Labor of Love

I like baking pies or lasagna or slow braising lamb shanks.

Recipes that take the whole day to make completely from scratch. Meals that make you proud of your efforts.

Rolling out a pie crust or whisking a bechamel sauce might be tedious but throw on a jazz album, pour a glass of wine and it becomes a truly pleasurable pursuit. There is catharsis in being meticulous. Contentment in getting lost in the task. The smells, the textures. Pleasure in watching it all come together. Satisfaction in the end result.

I love how the joy of the process combined with fresh ingredients and time creates a labor of love that not only fills people’s bellies, but feeds them on a whole different level. It’s like you can eat your weight in Taco Bell and feel full to the brim, but you won’t have the warm feeling you get when someone takes the time to cook you a meal from scratch. It’s not the same feeling as being served a dish that tastes just the way you remember it.

Give me a clean kitchen on sunshiny Sunday afternoon, Coltrane on the turntable, and I’ll turn it into a delicious labor of love. Yet another Little Victory.