The Spiritual Necessity of Cooking In Perilous Times

I lost my job in May. To pay the bills, I have been signing on to as many cooking platforms as possible: Shef, takeachef and others. 

I have even completed a course on opening my home kitchen, although I can’t do anything with it until I pass inspection. But as much as these jobs are meant to keep a roof over my head, it isn’t just about the money.

In a world where I can’t directly control my financial security or who leads the country, I can control how much salt goes into my squash soup. I may not be able to see an end to the instability in the Middle East, but I can see the end of my pot roast’s cooking time.

When the world is off kilter, cooking is an anchor and a spiritual practice. 

Food builds community. People find ways to connect over a meal, from the bread lines of the 1920s to the victory gardens of World War II to the virtual cook-alongs during the pandemic.

Every religion has a food-related celebration: Christmas, Ramadan and Passover, to name a few. The United States was the first country to establish an official day of thanks. All these occasions are reasons for people to gather, catch up, and create memories.

The other side of the coin is that when people gather to eat, the place becomes safe. People can share their ideas and suggestions while bonding over a good meal. 

When I cook, I don’t listen to news or podcasts. Those require focus and honestly, they’re nearly impossible to understand over the whirr of a blender.

My preferred audio is lo-fi instrumentals — no vocals, just a beat. It’s my theme music and every kitchen encounter should have one. 

There is a mindfulness involved in the cooking process: chopping, scraping, stirring, kneading. The rhythm of the kitchen takes my focus off the chaos of the world around me and returns it to the here and now.

Three quick vertical slices, three quick horizontal ones, five chops, and half an onion is minced.

If I’m having a particularly bad day, I can smash garlic, punch bread, or stab a pork belly. It’s hard to feel anxiety about an election when you’re trying not to impale yourself or to worry about your unemployment status when you’re trying to slide a pan of hot water into the oven for your sourdough bread.

I pour red chili flakes, star anise, a cinnamon stick, some of that smashed garlic and some peanuts into a jar. Then, I pour boiling oil over the contents and, like magic, I now have chili crisp.

We undergo a transformation when our raw ingredients are exposed to a process. Often, we become a better version of ourselves, hardly recognizable from our original form. We will never reach our best selves if we don’t allow for change, much like any good dish. But sometimes we fail.

I’ve knocked over full bags of rice, dropped lidless cornstarch containers, and broken more dishes than I care to admit. I’ve set fire to a burner, not once, but twice, and yes, there is video evidence.

The desire to abandon the work always lurks in the background, but staying the course is key. And the joy of success is always worth the effort. Cooking, like other forms of art, is an act of resistance.

Making a pot of Ukrainian borscht or a plate of Palestinian chicken and onion flatbread is the first step to learning about the struggles of a people. The meditative action of creating a base, cooking meat, creating sauces and plating is like a prayer; it focuses attention on the culture behind the dish and a hope that everything turns out OK.

Everyone has to eat, and tasting a new dish builds empathy. It also draws attention to the humanity of others. 

They are no longer faceless texts in a post or nameless images on an Instagram account. Someone made this dish for a sick child or as a quick, easy snack for their family.

They are men and women and children and sharing those dishes tells the status quo that they exist. They are worthy of the attention we give and we need to make that connection to encourage an end to the violence.  

Let’s not lie to ourselves. These days are perilous for many of us. 

We are worried not only about our domestic issues but also about international ones. If you’re not worried, you’re not paying attention.

So why do we cook during times like these?

There are so many answers that I have only touched on here. But as small an act as it seems, cooking has a greater impact than we think, which is why it is a spiritual necessity.

Whether you cook to resist, cook for others, cook to build, or cook for your own peace of mind, it doesn’t matter. We know what our needs are. And in knowing that, we can change the world.