There are many things that can influence our cooking: ability, knowledge, budget, hunger and appetite, upbringing, politics, location or region, time and energy, psychological state, family — both present and past, weather, occasions and holidays, religion, mood, availability of ingredients, the kind of kitchen and cooking implements and appliances we have, the season, health, allergies and sensitivities, time of day, traditions, imagination or lack thereof, desire to gain or lose weight, our desires in general, boredom or excitement, our interest in and relationship to cooking in general, quality of ingredients, personal expression. OK. I could go on, but I'll stop there.
This list may seem enormous and complicated, but the truth is, much of it is functioning in the background for us, even when we do something as simple as reach for a can of soup or decide on roast chicken for Sunday's dinner. Because food and cooking and eating is so fundamental for human beings, it is both the simplest, most basic of our needs and at the same time, the most complex.
As a food writer, I'm inclined to emphasize the complexity, finding meaning and metaphor in every crumb and pot lid. Mostly I enjoy this. It gives me pleasure to find beauty and value in the everyday, what one commenter described as my 'sun on my morning oatmeal' observations. I'm also more than happy to leap down the rabbit holes of food justice, sustainable agriculture practices, and even The Great Hellman's vs Miracle Whip Debate.
Sometimes, though, I try to simplify my relationship to cooking, to remind myself that it's actually an easy equation: hunger plus cooking equals satisfaction. But even as I type this, I cannot ignore how privileged my assumption is that food will always follow my relatively mild pangs of hunger. My mind starts to explore the issues of satisfaction, what it means to be satisfied and how we achieve that and how the feeling of satisfaction will pass at some point and a new hunger will arise. And there I go, lost in the weeds of complexity.
So sadly, for today at least, my goal of trying to find an easy meander through talking about and thinking about food has failed. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing but it's obviously unavoidable, for me at least. In the end, I still think it's important to see food and cooking and our time in the kitchen as both a simple, everyday act of tending to our lives and a much more complex web of relationships and dependencies. In our kitchens, and in our bellies, the simple and ordinary exists together with the elaborate and entangled. The tricky thing is to hold both these truths equally, with respect and curiosity.
Related: Weekend Meditation: It Doesn't Always Have to Be Fabulous
(Image: Dana Velden)
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Why try to change the facts? I think once we know something we can't unknown it. When I was a vegetarian, I found out that my favorite guilty pleasure - Starburst Candies - had gelatin, and that gelatin is made from animals. Now, even though I am not a vegetarian any more, I still don't enjoy Starbursts so much.
I think once we know that our food isn't just magically appearing on our table, and that all of it has impact and consequences, we can't un-know that. And why should we? Does it have to be forefront in our mind with each bite? No, but I think it's totally okay for it to be there... reminding us to consider how this came to us.
This meditation so rings true with me. After I started food blogging over a year ago, food became, overnight, about constantly finding the new, the exciting, the impressive. Even basic things like oatmeal turned into elaborate posts. It became less about the experience of food and more about the idea (and visual representation) of food.
But I went on vacation with a few friends last month, and there, we lived on a frugal budget, cooking our own meals, buying what was on sale rather than what was in season. The dishes were simple-grilled fish, guacamole, some soba noodles, a gazpacho...but I felt more satisfied and alive than I had been in a long time. That vacation reminded me of what it felt like to be actually hungry, to make food with others not for fun but to eat, and to have the same attitude toward food that I had growing up with my mom's cooking--respect, as you say, and also an open mind (as I learned some people do NOT like onions in their guacamole.)
As someone who has struggled with weight my entire life, I think it has to be on your mind all the time to be healthy. It isn't for me a lot of the time and that is my problem. I am starting now to constantly have reverence for the food I eat, know where it comes from, and how much. I love this web site because it constantly encourages me to do that. Thank you. Believe it or not, I enjoy the experience of eating more when I am aware of what I am doing.
Great comment. Where is the cow picture from?
The cow picture was taken from a mural painted on the side of Andy's Market in Sebastopol, Ca. I am sorry that I cannot credit the artist, but if anyone knows who it is, please leave a comment.
http://www.andysproduce.com/
Antigone brings up a great point - and something I have to remind myself to do - which is that we enjoy eating more when we are aware of what we are doing, whether it's being kind to our bodies, helping the environment, or sharing food amongst friends and family. I have a very hard time keeping it simple, and I find that the only time I can is when I work within limits. Limits help me to focus. The more options I have, the more complicated my cooking gets, and I'm sure it doesn't stop with cooking. Thanks for this post, Dana.