Whether in times of solitude or group celebrations, you can usually find me in the kitchen. A love of cooking has been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. In my early 20s, it was exciting to engineer the best meals possible with only a minifridge, rice cooker, and hot plate in my post-college apartment. Now as a 30-something, I spent many pre-pandemic weekends hosting friends for sushi nights or brunch. I also nurtured a budding interest in cake decorating, piping playful swirls of homemade buttercream onto box-made cupcakes after work. And when I’m not cooking or eating, I’m often sharing stories about food on my social media and my website.
But these past few weeks, something seemed different. After months of exclusively eating at home, stepping into the kitchen felt like a chore. Apparently I’m not alone—from my timelines full of takeout meals to essays in the digital pages of major news outlets, it seems like almost everyone is feeling burnout. And I started to ask myself if the pandemic had somehow ended my love of cooking for good.
Pandemic. . .But Make It Fun?!
Think back to the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, anxiety laden first few weeks of the COVID-19 pandemic. Our toilet paper rolls were empty but our kitchens were full. Everyone’s love of cooking seemed to be on display, tucked into endless photos of whipped coffee, sourdough starters, and decorated focaccia.
Many of us were stocking up on food and trying to make the best of a bad situation by doubling down on kitchen exploration. It’s something that Millennials have learned to do: grin and bear it, and turn everyday tasks into experiences worth documenting. But it wasn’t sustainable.
Novelty Became The New Normal
A few weeks of staying home as much as possible seemed bearable. It became more challenging with no end in sight. Especially coupled with the limited relief support offered for ordinary Americans, and artificially inflated pressure to ignore safety measures and quickly return to business as usual. Plus managing life and death risk in an extended global health crisis is a heavy weight for anyone to bear on an individual scale.
So we found ways to adjust to this sustained new normal. Some people wore masks and social distanced to varying degrees, while others continued living their normal lives—a tension exacerbated by the uneven waves with which the pandemic hit the United States. Many of us faced tough, life-altering choices. And a heartbreaking number of Americans found themselves struggling to keep food on the table.
I feel very fortunate to have a roof over my head and food on my table for my family. But the joy that used to accompany me in the kitchen was overshadowed by anxiety and uncertainty about the world. In this new, weird life, my love of cooking took a hiatus. It became easier to put a frozen meal in the oven, rip open a bagged salad kit, or order delivery.
A Supermarket Mix-up And A Fresh Start
There was a distinct moment when I began to rediscover my love of cooking. It was the result of a comedy of errors and a supermarket employee trying to make things right.
It was my wedding anniversary, an otherwise uneventful pandemic weekday. I ordered curbside groceries and took my infant on the drive to help lull him into a nap. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I’d gone to the right supermarket chain but the wrong location. Within 15 minutes I was at the right store, but they’d misplaced some of my order. I apologized for being late. A nice employee apologized for the mix-up and asked me to wait a few minutes to replace the items. I’m sure that I seemed frazzled, and she kindly assured me that even her own mom has gone to the wrong store for grocery pickup.
Remarkably, my baby son remained blissfully calm during the wait, the grocery loading, and the drive home. I figured all was well until I parked and noticed a voicemail: it was the nice employee asking me to call corporate customer service. Turns out that they wanted to make sure my order was complete. I took a quick glance before grabbing my son from his car seat and said everything looked fine, thanks for checking.
Of course, seconds later, I realized that a few small items were missing. The nice store employee must have known, too. Because before I even got inside, I got a text message from the store saying that my entire purchase had been refunded. The universe gave me a food freebie. It felt like I had to best damn meals possible to celebrate.
A Return To Hope And Homemade Nachos
I spent the next few days whipping up old favorite dishes and experimenting with new ones. A bag of tortilla chips became vegetarian nachos seasoned with pickled jalapenos from my home garden. Toasted slices of store-bought sourdough became the base of a panzanella salad with my remaining garden tomatoes. I pan fried raw shrimp and tossed them with a homemade remoulade for a po’ boy style sandwich. I sauteed shredded kale with bacon to serve on the side.
Each day that I cooked felt easier and more invigorating. Muscle memory of finding my way around the kitchen came back. Sure, I couldn’t share my food with friends—but I could use my prep time to have a phone call or video chat to catch up. And when it was done, I had a nice meal to enjoy solo or share with my family. The whole experience felt a lot more rewarding than my previous rut of ordering delivery and doomscrolling.
What I realized was that for me, cooking was more than cooking. It was a way to feel a sense of accomplishment and certainty in an extremely topsy turvy, uncontrollable world. I still enjoy the occasional carryout meal or frozen offering. But I’m back in the kitchen, energized as ever and hopeful for a post-pandemic future.