A friend has been posting a diary on Facebook since self-isolation began at her house. Her posts are warm and gentle; a chronicle of what she and her husband are doing and observing. Day 10's vignette touched me deeply for it's intimate, inward tone. She wrote, (with her permission granted to quote) "Meals provide structure to our days. The discussion about what to do about dinner has become a highlight."
I feel like this is true for us here at our house as well.
My friend goes on to talk about using up fresh food to avoid wasting it. Deciding if a trip to the store is really necessary to buy new ingredients, or could a foray be delayed? Reviewing the freezer inventory. Making soup from left overs. Finding treasures in the fridge or bread basket that can be repurposed into new recipes.
I love the thoughtfulness of these activities. They speak to the slowing down of life that we are all experiencing right now. They reflect the considerations of being together, sharing this moment of uncertainty with gifts of love and food. Caring for ourselves, if alone.
Anyone who knows me, also knows that I am a lot like a Golden Retriever — highly food-oriented. I love to eat. I also love planning menus. I love shopping for food. I love cooking.
Truly, making dinner is the highlight of every day for me, now and always. I practice what my Depression-era mother taught me — shop fresh daily if you can. Use up every scrap. Since cooking by her side as a teen, my own creative urges have been inspired by the ever-evolving food scene. I apply her principles, but up the game a bit. I buy quality ingredients. I enjoy the challenge of preparing interesting dishes. Lately, though, I have been nostalgic for more familiar fare.
Most people I know have a favourite food from childhood that conjures up happy memories. Or a go-to dish that makes the world seem a little rosier when they're feeling down. Has there ever been a time in our lives when that comfort is more needed?
Enter: Tuna noodle casserole (Or fill in the blank with your choice of comfort food.)
One of those memes on social media that gets posted presumably to make us feel like we are all in this together, went something like this, "All I have in the cupboard is a tin of tuna and some egg noodles. Replies the ghost of the 1950s cookbook author: 'Not so high and mighty now, are we?'" Ha! So, there I stood before my pantry — a tin of tuna and a half-used bag of egg noodles right in front of me. I didn't have the requisite can of Campbell's mushroom soup to bind it all together, but, in the fridge I had half a green pepper, a small zucchini, one last dill pickle in a jar, and an onion, plus some almost-ready-to-toss-out mushrooms. Combined with milk, butter, and flour for a Béchamel, it added up to a decent casserole.
I looked up the famed tuna noodle in my dog-eared, 1977 copy of "Joy of Cooking". The instructions said that it is, "a good emergency dish." Well, yes. A humble dish for these anxious times. Familiar. Comforting.
These past couple of weeks have shifted the food context for me. Most of all, current events have stopped me in my tracks with gratitude that the grocery stores are restocking shelves; that Ken is doing all the grocery shopping as his gift to me with my list of re-existing health conditions longer than his; that we are privileged enough to have the resources to buy food when others are facing even more uncertainty.
I don't want to let this historic time pass without being mindful of all this. Our menus have been simple lately. Creativity enters in on how to employ some obscure veg at the store that no one else wanted to adopt like a sad shelter pup. My gourmet aspirations are suspended, at least temporarily, with humility in the preparation of our meals. These meals are providing structure to our days.
