In university, I remember once telling a friend that sharing a meal for someone is a testament to their value in your life. I probably said it with fewer syllables, yet more eloquence. Only in the last two-or-so years have I started cooking with any regularity. I think I’ve been learning to cook, as opposed to just cooking. Thing is, I don’t really care for the food, all that much.
Lately, I often cook for two people. Before, I was cooking for two but that was because I wanted an extra meal out of it. Nowadays, it’s for two people during one meal. There are usually leftovers, though. It’s much better than cooking for only one.
I remember working in a restaurant and cooking that many meals doesn’t appeal to me. It’s cooking for a specific someone, with an intention. It feels nicer. I feel a sense of gratitude, almost – my efforts and abilities have value.
It’s different now, too, because preparing dinner is an event in the day. It’s a regular occurrence. It has become ritualized. It’s when we get to chat, catch up, plan, contemplate, and fool joke around a little. Before we’ve even sat down to dinner, we’ve come together.
At the end of the meal, there’s a little more love left over.
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