Table for two.
For most of my adult life, cooking was simply part of caring for my family. With seven children, there were always groceries to buy, meals to plan, and people gathering around the table. I never imagined that one day the difficult part would not be feeding so many people, it would be learning how to feed only two.
I stopped cooking when cooking became cooking for two.
Our lives no longer revolve around a shared dinner hour. Doug and I both work long days and we do not usuallyy eat together. Grocery shopping for two sounds as though it should be simple, but I have found the opposite to be true. Packages are too large, fresh ingredients spoil before we use them, and carefully planned meals become containers of leftovers no one wants. Too often, buying groceries feels like buying food that will eventually be thrown away.
So,, we eat out. It is easier, more convenient, and often seems less wasteful. But somewhere along the way, I realized that I had not merely changed the way I prepared dinner,. One of the familiar rhythms of my home had quietly disappeared.
For years, food was woven into the life of my family. Cooking for my seven children was never simple, quiet, or particularly elegant, but it had a clear purpose. Someone was always hungry, the kitchen was always busy, and casseroles and other large family meals made sense.
When our household became two, those meals no longer appealed to me-not only because they made too much food, but because my tastes had changed. Cooking for two would require learning different recipes, buying different quantities, and creating an entirely new routine. I know I can learn, but, I am tired. After decades of planning meals and feeding a large family, reinventing the way I cook feels overwhelming. So, I made a conscious decision that for now, I do not have the energy to begin again.
A table filled with memories
Perhaps one day I will find a new way to cook-smaller meals, simpler ingredients, and recipes meant for two. But, for now, I am allowing myself to stop trying to recreate a rhythm that belonged to a different season of life.
The table is quieter now, but it is not empty. It still holds the memories of all the people I once fed, and it remains ready for whatever comes next. Maybe cooking for two is not really about learning to make less. Maybe cooking for two is about discovering a new way to gather to nourish care for the life we have now.
Have you found yourself learning how to cook-or live- differently in a new season? I would love for you to join the conversation and share what you are discovering along the way.
The house is open.