Yesterday we learned about the joys of hospitality. Today, the Joy of Cooking. One of the last articles my mother wrote was about the new version of the Joy of Cooking. The Joy and the Settlement Cookbooks were Bibles in our house. My mother loved to read cookbooks. And collect cookbooks. My parents even wrote a cookbook on the Farm Markets and Farm Stands of Michigan, “Celebrate the Harvest”. They were fascinated by the Fulton Street Farmers’ Market in Grand Rapids, long before farm-to-table was a thing.
My mother loved to cook. She says her mother wasn’t such a good cook and over salted everything so we under salted. “People can add if they want.” I remember my mother actually taking some classes with the Northwestern University Wives. One on French cooking and one on Indian cooking. I think she thought she was Julia Child, only less messy. There was the year we had Duck a la orange and tiny eclairs for some holiday and the cooking wasn’t done until midnight!
The Settlement Cookbook used to say on its cover “The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through His Stomach.” There does seem to be a connection between food and love. Or food and comfort. At times that is a good thing. Other times, like for those of us struggling to lose weight, learning about non-food rewards and channeling our emotional eating is necessary.
But I want to talk about the joy of cooking. Some see it as a chore. It fills me with joy. There is something that makes me happy when I am puttering in the kitchen. Even before, when I am shopping for the perfect ingredients. Corn from Kleins (the farm stand in Elgin, no relation). Cheese from the Harvest Market. My own fresh grown herbs. Fish from the fish market. Special vinegar from a favorite place in Ann Arbor. These will become a simple fish chowder and salad.
Chopping vegetables. Sautéing onions and garlic. Adding a pinch of salt. Stirring the pot (even writing that makes me chuckle). Tasting. Correcting. Tasting again. Setting a pretty, inviting table. Celebrating each holiday. Even the little ones. Each of these bring me joy.
It is an opportunity to slow down, just for a bit. 
Soup simmering, bread baking, apple crisp on the counter. Each of these is evocative. Each of these is ready for sharing with family and friends. Each of these remind me of love. To love. Each of these brings me joy.
Maybe this poem of mine captures it better.
The flavor of love
A pot of carefully prepared fish chowder
Fresh from the farm corn
Seasoned with cracked pepper, sea salt, thyme
Sprinkled with scallions
Bulbs still glistening with dew
Tomatoes bursting with flavor
Kalamata olives and mozzarella cheese
Dripping with extra virgin olive oil and
18 year old balsamic vinegar with hint of honey
A glass of chilled Riesling
The rumble of thunder
Hold me close as I tell you
I love you.