Care and Cooking

By Madeline Reilly

Host Intro: Next, Madeline Reilly, who will share her journey of finding peace with her relationship through food.. 

Have you ever made something so special that you just want to share it? Have you ever even after a long day…after work or school or….anything really… turned on the stove, greased the pan with olive oil, maybe thrown some garlic or some white onions in there and felt like even though the world is crazy out there or something didn’t go your way…everything just stopped. 

My dad had me chopping up vegetables by the time I was four. Well, I was present at the chopping block, and I didn’t like the way it made my eyes sting when onions were involved. 

He taught me how to hold a knife much later…not too loosely…firm. Protect the fingers. And if you want to go fast, put your free hand on the dull side of the knife and saw it back and forth. 

To crack Garlic, place it sideways. Use the blunt end of your fist and crack. 

I learned a lot from my parents. Look twice before crossing the street. Not to let how you feel rule your life. Always add pepper. Cooking is the only survival skill you really need. 

My first year in college, I didn’t have cooking as an outlet. I was in a dorm room without a kitchen. And I didn’t have time for it either.

  I’ve never been good under pressure. It’s always made me feel sick. And when I was sick, the pressure got worse. My lungs felt like fire from walking up just a flight of stairs…cold air made me dizzy, and I couldn’t feel my toes after sitting down for a long time. I thought it was because of how little I was eating.

I was picking apart pieces for smaller bites. Cutting myself out of enjoying it for the experience of actually tasting it. It got to the point where I just wasn’t eating at all… Like I was bulging out from my skin at the seams. My fingers felt like sausages, and my stomach felt like I had just eaten air. 

 I was overly conscious about what I was eating. How my body felt. 

 I eventually got to the point where I would only eat applesauce and those wuther’s caramel candies that the grandmothers of the world usually had sitting in a glass bowl somewhere. I felt weak. 

When the pandemic hit, my family was in lockdown with no place to go. We would spray our grocery bags with Lysol and spend nights in the living room watching the world on our television. 

At night, one of us would cook. My dad, who usually only had time during the holidays, would have me help him with dinner. My mom made bone broth from scratch out of the bare bones from one of those supermarket rotisserie chickens. Our world wasn’t so bad because we were sharing it. 

And food became how we got through it all.

I started making rice bowls and pasta recipes that had gone viral on the internet. My eating habits had become better, but my health did not.

During this time, I was succumbing more to the symptoms of a congenital heart condition. I found out previous surgery had failed. The fatigue, the bloated fingers, and low tolerance for movement were not because I was unhealthy. I was eating better and worked out religiously Still, I felt awful.

And after that realization that it wasn’t about me or what I was eating, things became clearer. 

But that didn’t change my anxiety around it.  I started to see food as clinical. No salt. No caffeen after 11 am. Red meat once a month. Citrus before bed for inflammation. What went in mattered to me when it came to outcomes. 

But making food into a restrictive rule was not sustainable. It still took over my life. 

 After college, I moved into the City, and I had to look at things a little differently. I had to survive on my own. No dining halls, no other people to call for dinner time.  This was my home now. I had to take care of myself. 

 I had learn how to slow down and go with the flow a little bit. So I did. Cooking became a ritual again. The buzz of an electric stove, the painting of olive oil on the surface of a pan, the race to get chopped vegetables in as the meat browned, scraping the burnt pieces on the side of the pot away with a spoon.  

It’s slow. And it feels natural. A moment to wind down.  

Now, when I’m in my pathetic little New York City apartment kitchen, I find comfort in making something me my friends and can enjoy. Something that makes me feel good. 

As Anthony Bourdain once said: Food may not be the answer to world peace, but it's a start.

Host: that was Madeline Reilly, on her relationship to food and cooking.