The Cook Who Forgot to Eat
January 27. 2022
There once was a woman who loved to cook. She chopped and sauteed and seasoned and created the most incredible delicacies from dawn each morning until long after dark each night. The few moments when she wasn’t cooking, she’d use to scour cookbooks and YouTube videos, seeking new recipes. Whenever she found one that looked particularly yummy, she’d spend days gathering the necessary ingredients and then another few days cooking it again and again, changing little things like how much salt and basil to add, or the number of eggs needed, until it was perfect. While she’d cook, she hum her favorite song “Don’t Stop Thinking about Tomorrow. Don’t Stop It’ll soon be here. Don’t Stop Thinking about Tomorrow – Yesterday’s Gone, Yesterday’s Gone” That’s what she’d sing as she twirled around the kitchen mixing sauces and adding spices. Then she’d invite friends and family over to an outdoor bistro she’d set up next to the garden, and would give them each a huge plate of food, which they’d eagerly gobble until their plate was clean. Then they’d each get a container of that day’s treat to take home. Any food that was left would be given to hungry strangers. As the years went by, this woman became somewhat famous for her cooking, and more and more people lined up to visit her outdoor bistro and taste the savory and sweet delicacies that she’d bring out of her ever-busier kitchen. The tables got longer, and the take home containers got fuller, and all seemed to be going well.
But after a while, something began to happen. The woman was so popular and so sought after for her food, she herself started forgetting to eat. She no longer had time to sit down with the friends and family that came by. She’d only serve the meal and then immediately disappear inside to start thinking about the next day’s menu. “Don’t Stop, thinking about tomorrow” she sang, but she was just a little bit weaker, and just a little bit less excited. Still, the plates and bowls stretched towards her window, and she did LOVE cooking, so she carried on, and slid dessert into the oven.
Some of her closest friends began to notice that the woman was looking a little more frail, and they could see how she never sat down, never ate any of the food she was so busy cooking. A few of them stood by the door and tried to talk with her. “Please, take a minute and sit with us. This jambalaya you made is amazing! Have you even tried it? Here, take a bite of mine” they said as she hurried out the front door. But the woman just breezed by them and began filling plates of the gathered masses. She barely heard her family and friends over the chorus of voices singing “Don’t Stop Thinking about the next meal. Don’t Stop how about souffle? I need to pick up some fresh corn meal You should make Molé? Or some cur-ray?”
As she entered the house, with mole and curry possibilities bouncing around her imagination, she stumbled and nearly fell, but few noticed, as they shoved spoonfuls of jambalaya into their mouths. “Okay, time for an intervention!” said one close friend to another. The few people who cared the most and could see how tomorrow had cast a shadow over today, formed a line by the door to the house and they began to propagate a wild idea. They whispered and sang and sent messages like electric pulses up and down the lines of hungry followers, and the next time the door swung open and the now greatly weakened chef stumbled out, barely able to hold the trays of steaming food upright, she stopped in her tracks. No plates or bowls extended towards her. No arms outstretched. Instead, hundreds of people who’d realized they cared about HER and not just about the food, sat at the long banquet tables, motioning her to sit down and join them. They gently sang “Don’t. Please Stop. Think about this moment. Don’t. Please stop. Be here right now.” The startled woman tried to serve, but they shook their heads, took the trays from her shaking hands, and sat her down. Someone filled her bowl with steaming deliciousness, and another admirer lifted a fork to her mouth. All waited as she reluctantly accepted the mouthful and chewed….and swallowed. Then a smile grew across her face. “Ok, this…. Is DELICIOUS!” she loudly proclaimed. The crowd cheered, and began to eat with her, taking the time to savor each bite, and listen to the stories she had to tell, and the songs she had to sing. When the meal was over, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she not only felt satisfied, she actually felt full. She rose to collect the dishes and start on what came next, but hands on her shoulder coaxed her back into her chair. “It’s okay to just be here now, with us in this moment.” Said one of her family members, making the kind of eye contact that snapped something back into place for her. And at that moment, tomorrow’s menu -poof- disappeared into later, where it should be. It would have its moment in the spotlight, but not yet… not quite yet.