Some days, cooking isn’t about hunger at all. It’s about standing at the stove with nothing much happening, letting the evening gently unravel while something simmers away in front of you. No rush, no plan beyond “this will be ready when it’s ready.”
I find myself doing this more often than I realise. Putting a pan on, chopping whatever needs using up, stirring absent-mindedly while my thoughts wander. Cooking gives my hands something to do while my head catches up. It’s a quiet kind of comfort.
There’s something reassuring about familiar movements — slicing, stirring, tasting. Even on days when everything else feels a bit loud, the kitchen stays steady. The rhythm doesn’t change, and that feels grounding in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it yourself.
Not every meal needs to be memorable. Some just need to exist. A bowl of something warm, eaten without distraction, can be enough to reset a day that’s gone sideways. Cooking doesn’t always fix things, but it often softens the edges.
And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to it. Not for perfection, or presentation, or praise — just for the quiet moment of being present with something simple.
I hope you get chance to cook something that makes you smile this week.
