Cooking for Comfort Poem and Therapeutic Cooking Quotes

I'm sharing one of my earlier poems for National Poetry Month. I hope you're enjoying reading and writing poetry this month. #28

Is cooking therapeutic? Oh, yeah. If you've ever thrown yourself into creating recipes when you're pining or grieving, you might just find that cooking is a very therapeutic exercise. Over the years, I’ve found that, not only do I enjoy cooking, but that it can be very therapeutic.

Sometimes when I am down, depressed, restless, or even heartbroken, I will go to the cookbooks and skim for a good recipe. Or, I will go to the freezer or fridge to see what needs to be cooked, and what could be thrown together into a stew, soup, or casserole before the bits and pieces go to waste.

During these down times when I turn to the kitchen, I generally make up my own recipes—saying the heck with it, I guess—and just throw things together. When I make way too much during my cooking therapy session, I’ll put it in the fridge and eat leftovers for several days until I can no longer stand it, and will usually freeze portions for later, if the amount of food created is just too great.

Yes, cooking can be therapeutic. Whether it’s about creating something yummy or just creating something in itself, I find it a great outlet when I’m upset. With that said, I hope you enjoy this poem.

Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all. -- Harriet Van Horne

"I love cooking with wine...sometimes I even put it in the food." --attributed to Julia Childs and/or W.C. Fields (of uncertain origin)

Maybe I should add a little more oil to the pan.

Chop, chop.

More onions?

My head hurts.

Those mushrooms look perfect.

Now where did that knife go?

My heart is beating kind of fast.

I need to chop something.

Oh—check the broccoli.

It’s steaming now.

Throw the dog a carrot.

No, I’m okay, boy.

Was that the mailman?

For a moment, it sounded like….

I’ll add extra butter to the potatoes.

That’ll do the trick. Yum.

Do I still have garlic left?

He wouldn’t eat garlic.

Said it messed up his system.

I love it.

Could bathe in it.

Was that the phone?

Crap!

I burnt the bread.

Just like Mom would—

Ha—family joke.

More bell peppers.

Chop, chop, chop.

Damn—another cut!

I’m jumpy.

It was just the cat.

STAY OFF THE COUNTER.

Sorry. I shouldn’t yell.

Told him I didn’t want a sharp knife

In the house.

A band-aid and more peppers.

Too much to chop.

He always liked his veggies.

I’m not hungry

Maybe I’ll call someone.

No….

Then I’d have to get dressed.

Maybe a glass of wine.

Pour some into the sautee?

No…

A waste of good wine.

I’m not wasteful.

There’s a lot of traffic

Outside my kitchen window.

Try the potatoes.

Creamy, extra garlic.

Can’t beat that.

He didn’t drink much.

Think I’ll have another glass.

Maybe I’ll bake a pie later.