It’s Sunday. The day I write and the day I cook. I aggressively try to protect these two rituals.
To me: Food is love. Food is survival. Food is creative art. Food is budgeted. Food is reward. Food is comfort. Food is control.
I plan menus with care, choose foods that nourish, fill, and treat. Over the years Quinn’s dietary needs, restrictions, and requests have changed widely, and expanded my cooking knowledge and range. My food restrictions have changed too. Marcus’ tastes have expanded rather than the opposite, so that’s a bonus.
In these last two months of weirdness, cooking is about the only worthwhile home activity (outside of sleeping) that I’ve accomplished. Truth be told, I’ve leaned into it. As I said: Food is comfort. Food