Cooking, writing... and love
by Anna Atsu
“If you are careful,' Garp wrote, 'if you use good ingredients, and you don't take any shortcuts, then you can usually cook something very good. Sometimes it is the only worthwhile product you can salvage from a day; what you make to eat. With writing, I find, you can have all the right ingredients, give plenty of time and care, and still get nothing. Also true of love. Cooking, therefore, can keep a person who tries hard sane.”
John Irving, The World According to Garp
Cooking
Sunday dinner. Aromas intertwine and pots simmer with anticipation. A moment suspended between the halfway-done and the halfway-to-be-done. As I stand here, surrounded by the alchemy of ingredients and sizzling pans, I suddenly remind myself of bread that is still rising and must be put in the oven at a precise time. Coming from a country where the tradition dictates that a guest deserves no less than a meticulously crafted loaf, hospitality is not just a virtue—it's a ritual.
I like rituals but I am a distracted cook. In Slavic countries the act of baking bread for guests is more than a culinary endeavour; it's a cultural legacy passed down through generations. My sourdough starter is only 80 years old. My family was neither traditional nor very inviting but I like the idea of big Italian clans, a house full of guests and Sunday family reunions. And I do like the flour-covered apron being a badge of honour, and the warmth of the oven mirrors the genuine warmth of the heart.
The tradition transcends the act of merely providing sustenance; it's a tangible expression of love, respect, and the desire to create an unforgettable experience for those who enter the threshold.
As the bread emerges from the oven—its golden exterior glistening with a promise of wholesomeness—the anticipation is not just for the flavours and textures. It's an anticipation of shared moments, laughter, and the forging of connections that extend beyond the breaking of bread. The act of baking is a language, and the bread is a vessel carrying the unspoken sentiments of welcome.
So, as the fragrance of freshly baked bread permeates the air, it signals more than a delicious meal; it signals a cultural heritage, a tradition of generosity, and an unwavering commitment to making guests feel cherished.
Yet, as I glance at the clock, I can't help but contemplate the time to unfold—the moments that stand at the threshold of being shared and I am filled with anticipation of the company that will partake in this creation…
Writing and… love
Cooking, an act that transforms raw ingredients into a harmonious symphony of flavours, requires attention to detail, precision, and a deep appreciation for the process. Similarly, writing demands a meticulous choice of words, a keen understanding of narrative structure, and the patience to let ideas simmer and evolve. Both endeavours hinge on the premise that diligence and a genuine passion for the craft are essential ingredients for success.
The notion that the outcome of one's efforts in the kitchen or on the page is not always guaranteed speaks to the unpredictable nature of creativity. In the realm of writing, even with the right ingredients—words carefully chosen, a compelling storyline, and an abundance of time and care—there is no guarantee of producing a masterpiece. This echoes the sentiment that permeates love, where despite investing emotions, time, and sincere effort, the outcome remains uncertain.
Yet, in the face of this uncertainty, cooking becomes a therapeutic refuge, a sanctuary for those who strive diligently. "Sometimes it is the only worthwhile product you can salvage from a day; what you make to eat," Garp reflects. In the act of creating something tangible and delicious, one finds solace and a sense of accomplishment, a respite from the unpredictability of life.
The comparison between writing and cooking extends beyond the notion of crafting a tangible product; it delves into the realm of sanity. Garp suggests that cooking can keep a person who tries hard sane. Similarly, the act of writing becomes a refuge for those who seek to make sense of the world, to express thoughts and emotions, and to find clarity amidst the chaos.
In essence, the connection between cooking, writing, and love lies in the shared essence of the best knowledge, patience, and the acknowledgement that despite our best efforts, the outcome may not always align with our expectations. Yet, in the pursuit of these more or less creative endeavours, whether in the kitchen at the writing desk or love, there is a therapeutic quality—a sanctuary where one can find meaning, solace, and a taste of the extraordinary in the ordinary act of creation.
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