Un-serious Food
Wonderfully, over the last week, many different people have cooked for me. Cooking does all the things: builds confidence, creates connections, the whole giving-and-recieving dynamic, plus it’s delicious and keeps us alive. There is no downside to this kind of intimate act of ‘here, eat this’, regarding food someone cooks for you.
Most recently, I was at the shore, with a few people I know well and some I just met. The important thing about food at the shore is that the seafood is today-fresh. Even better is someone savvy about shucking oysters, and making them delectable with stuff you have at home: vinegar, jalapeno, cilantro, lime zest & juice, and a drizzle of good olive oil. Whisk that up, spoon it on top of the open oysters, tip that back. Bless whoever first thought to crack open the rocky shells of these things. After the catch, the actual work is just that, the shucking. Cracking and prying a netted bag of these delicacies, for that quick knocking back (without even chewing). I can throw a sauce like that together in no time, and so can you, but someone holding out a fully-dressed oyster, saying ‘this is for you’, is a beautiful gift.
We can talk scallops, too, and shrimp. Those, too, factored in to meals we had at the shore. That’s some prep that takes time, but is not complicated. It is no joke to peel and clean pounds of shrimp, so we sprung for the deveined and cleaned, but peeled them ourselves as we ate. An easy boil, and a heavy hand with the seasonings, roast some baby potatoes, toss a big salad, and dinner was served. It is the sweetest invite to be called to the table with, ‘it’s ready!’.
For those of us who have cooked nearly every meal nearly every day for nearly all of our adult life — and have not always been met with enthusiasm, or have navigated some specific likes/dislikes in our audiences — the deep joy of not worrying about how it will get from plan to plate is divine. There is magnamity, and it feels like indulgence.
Here’s the thing: it is not complicated. It doesn’t have to be fancy at all. Even if oyster-prep sounds intricate, well, oysters are less than ten dollars a dozen at the shore, and a shucking knife is not expensive. Cooking shrimp takes minutes. Minutes. Scallops take a few minutes more. But — and this is important — it’s not about the time. It’s the intent. Cooking for someone else is a complete act of unselfishness.
Recently, the simplest sharing was an impromptu visit with a friend, who grilled for us, both lunch and dinner. The easy joy of someone just wanting your company as they prep a simple burger, open a bag of chips, or dish out a slaw, and create a meal while you watch, makes the familiar so extraordinary. Having someone anticipate what you might need or want or enjoy, feels like an alliance of pleasure. And, as the recipient, being asked if you want Swiss or cheddar on a burger is the kind of question that has no wrong answer, and is borne of the cook genuinely wanting your experience to be ideal. It was a burger, but it required nothing from me other than being present. That is a present itself.
Everybody eats. And sometimes cooking is the last thing you want to do, even if you love it (which I do). Cooking when you have the time and the curiousity, and all the ingredients and implements, is so rewarding. Taking a pile of components, combining them to something pleasing, gives you a sense of accomplishment and boosts your self-esteem. Plus, it’s tasty. To have another tell you what you created is delicious, to have some ask for more, is fulfilling on another level. This is the give and give (and give) of cooking — often with no feedback, so when praise does come, it hits like sprinkles on the doughnut. As a recipient who is usually the cook, you know to hand out gratitude with genuine grace.
And, it does not have to be cooking. It can be ‘I brought you coffee’. The act of offering or sharing is born of open hands, and rests like an invitation to communion — whether it’s for a minute or a morning. Many years ago on a family vacation, my cousin’s cottage did not have a coffeemaker (sad oversight). Each morning, I set a cup of coffee on her porch on my way to the beach. She was a new mom, and not going to run up to the gas station for the java fix. Problem solved. The simplest share can set the whole day — certainly for the recipient, but also for the giver. Easing the way for another has roots in positive psychology, so there is no downside.
Cooking itself can be serious and fancy, with menu-planning and starters and courses, and tableware that comes out of storage. But the best is the organic meal-tossed-together-while-chatting-in-the-kitchen. Maybe you chop something or toss the salad or just refresh the beverages and share stories or rock the playlist while you wait for the meat to grill or the sauce to thicken or the pasta to el-dente itself. Food will keep you alive, but that suspended time between ‘start’ and ‘serve’ is where life gets richer.
Being side-by-side in the kitchen is a window to what caring looks like. To have the responsibility of feeding others is no small thing; it’s actually kind of critical. But to hand over the reins and let someone else create something they think you’ll like should truly start with whatever they are good at, often a dish that is simple, earthy, rustic, real, un-serious. It can be mighty serious to cook for someone you care about, so the cook generally selects a dish they can deliver without a lot of stress. It becomes, by definition, a simple act of sharing — and at the same time, offering a part of yourself, your repetroire, to another. This is why someone cooking for you, when you are so often the cook, is packed with emotion.
So take that bite that is offered. Try the oysters even if you’re wary (especially when they’re done by someone who knows what they are doing). Follow the lead of someone who believes you will indeed like this. Put vinegar on your fries. Add peanut butter to your oatmeal. Stir currant jam into your Guinness. Sprinkle Tajin on your watermelon slices. Try apple pie with a slice of cheese. Make grilled cheese sandwiches with fig preserves. Try preserved lemons in pasta. This holds for other offerings too — beholding art someone created, music they play, reading something they wrote (thank you), walking a path they enjoy — all are shared delight.
Like Alice, in Wonderland, try it. Eat this, drink this. Though Alice hoped to change in size, what we find by eating what is cooked for us, is that we do indeed grow — tastes expand (yes), but relationships heighten, time together expands, care increases, time unfolds, and we are nurtured. So many stories and core memories begin around the table. In the remembering, years later, the food might become secondary to simply the time spent in those moments; easy, organic, un-serious, unfettered…and in every way, delicious.
