I cook when I am sad.
I cook when I am happy.
I cook to comfort people.
I have, at times, and much to my chagrin and embarrassment at my passive aggression, not cooked when someone made me angry.
I cook when I have no thoughts in my head.
I cook when there are so many thoughts in my head that my ears are ringing to the beat of my heart and my jaw is tense and I wake myself up in the night, grinding my teeth flat.
I cook when I don’t want to write and also when I do and also when I have things to write that I cannot put down on paper just in case I die and someone goes through my papers and it’s not something that anyone should be reading.
The only time I don’t cook is when I am can’t figure out who to cook for and making anything would waste food.
Except for the only other time that I don’t cook, which is when despair sets in.
Despair is a big word, like “disappointment.” I try to use my words carefully; I am critical in my head (and sometimes out of my mouth) when people toss words around in cavalier fashion. They matter, words do, even in this age of grunting and listicles and pictures.
So. Despair.
The dictionary defines it as “the complete loss or absence of hope.”
On all but my worst days, it’s possible for me to avoid this word. There is always something to reach for. Or even just to pin my mind to, just for a little while until the feeling passes.
My dad told me the story once of a guy who swam the English Channel. He (my dad) said the guy was interviewed, and one of the questions was, “How did you make it across?” Which is a really DUMB QUESTION, but many of my father’s stories and jokes featured dumb shit prominently.
The swimmer replied, “I just told myself to swim ten more strokes. And after I swam ten strokes, I thought, well, I can just swim ten more. So I swam across the Channel, ten strokes at a time.”
Frankly, this story is so neat and tidy and fits his long-forgotten point so well that I am pretty sure my dad made it up. Which was also part of his M.O.
But it works for many different aspects of my life.
On this day, I am trying to keep the English Channel in mind. There have been three deaths in and around my life in the past four weeks: two friends of my daughter’s and yesterday, my uncle. I don’t feel much like baking today, and despite the unutterably gorgeous weather of the past two days, I don’t feel much like going outside. But today I will force myself out of the bed. I will wash some laundry, and then some dogs, and maybe I will write for money and drag myself out for a little walk.
And I will definitely dig out my mother’s recipe for Truly Citrony Lemon Bars, which I will turn into a tart and bring to a friend who maybe might appreciate them. This uses plain, simple ingredients that you have lying around, which makes it easy because there is very little actual effort involved.
It’s the whole when life hands you lemons thing. Ten more strokes.
Truly Citrony Lemon Tart
Ingredients
1 stick butter, softened
1/4 cup powdered sugar (plus more for dusting)
1 cup gluten-free all-purpose flour (regular works here, too)
1 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup lemon juice (I used three lemons, but they were very juicy)
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 heaping tablespoons gluten-free all-purpose flour (regular works here, too)
Method
Preheat oven to 350.
Cream butter and sugar together, then add flour. Continue to beat until mixture clumps like dough.
Press dough on the bottom and slightly up the sides of a round tart pan (or 9×9″ glass baking dish).
Bake for 15 minutes.
While the crust is baking, mix together all remaining ingredients.
Pour filling over hot crust and bake again for 30 minutes.
Remove from oven and cool completely. Dust with powdered sugar to serve.