Maybe it’s because I’m listening to Sasha Martin’s Life from Scratch: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Forgiveness, or because I’m traveling for work this week, but today I felt called to my kitchen.
After coming home from our weekly shop, my son played hockey in the living room, while I chopped, seared, boiled, and braised.
I made a rich, deep red pan sauce. A base of bacon and sweet onions layered with 7-bone chuck steak, Roma tomatoes, and mediterranean spices. The flavor built and built until it rose up and out of our two story cottage to meet my husband in the driveway, as he returned from a well-deserved day away.
“It’s just a tease,” I said. “The sauce is for tomorrow.”
I also made a meat pie. A stew of sausage and beef with caramelized onions, bites of carrots, and fresh peas – just waiting to be enclosed with precious sheets of fillo that will finish the piece on Tuesday.
And for Sunday supper, a roasted rosemary chicken with local asparagus, garlic smashed potatoes, cucumber and tomato salad, just-made bread, delicate pan gravy, and canned jellied cranberry sauce.
There are plenty of leftovers for lunch.
The fridge is prepped and ready for the week ahead, and while I am still working on my relationship with food, I cannot deny my primal love of cooking. And the complete joy of sharing what I make with those who come to my table.