Thefoodstainsaresticky,
splodgyremindersthatthisb
oncelived,invariouskitche
alongsidethosewhonolongern
lwere all still alive. But as I stood, shoulder to arm, with
Tom by the stove sautéing red onions in butter, I found
myself reminiscing about standing, shoulder to hip,
with Mum by the AGA, sautéing the very same thing.
And as I instructed Tom on how to shape whizzed
chickpeas into falafel balls, I remembered all those
years ago when Gran taught me to do the same thing
“with tinned chickpeas because who has time to soak
them? Certainly not me!”.
For me, cooking has always been a calming pursuit.
It’s a way for me to climb out of my busy mind and into
the moment. But cooking during lockdown took it
beyond a mindful activity. It also provided a safe space
to travel back in time and live in moments I’ve long filed
away. Moments with Mum and Gran (and Grandpa
too) that I’d relegated to the bottom drawer, much like
I did that battered red book. But what happens when
you stubbornly ignore memories of those who’ve diedin order to avoid the pain, is that you also deny yourself
the joyful memories from when they lived.
Of course, it’ll always be sad that Mum and Gran
aren’t here to cook and share any more lunches with.
But the fact that their life is now complete doesn’t take
away from the fact they were once here – cooking,
eating, chatting and doing all the things I’m doing
now. There is also comfort to be found in knowing that
I can cook recipes that were once created, then written
down, knowing (hoping?) that future generations
would find them and enjoy them.
Months have passed since we finished
#LockdownLunches, but I’ve continued, for the most
part, to carve out time to cook lunch each day, then to
eat it slowly and joyfully with Tom. My days haven’t got
longer or my working hours shorter, but I have shifted
my priorities. I’ve drawn a line around lunchtime and
made it a sacred spot to cook, to eat and to remember.
I’ve learned I can welcome Mum and Gran into my
days if only I pause for long enough to let them in. I’ve
also learned that the grief I feel about them no longer
being here can exist alongside a joy that they once were.
This, for me, was a gift of lockdown – that amid all
the uncertainty and anxiety, I was able to find one hour
a day to reach back into my past and the people who
live in it. I’ve discovered the ability to relive memories
and shared meals while creating new memories and
meals. Because although I cook to eat, I also cook to
connect – and remembering that has been life-changing.
Emma Winterschladen is a freelance illustrator, editor and
ISTOCK/GETTY IMAGESwriter. Instagram @hungryromantic; hungryromantic.co.uk
people.
CHEERS TO THE MEMORIES
Bringing out an old family
recipe book reconnected
Emma with her late mother