Meditations in the Kitchen

that can tell you what's for dinner

There are four swans on the mantle in my bedroom. I bought the porcelain mother and her two cygnets at an antique shop in my neighbourhood when the boys were little. Their provenance is German,¹ the seller told me. I loved the serenity of the mother swan, so classy with her gold beak forever guiding the little ones with stillness and resolve. The only problem was that she was missing little Rex. Several years later our babysitter² took the three boys to a thrift store in search of a mother’s day gift and found the final cygnet nestled on a shelf between a flower vase and a fondue set. This one has curly feathers bedazzled with flowers, leaves, and a fascinator on its head. It’s a statement swan and I call him Charlie.

I don’t lead these cygnets anymore. They’ve grown into young cobs, turning this way and that. I remember the writer and podcaster Glennon Doyle saying that the role of parenthood shifts from captain to manager to consultant as the kids grow older. I’m in the consultancy phase. I sweep in and out, cooking, folding laundry, chatting in the kitchen and paying for stuff, then I slip away and see what happens. Slipping away is hard sometimes. Those little cygnets don’t always do what the consultant wants them to do. Especially that one with the curly feathers.

At times like this I find myself in the kitchen, meditating. I catch myself standing in front of the coffee maker, inhaling the beans before I tip them into the grinder. Inhale for three, hold for three, exhale for three. Or when there’s dough to be kneaded - pasta or bread, it doesn’t matter. It’s the action of folding, turning, then pushing the dough under the heel of my hand, away from me, then folding and turning again. Breathing in, breathing out. Then again when I wash rice. It’s a new technique for me, taught by my friend Eshun over at Flavourfull³ where she breaks it down into a four step process:

1. Place your rice in a bowl or pot and cover it with cold water.

2. Use your hands to gently swish the rice around—this is where the tactile, meditative magic happens.

3. Drain the water. You’ll notice it’s cloudy—this is the surface starch washing away.

4. Repeat the process until the water runs mostly clear (usually 2–4 rinses).

I get caught in step two, swirling and swishing the rice with my fingers. It feels like play, the kind that leaves you calm.

My cousin Carly⁴ is also a kitchen meditator. Carly is actually my cousin John’s wife, but I like to claim her as my cousin too. Carly has two cygnets of her own. When it comes to the older one- a tall, handsome 16 year-old guy with Autism and high support needs - I don’t think Carly would say she was ever a captain, a manager or consultant. Maybe more of a nurse, a mediator, an explorer, an advocate, a spokesperson and from my perspective, a champion. She has consistently found ways to find calm in her life, from writing in her garden shed, to laughing, to painting, to cold water swimming and surfing, right here in Nova Scotia. Carly is also a great cook. I look to her for good stories in all things, so I asked her to tell me about her kitchen meditations, and this is what she said.

Cleaning out my fridge cures much of which ails me.

Feeling like the chaos around me is outside my control? Well, inspecting my hot sauce inventory and rotating them by their best-before dates is within it. Bonus points if I clean off the little shelf they are on.

Utterly lacking in culinary inspiration? I completely forgot about these picked onions. “Fish tacos for dinner?” I call out, getting a chorus of affirmative grunts in return.

Having an existential crisis about the future of the planet? I’m going to juice these near-death lemons and fill up this ice cube tray. Damned if I waste a drop.

I think it was Michael Pollan who once said something about how people consider the work around eating to get in the way of life, when in fact, for millennia, the work around eating WAS life.

Rather than classifying cleaning out my fridge as a periodic, unpleasant chore, I see it as an endless supply of short, gratifying, mindful activities that ground me as I go about the business of providing.

Plus, nine times out of 10, it tells me what’s for dinner.

Tell me, do you have a kitchen meditation?

1. I looked under the swans - they’re made by Goebel in Rödental, Germany.

2. Babysitter Jessie, thank you for doing that.

3. You can find the rest of that great rice washing technique here, and the excellent Japanese rice Flavourfull carries over here.

4. Carly is chronicling her life as a parent raising an Autistic child with high support needs over here on Instagram. As she says, yes it can be funny.