Cooking; A meditation

Today, I accidentally discovered what it is that I love so much about being alone in kitchen with my music, just cooking at my own pace. I had this great acoustic mix playing, had slowly and carefully prepped my ingredients at my own slow pace, not trying to be efficient or worrying about getting anything done before something else, because I did everything just one single thing at a time. My favorite way to cook is to spread what could be done over 45 minutes into a 2 hour ritual, to make it a sort of meditation.

So, there I found myself, swaying slightly and un-self-consciously to a lovely, strumming, jazzy song as I slowly, carefully, peeled two soft-boiled eggs for a cold ramen dish. I caught myself, just purely in a moment. That happens so rarely for me, I think so much, the same thoughts often roll over and over in my head, it’s not even anything new, it’s not even important, it’s just a constant rumination. And of course, I was still thinking my own little internal monologue while peeling, but it was just so much slower and softer than I am used to. When I take cooking slowly, and especially in the prep time when the over-sensitive smoke alarm isn’t crying out at my attempting to sear something, there’s just something so gentle and soothing about the little purposeful movements involved. This is a pretty strange blog post I guess, but I guess that’s what I wanted to explain- how different cooking can be from everything else, writing especially. It’s so outside the self in a way. Anyway, I’ll just leave you with that. A meditation on the meditation of cooking. A post with the most variations on the word “slow” I’ll probably ever write.

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