If you’ve been reading Salt, Ink & Soul for a while, you know I cook. And you know I love doing it.
But I had to learn one part of cooking on my own.
Sitting down to enjoy the meal.
That sounds a little ridiculous when I write it. I can spend time thinking about ingredients, adjusting the seasoning until something tastes the way I want, and patiently waiting for it to finish.
Then, once the food is ready, I suddenly feel like I need to get through it.
Apparently, I have time to cook dinner. Enjoying dinner requires a separate conversation.
For a long time, I didn’t think much about how I ate.
Sometimes I’d take my food to my desk. Other times, I’d put everything on a plate without much concern for how it looked. As long as it tasted good, I figured I’d done my part.
And then I’d eat.
Not really savoring anything. I barely gave myself enough time to taste what I’d spent so much time preparing.
I ate as though someone had started a stopwatch.
It was almost as if eating had become another chore. Something I absolutely had to do rather than something I might actually enjoy.
Which is a strange way to treat something you love.
I could spend an hour preparing a meal and only a few minutes eating it.
Somewhere along the way, I’d separated the pleasure of cooking from the pleasure of eating.
Lately, I’ve been trying to change that.
I’ve started paying more attention to how I put food on my plate. Maybe all those years of watching the Food Network finally caught up with me. Who knows? YouTube has helped me learn a few basics, too.
Nothing elaborate. Just considering where things go, how the colors work together, and whether the plate looks like something I’d be happy to sit down to.
I cook. I am not a chef.
Nobody needs to inspect my kitchen for a Michelin star.
But we eat with our eyes as well as our taste buds. I’ve discovered that taking a few extra moments to arrange a meal changes how I approach it.
When I look down and see something I’ve taken care to prepare, I want to give it a little more attention.
I notice what I’ve made.
The colors. The way a sauce settles around the food. The texture of each bite. That first bite when everything I hoped would work together finally does.
There’s a quiet satisfaction in that.
After all the effort I put into cooking, I’d like to be present for the result.
So now I try to get everything together before I begin.
My plate. My utensils. Something to drink.
A napkin, because I do try to eat like I’ve had some home training.
And then I sit down.
Not at my desk, trying to eat between whatever else I’m doing. Not rushing through dinner as though finishing first will earn me something.
Just sitting down to eat.
I’m learning to tell the difference between being full and enjoying a meal.
They aren’t necessarily the same thing.
You can finish an entire plate of food and barely remember eating it. I know because I’ve done it more times than I care to admit.
That makes me wonder how many other small pleasures I’ve rushed through simply because I was thinking about whatever came next.
I don’t have an answer.
But I am paying more attention.
When you cook for other people, it’s natural to think about their experience. You want the food to taste good. You want them comfortable. You might choose a plate carefully or make sure they have everything they need before you sit down.
Cooking for yourself means remembering you are sitting at the table, too.
Dinner doesn’t need company to deserve a little attention.
The person eating the meal is already there.
I don’t mean every evening needs to become an occasion. Some days, getting something warm onto a plate is plenty. I have no interest in turning dinner into another assignment or grading myself on where I put a piece of chicken.
And there will probably still be evenings when I eat at my desk.
Old habits don’t disappear simply because you’ve written an essay about them.
But when I have the time and energy, I’d like to do something different.
I’d like to enjoy what I’ve made.
To taste the seasoning I spent time getting right. To appreciate the texture I waited for. To take another bite because I want one, not because I’m trying to finish.
Nobody has to compliment the meal. Nobody has to be impressed by the presentation.
I can taste it and decide for myself.
Perhaps that’s part of what I’m learning.
Cooking for myself doesn’t have to mean giving myself whatever attention is left over.
I’m still practicing.
But lately, when dinner is ready, I try to remember that the work I put into it was meant to lead somewhere.
To this plate. This chair. This moment when I finally get to taste what I’ve made.
And I sit down.
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