Comfort and joy come in many different forms…and those forms change from day to day for each person. Currently, my comfort comes in the form of leftover cornbread smothered in honey and soaked in warm milk. Cringe if you will, but it’s been a staple meal since I made the cornbread to go with the chili earlier this week, and each time I eat it, I feel better on the inside--not like the “my hunger is being satiated” feel good, but rather the “life is good and everything will be okay” feel good. Everyone needs to feel that once in a while…hopefully at least once a day.
       I realized long ago that I find comfort in food. (I also learned that, unfortunately, I tend to seek a lot of comfort…but that’s a story for the mental and physical health section.) Food is associated with memories. My mother made a dinner every night to which the family would gather. She packed my lunches every day for school. She made breakfast…even if it was just a bowl of cereal. When I got old enough, she taught me how to cook, and I started fixing my own breakfasts and lunches and helping with dinners. There is as much comfort—if not more—in preparing the food as in eating it.
       When I was a teenager my best friend and I would often spend time in the kitchen. We would bake cakes or cookies. We would make sandwiches to trade (because that’s much more exciting than making a sandwich for yourself.) It seemed absolutely normal. That’s what all teenagers did…I thought.
       Like many young adults, I went off to college after high school. For graduation, one of my aunts had given me a care package that consisted of household goods that I would need once out on my own…and it consisted of many pantry items. When I got in to my apartment/dorm at college, I realized that I didn’t have transportation (or directions) to the store, but I did have ingredients. I baked some bread. My roommates were still in the process of moving in, and as they came in with their friends and family, the sight of someone actually baking bread was, apparently, astonishing. Some of them had actually never had homemade bread before (talk about astonishing).
       Being able to make things from ingredients instead of buying prepared meals or going out to eat saved me a lot of money in college. I am somewhat ashamed to say that once I got out on my own and started working, life got hectic and, living alone, I found myself buying a lot of prepared/frozen meals, because it’s just easier than trying to cook for one…and then eating the leftovers…for every meal…for the next week. During that time I lost a part of myself. Cooking is more than just a way to provide sustenance. Cooking is a form of art, an expression of yourself.
       Over the past few years, after my nephew and his family moved in with me, I have started cooking again. I have rediscovered a part of myself that was hibernating…or, should I say, in a coma. It was there, it wanted to come out and play, but it never really had a good excuse, because like most art, cooking needs to be shared with others for its beauty to be realized. I didn’t even realize that this had happened until my nephew started commenting, “You never used to cook like this when I lived with you before.” I think he might have felt a little jilted.
       I am just as busy now as I ever have been—more, even. It is difficult to find time to cook when I’m tired or have fifty thousand other things to be doing. By the time I get home from work there is usually a vicious fight between the couch and the kitchen…and the couch usually wins. But people have to eat. The other adults in the house work, too. When they get home, they don’t feel like cooking, either. But we can’t afford to eat out every night, and with a growing child in the house, we probably shouldn’t eat cold cereal for dinner EVERY night.
       The solution, for me, is in the freezer. I remembered the frozen dinners that I used to buy and eat. While they weren’t necessarily tasty, they were quick and easy. My niece got a Taste of Home Freezer Recipes book for Christmas or her birthday or some gift-giving day a while back. I’m glad she got that book. I realized that, while it had many new and exciting recipes that I wanted to try, I could also take many of our favorite recipes, prepare them ahead of time, and stick them in the freezer. Deep down I know this is not a brilliant new idea, but it was one of those light-bulb moments that just brightened my day. Now I take a portion of my weekend, or the rare days when I feel energetic after work, and make dinners to toss in the freezer. That way, if we’re having a tired/hectic/late day, then all we have to do is toss the pan in the oven a couple hours before the last person gets home from work. (Another niece got a crock pot recipe book this past Christmas. I’m kind of excited about that one, too.)
       Comfort and joy come in many different forms. For me one form is cooking for and enjoying good food with my family and friends. Currently I have a box of cream cheese softening on the counter for some Oreo balls that my niece requested last night. It’s sitting right next to the Rice Crispies that will soon lose all nutritional value after being drowned in marshmallow goo. And, not to give the impression that we only eat sugar in this house, a good friend just barely texted me saying that she has Brussels sprouts with my name on them (they will be delivered tomorrow).
       Studies have shown that families that eat at least one meal together each day have stronger relationships and the children do better at school and in life in general. Finding ways to cook that work for you can help achieve that goal because, after all, what can bring more comfort and joy than strong family relationships and smart, well-behaved children? (And if some of that comfort and joy comes in the form of brownies, all the better.)