Simplicity

This week's theme: Food

I love to cook.

There are a number of reasons I love cooking, but two stand out particularly. Watching other people take genuine enjoyment out of something I've made is one of the greatest delights of my adult life. The process of making the meal is another.

Cooking is so simple. Even the most difficult recipe can be reduced to its ingredients. I love to work on a really involved recipe after reading systematic theology, or when I'm emotionally overwrought or spiritually dry. Cooking is meditative. It's simple and routine and something which allows me a little distance from my academic, personal, or professional life. I turn on some bluegrass, open up a recipe I haven't tried or still haven't perfected and just cook. I am almost always cooking for other people. When it's just for me I eat a lot of (badly) poached eggs on toast because eating is so communal--Eucharistic really. I hate putting tons of work into something that I have to enjoy without the added pleasure of good company

This picture was taken by Lauren shortly after I sent her a SOS text message on Saturday. A friend of mine has never had my dark chocolate apology truffles (thus named because I make them as an apology for being a vicious hell-beast when I get stressed out). I have been trying to perfect both the ganache and the chocolate shell for four years now, and still hadn't found a recipe that satisfied me. This recipe was intensely involved (48 hours, 57 ounces of dark chocolate, two cups of cream), but turned out splendidly.

Watching people sample these truffles over the past few days has been a gift. In the midst of two weeks full of personal disappointment, here was something small that I had done that was bringing intense enjoyment to people for whom I care deeply. Out of some cream, chocolate, and champagne I managed to craft something that made people pause during their busy lives and focus intensely on one small aspect of their day.

It's so simple.

***

Simplicity

A glass of wine. Some slices of roast chicken.
Springtime vegetables from the garden--radishes, fresh lettuce.

A pie from the last of the frozen rhubarb.
Birdsong through the open front door.
With you, everything is suddenly
so simple.