the joy of cooking

I've been thinking lately about joy, and wondering how my experience of it compares to others'. Because I'm realizing (not for the first time) that what feels obvious and second nature to me is, of course, not a universal experience. For example, in the midst of the deep winter blues, I've remembered that simply dreaming of summer is sometimes enough to turn my mood around. The other day, I was having a really bad time-- stuck inside due to cold or snow, frustrated and lonely and down. Reluctantly, I dragged myself up to make dinner, and while my dinner simmered on the stove, I pulled out my trusty new Alison Roman cookbook (Something from Nothing-- I can't imagine anyone reading this hasn't already heard me evangelize about it, but this is your reminder to check it out.) And as I worked my way through her vegetable chapter, feeling inspired to try some new things (beans), grow some new things (hello Jimmy Nardellos), and dreaming about variations on tomato salads (I can't wait to try cherry tomatoes soaked in soy sauce and sesame oil), I started to feel better. I got lost in my daydreams of summer and sunshine and the most delicious foods. Even just the thought of beautiful foods, cooked and grown and shared with friends, and I got the familiar feeling in my chest that I think, to me, is quintessential joy. I don't think I can explain it better here than I did in my journal the next day: 

[While my dinner cooked on the stove] I drank a cider and dreamed of summer-- of the future-- of vegetables and sunsets, and further off, of family, of being an aunt, sharing food with the people I love. And I was transported. I wasn't lost in a far-fetched daydream, willfully escaping reality, as I sometimes do. No, it was its own reality, as I was filled with hope and love and gratitude, for what is and what is to come. 

And it made me think, what is it that most often give me this feeling of optimism and existential happiness? Most often, food and cooking. There is a heavenly joy and realness to it I struggle to explain. And I wonder, what is the equivalent to other people, to my friends? What is giving them this pure and simple and powerful feeling? Does their joy even feel the same as mine? 

So tell me, does the smell of tomato sauce simmering on your stove give you the swelling feeling of hope that today, any day, you could be about to eat the best meal of your life? When you're eating the perfectly flavorful and textural salad, is your brain lighting up the way that rat in Ratatoille does when he eats that cheese and grape together for the first time? And even beyond the fireworks of flavor, does it give you hope about your life at large? Does it unlock visions of your future and make you feel not only exceedingly grateful for the moment you're in, but abundantly hopeful for what's to come? When you're cleaning lunchbox pepper after lunchbox pepper, is your mind able to relax and wander in a way it rarely has the chance to? Does a piece of sharp and salty cheese both light you up and bring you a sort of peace, making you think, this is what life is all about? If not, that's okay. But I hope you have something in your life that does make you feel this way, and I hope you can access it easily. 

Tell me, what are some of the things that make you feel this way? Or is your equivalent feeling different entirely? I'm genuinely curious.