How I Fell Back in Love (With Cooking)

By Jennifer Ware

At first, it was just a way to support our local eateries. As the whispers of a pandemic and a quarantine became a hard reality, my boyfriend and I knew our beloved restaurants were going to suffer, so we decided to order and eat exclusively via takeout, figuring it would only be a brief stopgap to help keep everyone afloat. But as the crisis worsened, delivery slots from every online grocery store that serviced our neighborhood sold out for weeks at a time, staples like flour, rice and yeast disappeared from shelves never to be seen again, and a simple trip to the grocery store took on a combat-like quality. Suddenly, out of necessity, take-out meals became our new reality.

Taking a Toll on Our Lives

I noticed a change in my health as the days and weeks progressed—gradual at first, then gaining steam. These issues only compounded the stress that came with enduring the steady stream of pathogens and politics that we were now facing daily. I felt logy, foggy, less vital, but I shrugged it off. During a crisis like this, who feels great?

When my boyfriend began complaining about feeling the same way I did, I took a look back over the timeline and realized the initial decrease in the quality of our lives coincided with the start of our exclusively take-out-food pledge. Before the pandemic, we might have eaten out 1-2 times a week, but the rest of our meals were cooked at home, usually with locally sourced, organic meats, eggs and produce. As good as our local restaurants were, they couldn’t possibly provide the same quality of ingredients or care in preparation.

But for me, I felt the issue ran deeper than just the change in my diet’s nutritional level. By relying exclusively on take-out for two months, I had all but stopped cooking. What at first seemed like an opulent treat had turned into an emotional and creative energy drain. It was not only slowly depleting me nutritionally, but it was sapping me creatively and even diminishing my relationship with my boyfriend.

When I First Fell in Love (With Cooking)

I’ve had a special connection with cooking since the summer I turned 20. Living at home, I was working a few odd jobs to put myself through college. The cold war between my parents, which had existed pretty much my entire childhood, had shifted into high gear, and my mother announced she’d be spending the summer at my brother’s house, three and a half hours away. She was a traditional stay-at-home mom who cooked every meal, so having her gone meant that my father and I would have to fend for ourselves—especially at mealtimes.

My father was from an old-school generation, which meant he was stern but loving, protective, and a good provider—but absolutely hopeless when it came to cooking and baking. The first few days after my mother left, we managed to eke out meals from the leftovers I brought home from my waitressing job. But I also worked for a large bookstore chain that summer, and what happened there changed everything.

One night soon after my mom left, a chance encounter at the bookstore gave me true spiritual nourishment and transformed my relationship with food forever. Our store was hosting a book signing for Mollie Katzen, co-founder of famed Ithaca, New York vegetarian restaurant Moosewood. I had never actually been to the restaurant, but the buzz in the store surrounding the author was such that on a whim I decided to get a book and have her autograph it. “Jennifer—be sure to eat your vegetables,” she wrote. And something about that seemingly innocent yet powerful inscription opened a door in me.

“I began to cook my way through the recipes, choosing a new one each day.”

As I poured through the cookbook’s charming hand-printed and illustrated pages, I felt like I was reading a new, yet familiar language—one that spoke to me on a deeper level than anything had before. It was almost like remembering a particularly striking dream or hearing a melody of a song that had been sung to you as an infant.

I began to cook my way through the recipes, choosing a new one each day. Although I had never cooked before that summer and would technically be considered an extreme amateur, I wasn’t intimidated by even the most complicated directions. Some took hours to prepare and required intriguing ingredients that hadn’t yet made it into my small-town upbringing, but not only was I undaunted, I was invigorated.

How Cooking Transformed My Relationship with My Father

Each night, I would present my creations to my father who would chew them thoughtfully, not entirely sure what he was eating. Normally, during dinner we would dine in the kind of silence between two people who loved each other but are separated by 50 years of experiences and interests. But my father adored food, so each new meal was like a gift to him. Our dinners opened the door to conversation, comfort and gradually growing our relationship in a newer, even more meaningful direction.

By the time my mother returned home at the end of the summer, the cookbook’s pages were creased and stained. Every recipe had been made, and I had transformed from an uncertain, struggling teenager to a creative and capable adult. Through the alchemy of cooking, I had found a way to not only comfort myself and others, but I’d uncovered a universally celebrated vehicle through which to express love and creativity.

Kinship with the Kitchen

“During these stressful, seemingly dark days, people are cooking and baking up a storm.”

I know I’m not the only one who feels a special kinship with hours spent entranced in the kitchen. Even a quick perusal of social media reveals that during these stressful, seemingly dark days, people are cooking and baking up a storm. Sure, it could be that during the quarantine people simply have more time on their hands. But I believe it has to do more with the mutually beneficial gift of sharing and service that creating something delicious can give to you and others. Making someone their favorite cake says: I hear you and I celebrate you. A vitamin-rich pot of homemade chicken vegetable soup telegraphs: I want to nourish you.

I returned to the kitchen a short time ago, and the transformation in my mental state has been miraculous. My boyfriend is happier too and we’re enjoying our meals together more than ever. While I’m not quite back to the mostly unfettered days before January, my head feels clearer, the world seems lighter and the spark of hope in my heart grows brighter each time I switch on the oven or grab my measuring spoons. I’m invigorated by the sights and smells of the ingredients as I lay them out before me and comforted by the knowledge that through all of this, the world is an interconnected family of creative chefs giving love to our appreciative eaters. And when these trying times end, through this cycle of love and creativity, we can endure and emerge even greater than before.

Jennifer Ware believes in the transformative power of cooking. She is a writer and closet chef, serving her family and friends with love.

How I Fell Back in Love (With Cooking)