you need.

Besides that, at home you'll need some good olive oil and vinegar, some salt and pepper to grind onto the salad.

The usual boring things have to be done when you get home. Greens in a bowl, dressing stuff ready to dress it. Now comes the important part. Take the head of garlic and separate it till you get to the center where the tiny cloves are, the little moon slivers of creamy silver, the tiny dense bits of garlic heart. Choose the best one. It will tell you somehow that it is best - be sure to listen for this. Remove the papery skin with a small sharp knife then with a big shiny weapon of a knife, crush the clove into a soft mass on the chopping board. Do not cut it but mash it, till it is almost nothing, but it is a bit of tininess that you can scrape up with the edge of your big shiny weapon of a knife to toss into your waiting bowl of salad. Again, this is not cooking. You are merely making a quick salad for yourself, and salad is always a good thing.

Finish up with dresssing the salad. Nothing but oil, vinegar, salt, pepper. Toss and eat.

Do not clean up the cutting board or knife till later, when you feel like it.

This trick captures the wraith. Try it, you'll see.

[LittleChef22]

I get like this sometimes too. A good break is all you need and then you'll miss it and want to start again!

[bergerka]

Oh Maggie, the story about your sister made me cry.

I agree that you need time. The death of someone you loved so much, whether sudden or prolonged, is a terribly traumatic experience and anything that reminds you in any way of it is gonna hurt for a while. Maybe a long while.

It has nothing to do with cooking, or not much, but in NYC I was the one in charge of washing the dishes. It often took a long time - we had no dishwasher and frequently had large dinner parties during most of the pots and pans in the kitchen managed to magically dirty themselves. Doing dishes after people had left and the house was quiet was a nice bit of down time for me to let my brain run in neutral and maybe think through stuff a little.

Then my nephew was killed in a car accident.

For a long, long time afterward, I couldn't do dishes - or even spend time in the kitchen - by myself without breaking down into uncontrollable, hysterical crying fits that are painful to talk about even today.

Don't pressure yourself.

You will want to cook when you want to cook.

And I am so very sorry to hear about your loss.

Besos,

K

[Dante]

You will want to cook when you want to cook.

that's pretty much it. Something that's that much of a part of you isn't something you can "lose", it's just that some times your psyche has to prioritize and redirect the energy that goes in to one thing in to another for a while. You obviously just need to pour a lot in to the grieving process, but you'll feel it returning (small comfort now, I know).

Sincerely,

Dante

[SundaySous]

I think your Post traumatic Stress has more to do with waiting on a bunch of people nonstop for almost 4 months than your loss.

I'll bet your sister and her demons end up getting you back in game. You and your cook book just might have brought her understanding and happiness countless "professionals" never thought possible.

It's only a matter of time before she asks for your advice.

[maggiethecat]

I'll bet your sister and her demons end up getting you back in game.  You and your cook book just might have brought he is some kind of miracle.r understanding and happiness countless "professionals" never thought possible.

.

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I just got off the phone with my father. My sister made Lobster Newburg tonight! This really is some kind of miracle.

(She seems to be doing just fine without me. But who knows, down the line I might get a question.)

I made a meatloaf sandwich today, but that hardly counts, as I didn't make the meatloaf.

[Kouign Aman]

Just a thought - dont discount what you do do.

Or you could get in the habit :

I had a 12 course dinner party last night but it doesnt count because I didnt butcher the steer.....

I'm exaggerating obviously, but what I'm trying to say is: give yourself credit. You're dealing with burnout and grief. I dont think it will help to go adding self deprecation to the mix.

You made a sandwich. Full Stop.

However it continues to go for you and for your sister, may the result be one that brings you both pleasure and peace.

[Dante]

I think your Post traumatic Stress has more to do with waiting on a bunch of people nonstop for almost 4 months than your loss.

Certianly that would be a factor.

Last Summer, slightly more than a year ago, the housemate of mine that I share cooking duties with had to undergo treatment for thyroid cancer, so I ended up taking on all of the cooking (and cleaning) in addition to working full-time for a couple of months, plus I had to hammer together a low-iodine diet plan for this period in preparation for her radioiodine treatment. It was pretty intense and I did approach burnout towards the end of it. Her son undergoing surgery for pectus excavatum and my S.O. having to go to counseling and go on psych meds for anxiety-related maladies didn't help to reduce the overall stress levels for any of us either.

But everyone's doing much better now, I've gotten back in to the swing of things more than ever and it's inspired me to consider looking in to going back to school to become a dietitian.

Perversely, burnout can sometimes act as a catalyst, or incubation phase, for something new- an evolution of sorts.

Sincerely,

Dante