I never thought I’d say that cooking for myself is too much work and I can’t be bothered. But for a long time, that’s how I felt.

I have a serious passion for cooking. I’m a chef school grad and a talented home cook. I collect recipes and cookbooks, I enjoy cooking shows, I like shopping for ingredients, I love cooking, and I savour the eating. Cooking has a meditative quality. The kitchen is my happy place.

But my passion for cooking all but disappeared after an annus horribilis that began when my father fell and suffered a brain injury. Most of my time was devoted to his care, though he often didn’t know who I was. Meantime, my relationship with my partner had hit a rough patch and then he died suddenly of a heart attack. My father died four months later.

It was a long journey, two steps forward, one step back. During that time I rarely cooked; mostly I ate in restaurants or microwaved a frozen entree. I moved several times.

A friend moved to Hamilton, and on my first visit there I fell in love with the place. It’s a big enough city with a friendly, relaxed vibe. I sold my Toronto condo and before my Hamilton house was ready, I stayed with friends and in AirBnB digs. And I started cooking again.

My first steps were small because I was using someone else’s kitchen. On a warm fall day, I made Salade Nicoise: steamed green beans, boiled potatoes, canned tuna, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, anchovy paste vinaigrette. It was fresh, bursting with flavour, and especially satisfying because I made it for myself.

I often made my favourite lunch: grilled cheese with aged cheddar on sweet-and-sour rye bread, fried in butter in a pan. A friend asked me to dog sit and when I made grilled cheese, the dog came running from the furthest corner of the house and sat at my feet looking hopeful. He was usually rewarded.

My last AirBnB was self-contained with a kitchen, and I made stuffed peppers, chicken curry, quiche. It was delightful to be restocking my own pantry with things like olive oil, Himalayan pink salt, saffron.

I moved into my house and began cooking in earnest: chicken paprikash, braised beef shanks, Parmesan French toast, mushroom barley soup, beef stew, split pea soup, leek and potato soup, stir-fried pork, marinated eggplant. And I began baking, filling the house with wonderful aromas of blueberry muffins and Morning Glory muffins, banana bread with ginger, lemon pound cake.

I have some new cookbooks: Ina Garten’s Cook Like A Pro, Nigella Lawson’s At My Table, Jamie Oliver’s Jamie Cooks Italy, and Yotam Ottolenghi’s Simple.

I discovered new (for me) ingredients:

Grape tomatoes: flavourful, great texture; delicious sliced in half, placed cut side down on baguette, drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with pink salt, let sit for a few minutes so the bread absorbs the liquid. 

Passata: aka strained or pureed tomatoes, passata has a lively, fresh flavour. Tomato paste and tomato sauce are cooked down; passata is not. I tried passata for a Nigella Lawson recipe and I’m hooked.

Panko: Japanese breadcrumbs that make a delicious and crunchy coating on baked chicken and fish; no frying needed.

Getting back into cooking is like meeting an old friend and having a lively conversation as if no time had passed. I really missed cooking, all of it – choosing a recipe, shopping, cooking, even the satisfied feeling when the dishes are all washed and put away.  

My passion for cooking has come roaring back.

Cooking is a pastime but more than that, cooking is a commitment to taking better care of myself. It’s a recipe for living.