If You Cook It They Will Come
“Crunch.” The sound of the garlic smashing under the side of the heavy knife brings me a little satisfaction at the end of a frustrating day. I pull the skins off the garlic cloves and push the smashed pulp to the corner of the cutting board.
I think back to my morning. I had to take meds to help me sleep the night before and was too groggy to get out of bed to see the kids out the door to school and work. They all trickled in at various times to say goodbye and kiss my forehead, but connections were missed.
“ChopChopChop!” The smell of the garlic wafted up to my nose and made my eyes water.
I had a due date coming up for work and a project that needed my full attention for several hours. My older teens came in and went out the door several times. They headed to early morning work and then home again to shower and rest, then out the door again for school and then back home again for some downtime. Work still demanded my attention, but I had a few brief exchanges of, “Hey!”, “How are you doing?” (fine), “I’m hungry.” and such. Sometimes said without making eye contact and without removing my headphones or turning down my music.
“Thud, Click, Clink.” I plop a pot of water on the stove, turn the dial, and slap on a lid.
At one point in the afternoon, my husband and two of my kids decided to make a coffee shop run. I was still behind on my project and decided to stay home. After they left I regretted not joining them and my mood turned greyer.
“Siri. Play John Denver.”
I turn the heat up on the deep skillet and lay out my ingredients. A Package of spaghetti, Olive Oil, a can of whole tomatoes, salt, red pepper flakes, butter, fresh basil, and freshly grated parmesan cheese.
When my last child - my caboose, my baby, and my last kid in elementary school - came home from school I gave him a quick hug and told him to grab a snack. He gave me the two-minute rundown of his school day and then my headphones went back on. He ate his snack and ran back out the door to play.
I drizzle a stream of olive oil into my hot pan and wait for it to shimmer. I hear Annie’s Song start to play and my mood improves a degree. I slide the crushed garlic into the hot oil and can’t help but smile at the sound of the sizzling. My body instinctively starts to sway to the violins as I swirl the garlic around so it doesn’t burn. The smell starts to fill my kitchen.
I finished my work around 7 pm. The house was quiet and after a quick check I find two kids napping, two kids gaming, and I feel the void of the oldest who recently moved five hours away for college. Brett was out on a walk. I felt alone even though five out of seven in my family were home. I had interactions with my husband and kids throughout the day, but no real connection.
I spent the next hour and a half folding laundry, cleaning my kitchen, and putting away random items left around the house. I felt my stomach rumble. I know my family all individually fixed something to eat, but I had not eaten for several hours.
When the garlic is slightly browned and turning soft I dump the can of tomatoes into the pan. The juices splatter so I turn down the heat. Siri is now blessing me with one of my favorite John Denver songs, “Take Me Home, Country Road.” My shoulders join my hips in the swaying and I can’t help but belt out the lyrics when the chorus hits. I feel my anxiety decreasing and my bleak mood lifting. I add the pasta to the boiling water and continue to stir the tomatoes and garlic so they don’t burn.
I glance at my phone.
“Who is making food?”
“What is that smell?”
“What smells so good!”
I start to receive texts from all corners of the house. They reach out from behind closed doors and awake from electronics comas to send out messages from their various devices.
I chop up and crush the tomatoes and garlic with the back of my spoon. The smells are amazing and the sound of the simmering sauce and boiling water is comforting. Siri has now moved on to “Rocky Mountain High” and the quicker beat makes me bring my feet into the movement of my hips and shoulders.
“Siri. Turn the volume up 20%.” My voice also rises 20% in volume.
One kid walks through the door and sits at the table with their phone.
“It smells sooooo good! When will it be done?” It is almost 9pm.
I toss in the red pepper flakes and basil. The sauce has reduced just enough and the pasta is almost al dente. I scoop out a cup of pasta water and transfer the pasta from the salted water to the pan of sauce. Another kid walks through the kitchen to the table. I toss the pasta and add splashes of the pasta water and the parmesan until the consistency feels right. The smell cannot be avoided by any room in the house and the last two kids plop down at the table. I add the final touch, a pat of butter, and stir it around until it melts as my son puts bowls and forks on the table.
I listen to my kids' laughter and chatter as I carry the pan to the table. It is just a pot of spaghetti. No side dishes or bread and the kids all grab their drink of choice. We take turns dishing up our pasta and I take a picture of my bowl to send to my daughter who lives away because that is what we do.
“If I had a day that I could give you
I’d give to you the day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
I’d sing a song to make you feel this way.
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high.”
We dig into our pasta and our sodas, juice, or water. We add more parmesan and pepper. My seventeen-year-old daughter makes us laugh until we can’t breathe. Brett comes home from his walk to a much warmer and happier home and definitely to a home that smells better than the one he left.
I sit back and take in my family and the feelings I am feeling and hope to myself that I can always provide an apology, a show of my love, and the feelings of comfort and home to my family with an unplanned and late-night pot of deliciousness. And John Denver, of course.
