This isn’t an especially fun time pretty much anywhere on Planet Earth. And yet I’ve discovered pleasures that I might never have otherwise experienced.
My daughter and I speak most nights to talk about what we’ve been cooking and eating, recipes we’ve tried, the meals that worked and those that didn’t. I’m a pescatarian; my daughter, a med school student, is gluten- and dairy-free. She’s all about healthy eating and fitting as many vegetables as possible into a single dish. At our house, carbs now rule—pizza, pasta, sticky buns and fake meat cookouts.
But there’s plenty of common ground. We discuss sourcing. When ingredients aren’t available, we Google workarounds. And we share pictures of our dinner plates often artfully designed.
I’m sure a lot of people separated from their older children are doing the same thing these days—cooking more, eating healthier, staying close and sharing photos of meals. I treasure our nightly culinary chats —and, for a little while at least, the chance to tune out the news. Bliss.