I use the term cookbook, lightly.
Grief is so bizarre. You’re collapsed on the floor and haven’t eaten since yesterday and you’re still expected to buy things, like sponges.
I created this cookbook to invite death to the dinner table. I have stood too many times with the refrigerator door open, staring, praying a finished thing would materialize. Let this book encourage you to have some finished things in the cupboard waiting for you.
What I have learned since beginning my pilgrimage into the underworld is that you must eat there, too. You, unlike Persephone, will not be bound eternally. But, it is a place we all must learn to regard with reverence.
This book is a collection of recipes from my year and a half of grieving. Simple things I ate many, many times. They are accompanied by my morning journal entries. Often days these two activities would be as much as I could bear in a day: Eat a simple thing and write, write, write. Often times the eating was too much. The writing never was. Let this book be of solace to you in sad times, when you don’t know what to reach for or when you need a little inspiration on how to do a simple thing. In every case, the heartbroken need to be nourished.
I use the term cookbook, lightly.
Grief is so bizarre. You’re collapsed on the floor and haven’t eaten since yesterday and you’re still expected to buy things, like sponges.
I created this cookbook to invite death to the dinner table. I have stood too many times with the refrigerator door open, staring, praying a finished thing would materialize. Let this book encourage you to have some finished things in the cupboard waiting for you.
What I have learned since beginning my pilgrimage into the underworld is that you must eat there, too. You, unlike Persephone, will not be bound eternally. But, it is a place we all must learn to regard with reverence.
This book is a collection of recipes from my year and a half of grieving. Simple things I ate many, many times. They are accompanied by my morning journal entries. Often days these two activities would be as much as I could bear in a day: Eat a simple thing and write, write, write. Often times the eating was too much. The writing never was. Let this book be of solace to you in sad times, when you don’t know what to reach for or when you need a little inspiration on how to do a simple thing. In every case, the heartbroken need to be nourished.
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