Food is Love

About a week after my house burned down, my friend Anne, who is in her 70’s, showed up on the doorstep of my rented cottage, her arms full of groceries. She marched right into the kitchen and began unloading bags of stuff from Whole Foods — Vegetarian lasagna, pizza, macaroni and cheese, frozen vegetables, vegetarian “meat” loaf with gravy and mashed potatoes, ice cream, bread, eggs, organic milk.

“What’s all this?” I said.  She patted my cheek like a good Mom would, and started loading it all into the refrigerator. She said, “Just taking care of Our Girl.”

The other night I realized I hadn’t eaten all day, and I found the pizza in the freezer.  I took it out of the plastic wrap and read the directions. “Preheat oven to 425, and place pizza on a cookie sheet.”  I said out loud, “COOKIE SHEET?!  Who the heck has a COOKIE SHEET??”  These cottages were made for long, romantic weekends, or maybe a week-long getaway, but they are not outfitted from someone who has just lost everything.

I rooted around and found a lasagna pan (nope, wrong shape altogether) and then opened the broiler and found, ta dah, the broiler pan!  Wide, slotted, and just right for cooking a little pizza.  I was extremely proud of myself, and gloated a little bit while the pizza cooked.  When it came out 15 minutes later, it was delicious.  I thought of Anne and sent her a mental hug.

Tonight once again I am rummaging through my cupboards, looking for something to eat. As usual, I have been running without stopping since eight o’clock this morning.

I open the fridge and it is a Showcase of Love. There’s the corn chowder Ellen made me. The chocolate (five bars!) that Matthew brought from Chicago.  The box of Coke that Kathy got me – a wild indulgence for a purist like me. There is a jar of stew that my friend Gale’s husband made for me, and a little bit of Dana’s amazing beef barley soup.

Soup is good, I tell my friends who ask what they can bring me.  Soup I can eat without thinking or chewing too much. And it is comforting. I am in need of comfort these days.

Last week my friend Laurie brought over a box of canned goods she collected for me, and I rifle around in the cupboard through these.  It is like a journey back in time. A can of Chef Boy Are Dee Mini-Ravioli.  Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup. Boxes of Rice-A-Roni.  This is so charmingly Not-Boulder.  This is the kind of stuff I ate in college, before becoming Vegetarian then Macrobiotic then Low Carb/High Protein then Wheat Free/Dairy Free/Gluten Free then Vegan and finally Moderate Omnivore.

I open the can of ravioli and pour a few into a bowl, and stick it in the microwave. When it beeps, I take it out and sniff the bowl.  It smells good, and I laugh with guilty pleasure.  This is full of wheat, carbs, sugar, red meat from questionable sources, and an entire day’s allotment of salt.  The list of ingredients is longer than my arm.  This is the kind of food my friends and I warn each other about.  It is definitely not Organic. And it is really, really not Local.  I take a bite of a tiny ravioli. It is delicious, because it is filled with Love. I can feel it when I eat it, and that makes me smile.

After a few bites, I cover the mostly-full can and put it in the fridge.  Nellie looks up at me from her bed, and sniffs the air curiously, hopefully, as if to say, “Is that for me? What are you doing?”

“Just taking care of Our Girl,” I tell her. And happiness washes over me like a wave.  Just taking care of Our Girl. Who has ever been so loved?

Wishing You a Good Night,

Andi