I thought I had finally demonstrated my cooking nuttiness this week when I looked down in the sink one evening and saw every one of my 8 (8!) wooden spoons there. There was the one from starting the sponge for sourdough bread, the one for the cake, the one for its icing, the oatmeal, the custard for the cohousing dinner, plus whatever else I’ve already forgotten.
But I realized that I didn’t feel nutty. I was tired, but I felt kind of great. And it made me realize that there’s something I haven’t yet said here:
I cook for the joy of it. For the satisfaction and simplicity of feeding those I love. For the pleasure of necessary thriftiness. Because it’s art and craft and creation and primal and needed.
For me, cooking all the time – the daily grind of it, and the fanciest flights – is life. To do it with a glad heart is to try to keep my own best self close. That I can make people happy and engage in the organic magic of bread-making and fill the house with the smell of chocolate or melting butter and evoke memories and even save money is a pure and needed joy.
So every day, here we are, slogging along through money worries and perpetual lateness and ADHD and cabin fever and the rest of it. But every day we can come back to this quiet, necessary, open-hearted act of creation and sharing. And if that doesn’t make it all somehow worth it, I don’t know what could.
And in that spirit, I’m sharing some recent, unblogged creations: