cooking – By Autumn Rain

Wooden handloom with partially woven textile, yarn, scissors, and tea by a window

I’ve spent the last four months wondering if I actually enjoyed fiber arts, or if it had been a coping mechanism for a stressful life.

I can’t announce that I’ve reclaimed my hobby or come to any sort of conclusion about it. In one sense, I think I still enjoy it — and in another sense, it still seems twisted up in stress.

As a related point, I spent 16 years doing tons and tons of cooking. It felt like creative exploration. I liked trying out new recipes and it felt good when something turned out well. But I was also deeply depressed over the hours I spent alone in the kitchen, and I flat out hated the clean up. Of course, there was also the sting whenever a child declared, “That’s disgusting!” and refused to eat. Cue the other parent asserting, “You eat what’s put in front of you,” and I felt responsible for creating more familial discord than harmony, all because I printed a recipe off of the internet.

Then one day when I was standing alone in my kitchen, it struck me that I could not care less about cooking. That same predictable flavor from a can of Bush’s baked beans was more comforting to me than anything I made; no more worrying about whether something turned out too bland or too salty. I realized that I was never getting a dopamine hit from eating — it was all about having a limited number of areas that I was allowed to excel in, and desperately wanting to feel like I was good at something. Plus, there were all the literal hours that I gained back from not slaving over a stove, and I sure enjoy having those.

Which brings us back to fiber arts.

There were a number of months in which I didn’t do any fiber arts at all. Then there were months where I did a burst of fiber arts, and the kids talked me into weaving table runners for all the holidays (except I missed 4th of July). Then four months ago, I … quit. Or rather, took another break from it. Still trying to figure out my head. I’ve been wondering if it’s something that I enjoy, or momentum from a past that feels increasingly disconnected from who I am now.

Who am I now?

Eh I dunno. The question wears on me. Maybe I’m someone who loves TV and hates cooking. One of those inferior stupid people. I really can’t be bothered with seeking enlightenment anymore; it never delivered what it promised anyway.

Now that all of my stressors are increasingly conquerable, I’m wondering if I’ll still reach for a crochet hook when my blood pressure is normal. Is crafting something that I enjoy for it’s own sake? Or was my prior life too limited to explore anything else?

The other day I began a new weaving project. I haven’t felt anything positive or negative about it, just remembering how easy it is to meld into the repetition while time slips away.

Which, I admit, repetition has its own value.

About Me

Spaghetti

November 7, 2019November 6, 2019 Autumn

When I properly get my appetite back, the first thing I’m going to make is spaghetti.

MY spaghetti.

Start with ground beef in a large pot, then throw in lots of onion and garlic, and cook it together. Keep all the fat. Add diced tomatoes and tomato paste. Oregano, basil, a touch of curry, brown sugar, and any other spices that sound good at the time. Bring to a simmer.

Add mushrooms. After they are fully cooked, throw in a sinful amount of mozzarella cheese. Stir in when completely melted.

Go easy on the noodles and don’t make too much. The sauce is meant to be super thick.

So hearty. So delicious. So forbidden by every fad diet. I love it.

But alas, most foods still make me gag, so all I can do is dream.

Books

Southern Cast Iron

June 12, 2019June 11, 2019 Autumn

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I like to (semi)jokingly refer to myself as a fairy, given my penchant for wild mushrooms and secret acts of mischief kindness. I also have what I refer to as a curse when it comes to cast iron. Ergo, I am a fairy. QED. My logic is flawless.

Cast iron cooking is really yummy, so I’ve decided to make peace with my skillet. Yes, I know, I gave up on you and put you away in storage for a long time, but I couldn’t figure out why your seasoning kept flaking up. No, we aren’t going to talk about what happened to your predecessor.

I settled on this book, because I LOVE Southern cooking. I learned how to cook in the South.

The intro gives a basic rundown of cast iron care, and might have said some other stuff that I didn’t read, because nobody reads the intros. I found all of the recipes to be approachable as an amateur chef, though they definitely require more investment than mixing frozen foods with pre-made sauces.

I made the chicken pot pie.

I didn’t follow the recipe exactly. I brined my chicken before baking it, then used the meat drippings in the gravy. It turned out exquisite, but I definitely used a skill set that was not discussed anywhere in the book.

My complaint is that, although it’s supposed to be heirloom cooking, it calls for shortcuts like using frozen pie crusts. I would have liked to see recipes for pie crusts, biscuits, etc., considering that these are essential elements and have a huge impact on flavor. Seriously, pie crust only takes a few minutes, and Southern cooking is about feeding the soul. You don’t want a frozen soul, do you?

The desserts are even worse, using boxed mixes in lieu of any actual recipe at all.

3/5 starz

At this point, it’s still up in the air if I’ll manage to get along with my cast iron.

[Ed. note: the curse appears to be very real – somehow the contents of this (scheduled) post were transplanted onto a preexisting post, and retrieving it became quite the adventure.]