What I Ate in One Year: (and related thoughts)

by Stanley Tucci

Although I was raised a Catholic, I never fully acquired the assurance of belief and therefore never really believed. Though I don’t miss going to church every Sunday, I do miss the certainty of ceremony and the security of reverence. But now, in the early winter of my years, it’s through nature, art, and my children that I experience reverence, and in moments around the table that I experience ceremony. All guilt-free.

Home-cooked food strengthens our bonds when we are together, keeps us connected when we are apart, and sustains the memory of us when we have passed away.

I miss the actual act of cooking. Choosing the recipes, finding the produce, prepping it, cooking it, serving it, and eating it. The satisfaction and joy that those simple acts bring is made even greater when what is served is shared. Sharing food is one of the purest human acts.

Eating a simple dish gives one clarity. Pasta with butter and cheese laughs in the face of our complex lives.

We all know that it’s the small consistencies of life that are vital to keeping us grounded.

Time cooking with someone you love is time well spent.