The Domestic

As we battle uncertainty, crisis cooking and comfort eating are activities we can lean into, says Sophie White, who is certain that stirring a pot soothes angst

Takes comfort in chickpeas

“In the kitchen, over the stove, the old rules still govern our actions. And so I chop the onions...”

Afew months ago, my father-in-law died. It was expected, and yet the phone call blindsided me, as these calls tend to do. I hung up on Himself after some feeble words that would not and could not touch his loss. I cast about for something useful to do.

I thought back to the time, some years ago, when Himself and I had this same conversation, but in reverse. I can’t remember where I was, though I imagine I was probably standing outside the room in which my father had just died. I held the phone to my ear. I don’t remember if I cried. And I can’t remember my exact words, but I remember perfectly Himself’s response to the news that my dad was gone.

“Soph,” he said quietly. ‘I’ll cook a ham.” What else is there to say? His resolve to immediately go and boil some meat was funny and comforting, much more so than any words of commiseration are in such moments. As such, in the last few weeks of fear and uncertainty, I’ve seen a huge swell of people on social media — where else do we see anyone these days? — making cakes, stirring jams and roasting chickens. It’s nearly as soothing to watch them do it as it is to join them in the meditative application of hands to dough, the repetitive chopping of vegetables, or the almost alchemical process of applying heat to ingredients to transform them.

In these odd times where, for most of us, the act of inaction is the best help we can offer to the collective problem, these small steps towards a fresh loaf or warming bowl of stew feel eminently satisfying and productive. Cooking is another way to tap out the hours — time being the main cure for any malady you care to name: grief, much illness, even a pandemic.

There is also a certainty in cooking — cream some butter and sugar until they are pale, add eggs, some vanilla and flour, and some approximation of a cake will result. Beyond our kitchens, all is unknown right now, in fact, it’s always unknown out there — only the structure of our usual day-to-day existence cons us into believing it’s not.

Work and school and nights out distract us from the fact that we’re collectively veering on and off the path of imminent calamity at all times.

In the kitchen, over the stove, the old rules still govern our actions — even while the radio blares the daily figures and updates, speaking in a new language of ‘social distancing’ and ‘self-isolation’ that none of us will likely ever leave behind fully. And so I chop some onions, sweat them in oil and add spices, to lose myself for a moment in the heady savour of cooking and the comfort of a good meal on the way.