I love to cook for my family. A lot. There are moments when having two children under three can be difficult. Attempting to meet their very individual needs while being a good partner and caring for myself can make me feel pulled in a thousand directions. However, all of those direction always seem to intersect on food.
If the children are cranky or listless and I feel my patience wearing thin, I cook. Nori sits on the table and I pull out my flours, sugar, cream, butter. We measure and mix. We knead and shape. Sometimes the tastes are simple, other times more gourmet.
Sometimes it’s a crusty loaf of bread paired with smokey corn chowder. Sometimes it’s a bowl of fresh maple whipped cream and strawberries.
Sometimes we try new foods like braised balsamic radishes with feta cheese over steamed millet. Many times it’s old favorites like teriyaki chicken or beef stew.
No matter what we make or bake, it brings us closer together and fills our souls with warmth. I am not often very outwardly articulate. I have trouble communicating the full depth and complexity of my feelings. But with food my message is always clear: I love you all.