Shake it Off
Timing matters. There are steps to take before others, gestures to complete, followed by the next, as if on queue. But I freestyle a bit too, split decisions to go this direction or that. I know these moves and yet creativity arises, opportunities to try something different or new, perhaps even a bit mad.
Cooking is like a dance, particularly when making fajitas to a soundtrack chosen for its collection of fun, dumb, danceable, singable songs. I revel in my ability to time the meal—coordinating so that we eat at the time designated, so that I only use one fry pan, so that I can do up prep dishes as I go. I tango with my knowledge of how to steam tempeh so it takes maximum flavor, safely de-seed a fresh jalapeno so it loses heat but retains flavor, pit and slice a creamy avocado.
Every day the past couple weeks has been, emotionally, slightly different than the last, despite the similarity of time spent almost exclusively at home. And I have been leaning hard into cooking. I am grateful not only for food but for the knowledge of how to cook it. I’m not necessarily making new or challenging or things. Instead, the food is good, and it feels good—to complete a vital task simply and well, to create meals that nurture but also bring pleasure and comfort to myself and another person.
In these strange times, I am particularly mindful of abundance, respectful of it in a renewed way. Herbs and citrus feel luxurious because they add a lot of flavor without being strictly necessary. I set aside or lessen the amount of ingredients that could go in because they can also be used tomorrow. I notice the heft of the knife, the slither of pasta, the coolness of vegetables in my hand. I do not know what today or tomorrow holds. I do not know when this will end, or how. But—god willin’ and the creek don’t rise—there will be dinner.
