This is a typical-woman thing to do, and I don’t care who hears me say it: Why do women still believe that cooking and baking will cure everything from the common cold to cancer, and even beyond? Sneeze, and we’ll make chicken soup because you know it’s more powerful than “God bless you.” You call and tell me somebody died, and while I’m still on the phone I’m pulling things out of the refrigerator and cabinets and have the butter melted before you say goodbye. Men just wouldn’t, when faced with tragedy, rev up the Mix Master.
Nobody died, thank goodness, but I’ve baked two dozen cupcakes today (don’t feel bad, my fellow Narrativers, but my poor father mentioned last week about how he hadn’t had Black-Bottom Cups in years, and that’s what you were eating at the meetings). Then I made a huge pot of beef soup with barley, lentils, soup shank, carrots, broccoli, celery, potatoes and the kitchen sink. I’ve just stuck a lasagne in the oven. All of these will be portioned out for us, the elderly, and the ill. Our little platoon of chowhounds, whose last words on earth, I can foresee, will be, “More, please.”
And you know, no matter how good all this expended energy makes me feel for its productivity and giving spirit, I must admit: I have never been to even the most elaborately prepared and home-catered funeral where it managed to raise the dead.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Cooking is a very comforting thing to do isn’t it? And it gives us something to do – we can occupy our minds and give comfort at the same time.
To paraphrase Wendy — it’s called a defense mechanism.
Meanwhile, save me some of that lasagna.