Recently, I went home to New Jersey for a much-needed long weekend of rest. Even though my mom wanted to take me out to a lovely dinner to celebrate my homecoming, I declined, knowing my home kitchen was calling my name.
After being apart from any sort of cooking space for months, I felt the need to refamiliarize myself with the entire process of home cooking. Despite the stormy weather, my mom and I got in the car and drove to a local farm store, where we bought fresh spinach, homemade pasta, and farm-raised chicken. These are the foundational elements of my absolute favorite comfort meal: glorious one-pot chicken and spinach orzo. This was actually the last meal I made before leaving Jersey in my overfilled car for BU in August and, not surprisingly, the first meal cooked upon returning.
I got to eat it in my favorite cozy room of the house, which seemed even warmer juxtaposed next to the gloomy weather outside. I sat on my beloved couch with my dogs and a classic 80s movie playing, which perfectly set the scene for my weekend-away feast. My large bowl of steaming chicken and orzo was piping hot — just plain heaven.
I have always considered myself a person who loves eating and thinking about food, but during my senior year of high school, after my older siblings had all cleared out of the house and kitchen, I suddenly found myself cooking daily. I suspect my tendency towards control-freak is a big factor in the realization that the actual cooking of the food was my favorite part of the entire experience.
For me, cooking gives me a sense of precision and self-control in a world where most things seem unpredictable. Something is grounding about following predetermined steps and watching them work themselves out in an edible form of accomplishment. It’s also strangely intimate; you are creating something that will quite literally sustain you — and maybe others if you’re generous enough to share.
As the youngest of four older siblings, I naturally gravitate towards doing things on my own. The process of cooking is no exception to this pattern. In high school, I found out that I liked having control over what I eat and how it’s made. My mom would kindly call this phase of my teenage years budding independence, but I know it’s probably more of an indulgent brat phase where I took over the kitchen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and tortured my remaining family members with my over-the-top culinary standards.
But there is something seriously fascinating about how divided people are regarding cooking. Some people feel totally at peace in the kitchen, while others view cooking as their worst nightmare. Many times, I thought a lot about what differentiates Claire Saffitz from a contestant on Worst Cooks in America (RIP Anne Burrel). What exactly is going on in good cooks’ brains that allows magic to happen?
After asking around a bit to better understand what might be going on in an accomplished cook’s head, I was able to get a little insight. A family friend and working mom of three, for example, told me that she feels a lot of pressure while cooking, which stems from not wanting to mess up the recipe.
Conversely, my old boss at a bakery I worked at expressed to me that performance issues didn’t really come into play when she was cooking. Rather, she basically assumed her food was going to turn out good. Other people I know who are self-declared haters of cooking cited many reasons for their contempt, including lack of time, too much stress and mess, and simply felt like cooking was a mental and physical chore.
College life may be a blessing for those who are not already fans of cooking, but dining-hall food and microwaves may feel like a huge letdown to my fellow freshman cooks. I personally feel like I’ve been cut off from a ritual that used to bring me stability and comfort. Not to sound too dramatic, but not being able to shop, cook, and eat my own food feels like I lost a part of myself.
Of course, please don’t think I don’t recognize the huge privilege of living so close to the next-level Italian food in The North End. I am blessed. But, I go back to my memory of my home kitchen and the smell of garlic being sautéed, the beautiful bubbling sound of cooking pasta, and the perfect comfort of sitting down to a meal with family. These moments are hard to come by at college.
So, on our next holiday home visits, I hope we all can enjoy and appreciate some fabulous home food. Let’s all soak up the most homey vibes possible and take the time to truly enjoy a cooked meal. Sometimes, I guess, some things just taste better when they remind you of home.
Bon appétit!
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