COOKING THROUGH A CRISIS by Grace Kane

(Peace, Love, and Laura Vitale)

In 2009, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I was 14.

I’ve been very lucky in my life in many ways, but I must say the ride has been ever tumultuous. The day my parents sat me down in the dining room to tell me my mother was sick—that she had the dreaded “c” word—was the day my childhood started to end. Sounds so scary and serious to say it that way, but it’s true.

Sometimes things are scary and serious. But I believe that in almost every situation no matter how scary or serious, there is good, hope, knowledge, something to be gained from it.

For me, when my mother got sick I had to become my own comforter for the first time. Now, my family and my friends were wonderful, and I thank my lucky stars every day that my mom is still with us and still fighting the fight. But during those high school years, when she first got sick, I consistently found myself lost in a cycle of angst, sorrow, and solitude. I was lonely. Almost all the time. I had my likes. I had things I liked to do, and a thing (singing) that I knew I had to do but I still felt wildly alone. I had responsibilities, however seriously I took them. I went to school. I didn’t flunk out. I babysat. I had the typical MT girl high school extracurriculars. I had friends. I even had fun. But there was always an edge. Of fear or competition or embarrassment. I was so completely possessed with anxiety. The kind that convinces you that everyone is watching you and laughing at you all of the time. Might sound familiar? If it does, I offer you my deepest sympathies; I know how exhausting that can be. There was one place, however, where I never felt judged. I never felt lonely or inadequate or sad.

THE STAGE.

Oh my god I’m kidding. So much that I physically could not be kidding more.

The Kitchen. I saw Ratatouille in theaters when it came out (I think I was in middle school) and I remember being 100% on the same page as the rat the entire time. Yes Patton, food is the best thing ever. We love a lightning-cooked mushroom and a berry cheese moment. I always loved reading recipes and watching my parents as they cooked for us. My brother and sister showed almost no interest in cooking as anything other than a means to an end, but I was mystified.

My father worked (and still works) a lot. On average, I’d say the past twenty years his weekday work schedule runs from 6am-6pm. Subsequently, my mom did most of the weekday meal prep in my formative years. And I had to get comfy feeding myself in high school. It’s probably when most of us ponder how we’re going to manage the whole food thing once we’re out of the cushy parental nest. My father and his father shared a love of cooking. Being Jewish and of Italian/Irish descent, there is a metric ton of super dope food I’ve been exposed to since my earliest days. My mother, while also loving food in all its glorious forms, has never loved cooking. To her, it’s fruitless. A lot of work for a few minutes of satisfaction.

When my mom got sick, she was very occupied with undergoing the exciting and all-consuming radiation and chemotherapy treatments, five abdominal surgeries, various traumatic and emotional surgical complications, and on and on and on. The record should show that had I not decided to get it on with my inner Julia Child, I would not have starved—however, family meals would’ve become one more thing to burden my parents. One more thing that was out of my own control, as silly as that sounds.

So much of Theatre—I would even go as far as to say all of it—is outside of the artists' control. All we can do is show up, be prepared, and do our best. Whether or not the proverbial spaghetti sticks to the wall is completely out of our hands. But in the kitchen, the literal spaghetti sticking to the literal wall is literally in our hands. And it feels so good to create something for yourself, to nourish yourself—and not just nutritionally nourish, but the whole nine; food and cooking are restorative and healing to us, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. It’s why they haven’t switched us all over to that “food pill” thing The Jetsons were working with.

A scene from The Jetsons in which the cartoon family decides which food pill to have for dinner. — A scene from *The Jetsons* in which the cartoon family decides which food pill to have for dinner.

I learned a lot of family traditional meals and recipes from my (you guessed it) family over the years, but there is one woman to whom I owe my inner chef. She is an Italian native who has lived in the U.S since she was a pre-teen. She is a YouTube sensation with over 3 million subscribers. She has hundreds of easy to follow home-cooking recipes utilizing real ingredients. She is all about balance and loves her kale almost as much as she loves her cookies. Her name is Laura Vitale and she has been my culinary fairy godmother for about a decade.

It’s shocking how little it takes to make an insanely delicious meal. Laura taught me that. She taught me the importance of letting proteins come to room temperature before being cooked. She taught me the dangers of over-mixing cake batter and the joys of making homemade mac and cheese instead of just grabbing the box. And she taught me, above all, that it is ok to despise iceberg lettuce. I’ve never met Laura. But if given the chance I would LEAP to give her the biggest of hugs. She unlocked a superpower I didn’t know I had. She showed me that I can take care of myself. I can do something that makes me happy that is utterly unreliant on what anybody else thinks but me.

When I found myself lonely, distant, isolated (DO THESE ADJECTIVES SOUND FAMILIAR?) delving into the world of risottos, and focaccias, and lentil soups, and ice cream cakes, it didn’t make me feel less alone. My mother was still sick. My problems were still my problems. BUT it did make me realize that I am a pretty good person to be alone with. A lesson that leads to such glorious peace—something I think we could all use a little of right now.