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Cooking Amid Crisis: The Duality of the Tragic and the Mundane

Written by Ruth Raffle


"I made pancakes for breakfast whilst the world was burning

For lunch, I warmed my soup whilst the ice caps were melting

I cooked lasagne for dinner whilst bombs were dropped 2475 miles away

And I finished the day with a crumble whilst someone took their last breath and

Someone held their stillborn child and

Someone else was hit for the first time by their partner and

Someone else went hungry and

Someone else was raped and

Someone else fled their home"

 

It is so very odd, this juxtaposition of banality in the face of such tragedy and

struggle. How does one respond to the world in all its devastation? It seems so

strange to simply go about your day in the midst of such crisis. But we always have

to eat. To survive is to fill ourselves with joy and hope even in times of tragedy. For

me, that joy has always been found somewhere between the oven and the kitchen

table. Amid bubbling pots and steam filling the room, misting the windows.

I find it as I test the food, add salt and pepper and sprinkle in herbs, maybe even a

spoon of marmite. I find it as I layer up the dish, sauce, pasta, sauce, pasta, sauce,

cheese, as my friend holds the oven door open, and we sit on the floor as we wait for

it to cook. I find it as I rub flour and butter between my fingers, sprinkle in sugar and

coat the softened apples, the pasta now cooked as I swap their places in the oven. I

find it as my friends gather around the table as the night draws in and the candle in

the centre of the table glows, lighting their faces as we share our stories from our

days. Worries and hopes and dreams floating through the air, mixing with the steam,

escaping through the open crack in the window. I hope a little of that steam finds

another person, fills the air around them as they breathe in and remember that they

too must be nourished.


The oven timer begins to beep, the crumble is ready, and dishes are stacked messily

into the sink as space is cleared and a big spoon and ice cream tub appear on the

table. The tiny kitchen feels so full of warmth and hope and love in this moment. It is

sweet like the apples which burn our tongues in our too eager anticipation, the

nutmeg and cinnamon warming our bodies and softening the day. It does not mean

that we forget the crisis. The spices remind us of lands and people far away but

connected to us through hope of a better world. Gratitude seeps through us and

fuels our bodies to share this radical joy with others.

 

I am reminded of a book I came across recently called Turning the Tables: Recipes

and Reflections from Women published by Sheba Feminist Press in the 1980s.

Sheba is an independent radical press dedicated to sharing the voices of

marginalised communities that weren't otherwise being published in the 80s. It was a

book written by and for women with a wide range of recipes alongside personal

reflections on ideas around cooking and its connection to themes of patriarchy,

migration, sexuality and politics. It served as a powerful vehicle for storytelling and

an interesting insight into the different connections people have to cooking. There is

also an interesting dualistic reminder within its pages of the wider structures of

privilege that shape how we eat and cook, alongside the individual joy we find within

that. The patriarchy, colonisation, globalisation and capitalism all dictate who gets to

enjoy what food, but even amid these structures it is possible to find moments of

connection and hope.


More recently, we have seen the emergence of recipes being shared across social

media, particularly as a way to show solidarity within the context of the occupation of

Palestine. Here, recipes and cooking serve as a means of connection and

humanisation of people who may be far away geographically but remain connected

through a global solidarity.


Food serves as such a powerful tool in the creation of community. It allows people to

come together from all walks of life and share stories and cultures, being transported

to different places and times, whether in a restaurant, a community kitchen or a tiny

flat like mine. It is a vessel of connection.


I hope that whatever your next meal looks like you can imagine a little joy and hope

filling you as you eat. It is vital that we continue to sustain ourselves and find

moments of joy in times of crisis. That way we have the fuel required to make

change.

 

Stay nourished.

 

Apple Crumble (serves 4)


 For the topping:


  • 5tbsp butter (vegan butter works great)

  • 6tbsp plain flour

  • 4tbsp brown sugar

  • 5tbsp oats  


For the filling:


  • 3 Bramley apples (optional to add any other fruit here, pear, blackberries or raisins work very well)

  • Juice of 1 lemon

  • 5 tbsp brown sugar

  • 1tsp cinnamon

  • 1tsp ginger

  • 1/2 tsp nutmeg

 

1. Peel, core and chop apples into small chunks and add to a pan over a low

heat alongside the other filling ingredients until softened.

1. Whilst the apples are cooking, rub the butter and flour together in a bowl until

there are no lumps of butter (big breadcrumb consistency). Add the sugar,

oats.

2. Pour the softened apples into a baking dish (20cm square) and sprinkle over

the topping.

3. Bake at 180 degrees Celsius for 40 mins until golden brown. Best served with ice cream!

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