For various reasons, this past week has not been kind to me, so initially I was unsure and hesitant on seeking the counsel of my good friend Erin. Thankfully though, she is awesome, but also the shared comfort came in the form of food preparation. Throughout high school and when I am home, if I am happy I bake or cook. If I am stressed, I bake and cook. If I am depressed beyond believe and a crying wreck encased in my favorite fleece blanket with two kittens and a puppy on it, I will still find the life in me to wander down into the kitchen and bake and cook. For some reason, this process has been absent recently from my college years despite my sinusoidal, binomial, volatile moods and life.
Cooking always brings me comfort. I started to learn how to cook at the age of seven. My Mom and I were blessed with the best neighbor anyone could have, my next door neighbor, Gayle. Gayle was older than my mother, with her children past college and gone from the house. She was never quite a babysitter, never a nanny, never a grandmotherly type, but always an older friend dear to my heart. In second grade I would go over to Gayle's house after getting off the school bus before I began elementary school homework and dinner time. We would read, play games, and with Gayle I really learned how to cook. I also attribute a good deal of my development in finally learning how to tie my shoes, but that's another story.
Cooking from her own resources and my American Girls Samantha's cookbook, I attempted things that many people would consider more advanced than the level of a six or seven year old. A spiced carrot bisque, blueberry cobbler, pies, apple brown betty, how to sautee vegetables, there was never any doubt that I couldn't try a recipe. Everything was possible, and to be honest, a few things didn't turn out as pretty as the picture, but no matter the end result, everything was prepared with thought and love. While a good deal of my attachment to cooking comes from my own personal reflection and the tranquility that arises, I still attribute a good deal of my foundational love of cooking to Gayle. For that I still hold Gayle dear to my heart today.
On Saturday, Erin and I went to the Troy Farmers' Market and then made pierogies. For those of you who have never had a pierogie, you need to fix that. Now. Right now. Go out and buy some frozen Mrs. T's for Pete's sake. Pierogies are warm delicious happiness encased in dough, and who doesn't love dough? Maybe it's the calories, maybe it's the carbohydrates, but there is something warming and fulfilling to the soul found in dough. While I am still a bit shaky at times, more so than normal, dough helps.
Dough is also tasty as hell in any form.
Thank you Erin.