With few options for outdoor fun in these frigid, freeze-the-juice-in-your-eyeballs temperatures, I’ve taken to finding ways to occupy myself indoors – namely, in the kitchen.
And thus I’ve embarked on my journey as an amateur chef.
Lately, as all good hobbies do, my newfound love of cooking has become a bit of a compulsion. I crash landed into my Monday evening completely exhausted, with a to-do list that could’ve reached from floor to ceiling. But before I opened up my laptop to get to homeworkin’, what did I do?
I sautéed stuff. For no apparent reason. A Hot Pocket, much to Jim Gaffigan’s dismay, would’ve fed me just the same.
My time management skills are in deep trouble – deeper than the deepest of homemade deep-dish pizzas.
Out of respect for my roommates, I resist the urge to operate my blender to whip up tasty concoctions all night. The possibilities are endless – homemade hummus! Breakfast smoothies! – but instead, I keep my blending passion to myself and resort to quieter culinary tasks, like silently marinating a chicken cutlet.
While some of my college peers may like the social experience of piling in the car and making the crosstown trek to the grocery store, I fly solo.
I do it for the good of my friends, since most would find my habit of looking at comparing the pros and cons of every kind of tortilla chip somewhat of a bother.
How do blue corn chips get that color, anyway? Should I buy crispy rounds or restaurant style? Which is worth the extra cost, organic or baked crisps?
Before I know it, a half hour has gone by and the stock boy is tapping me on the shoulder to make sure I’m still alive.
I could lose track of even more time in the produce section, pondering the mysteries of bok choy and arugula as I survey the brown-spot-to-yellow-peel ratio on every banana on the display, just for fun.
I attempt a modest price comparison between the cost of a plastic, lemon-shaped tub of lemon juice and the equivalent amount of lemons before getting fed up and going to survey the heirloom tomatoes instead.
Of course, my culinary curiosities have taken their toll on my wallet – but I suppose that’s better than wasting the money on delivery fees. I’d shell out any amount of money, though, to feel as in tune with the present moment as I do when I’m cooking.
Whether I’m stirring a pot of homemade corn chowder or chopping a yellow bell pepper, I jettison my troubles and glide into a state of mental calm I haven’t felt from any other hobby.
My body hums with joyful anticipation of the fact that it’s about to be thoroughly nourished – and the bliss only amplifies when I know I can share the meal with company.
Before I even take a bite, I feel full.
