9 Recipes for Curing Heartbreak

in this piece I tell a story through recipes.

I. Pan-Seared Cod in Tomato Basil Sauce

Ingredients:

• 1 lb fresh cod, cut into 2 fillets
• 4 tbsp olive oil
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1/2 cup basil, chopped
• 2 tbsp lemon juice
• 1/2 tsp lemon zest

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Send text to significant other asking them what time they'll be here for dinner. Receive no reply.
2. Prepare sauce: heat oil in a saute pan over medium heat. Add pepper flakes, garlic. Saute until garlic is fragrant. Wave a hand over the pan to check the fragrance of the garlic and cough because there are also red pepper flakes in the pan. Check phone again. Still no reply.
3. Add cherry tomatoes and cook until soft yet still holding their shape. Stir in basil, lemon juice, lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Lick the spoon to taste, frown, and add more salt. Transfer sauce into a bowl and set aside.
4. Prepare cod: heat oil in a saute pan over medium heat. Season both sides of cod with salt and pepper. Frown at the recipe and add all-purpose seasoning salt too, on a whim. Place seasoned cod in oil and cook until golden brown. Turn on vent above stove because the smell is getting to be a bit much.
5. Flip the cod carefully and place the pan in the oven to continue cooking for about 5 minutes. Stick a fork in it after 7 minutes and turn the oven off, but leave the cod in there for now.
6. Call significant other because it's after 7:00 and they hate eating after 6:30 (it's another one of their quirks that you don't understand but love them for it anyway). Nobody picks up.
7. Wait for another hour, calling every ten minutes. Glance up at the clock and realize you haven't eaten since 11:30 this morning. Become very worried but cave in to your hunger.
8. Reheat the sauce, pour it over a cod fillet, and eat in silence, alone.
9. Call significant other one last time before going to bed. Fall asleep after hours tossing and turning due to confusion, anxiety, and a little bit of anger, all at once.

II. French Toast

Ingredients:

• 2 slices of whole grain bread
• 1 egg
• 1 slightly prolonged splash of milk
• 1 tbsp sugar
• a few drops of vanilla extract
• a few shakes of cinnamon
• butter

Instructions:

1. Beat egg with milk, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon. Yawn a few times due to restless, anxiety-ridden sleep.
2. Dip bread into egg mixture. Let soak for a minute while texting significant other demanding a reply.
3. Receiving no reply, melt butter in a pan and fry egg-soaked bread slices. Fearing something bad has occurred, call significant other. Somebody picks up, but it is not your significant other. It is their mother. Notice the distress in her muffled voice.
4. Prod at bread in pan while feeling a ball of dread rise in your stomach. The bread is not ready to flip yet. Listen to potential future mother-in-law inform you that your significant other is in the hospital. They were in a car accident. Vaguely smell something burning but ignore it because you were just told things don't look good.
5. Turn off stove immediately and grab keys. Drive to the hospital wearing pajamas and the ratty sneakers your significant other always teases you about.
6. Arrive at the hospital smelling of burnt toast. Drop jaw in gaping horror as significant other's mother says that paramedics who arrived on scene found their phone in their hand where they lay after the crash. They were texting while driving.
7. Cry profusely upon realizing this is your fault. Feel regret rise within you and tremble with the guilt and awful horrid thoughts running through your head. 

III. Instant Oatmeal

Ingredients:

• 6 dollars, provided by potential future mother-in-law
• hot water
• vending machine

Instructions:

1. Refuse the money at first because you do not feel hungry. Eventually surrender to significant other's mother's insistence.
2. Shuffle over to the vending machine at the hospital. Purchase a cup of plain instant oatmeal. 
3. Add hot water from the nearby coffee machine. Ignore the scorching heat of the boiling-water-filled paper cup. Take a spoon and sit back down beside their mother. Bow your head in shame as she gently assures you it wasn't your fault.
4. Sit in silence for a few minutes before she urges you to eat.
5. Take one bite before a doctor comes and gives you the worst possible news.
6. Drop the still-hot paper cup full of bland mush all over your shoes and, deep down inside, forswear oatmeal for the rest of your life because it will always remind you of the moment you found out the person you thought you were going to spend your life with is dead.
7. Stare blankly at the now-ruined sneakers you're wearing and think about how you will never, ever again hear them chuckle at how old the shoes are, or see their playful smile as they tease you with a glint in their eyes. Feel a gaping emptiness inside you that threatens to rip you to pieces. Put a hand to your chest as you convince yourself somehow that your heart really is breaking in half.

IV. Chicken and Wild Rice Soup

Ingredients:

• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 1 tbsp butter
• 3 celery stalks, sliced
• 2 carrots, sliced
• 1 red onion instead of white because that's all you had and you couldn't find the energy to go to the store again
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 bay leaves
• 1/2 tsp thyme
• 1/2 tsp oregano
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 6 cups chicken broth
• 2 cups rotisserie chicken from Costco, shredded
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 8 oz uncooked wild rice

Instructions:

1. Sigh exhaustedly while lifting a large pot out of a cupboard, due to lack of sleep for the past four days. Melt butter and add olive oil to it. Watch the butter slowly melt and tell yourself you're doing this for your significant other's family, that they are grieving and have too much on their minds to cook.  Convince yourself to follow through. For them.
2. Add carrots, celery, onion and cook, stirring often, until onions are translucent. Think about when your significant other told you their favorite thing off the Panera Bread menu was the chicken and wild rice soup. Push away the memory of their delighted grin when you made them homemade soup. 
3. Add garlic, thyme, oregano, salt, pepper, and bay leaves. Cry a little because you remember them telling you that if you find the bay leaf in your food you get to kiss the cook. Remember the feel of their lips on yours because they, not surprisingly, found the bay leaf. 
4. Whisk cream, milk, and flour together in a bowl. Add to soup pot, whisking until all ingredients are combined. Pretend you don't notice a few tears dropping into the soup, because you don't care.
5. Stir in wild rice and simmer until tender.
6. Leave the pot on the stove and slowly sink to the floor, sobbing the hardest you've ever sobbed since the time your dog died in the 4th grade. Remain this way until your former future brother-in-law finds you there and helps you up. Wipe your tears pathetically as he gently tells you to get dressed for the funeral while he puts the soup in the car. 
7. Attend the funeral, avoiding speaking very much to anybody. Refuse to eat your own soup at the family lunch after the funeral. Refuse to eat anything. Leave halfway through lunch because you can't bear being in that house any longer. Not today. 

V. Chef Boyardee's Beefaroni

Ingredients:

• 1 can Chef Boyardee's Beefaroni
• 1 fistful of multigrain crackers

Instructions:

1. Go to pantry and stare at dwindling food supply. Grab the can of highly processed food product and a can opener. Open the can.
2. Dump contents of can into a bowl. Stare at the red goop and jiggle the bowl, watching the yellowish and brown lumps of pasta and ground beef settle into the sauce. Regard the fact that you haven't had a proper meal in a few days, or a few weeks. Internally smother thoughts of cooking because cooking always seems to remind you of...
3. Consider microwaving the salty mess but decide you don't care enough. 
4. Obtain crackers and sit at table with bowl. Eat the food in front of you, not really tasting anything. Deep down inside, regard this lack of proper nutrition as a sort of punishment for texting someone you knew was driving.

VI. Kale and Wheat Berry Salad 

Ingredients:

• 1 cup wheat berries, rinsed
• 3 cups water
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 fistfuls of kale
• 1/3 cup olive oil, extra virgin even though you hate extra virgin, but it's what you were given, so you suck it up
• 1 cup fresh basil leaves
• 1/3 cup pine nuts, toasted
• 1/3 cup feta cheese, crumbled

Instructions:

1. Listen to your good friend as she tells you that you need to get it together, that it's time to quit mourning, that you need to move on (as if you could ever truly move on). Indulge her by agreeing to have lunch with her. Stare at the groceries she brought you, all laid out on the counter.
2. Chop the kale into reasonably sized pieces. Look at the knife and consider its sharp edge. Frown deeply and continue chopping. 
3. Watch friend while she combines the wheat berries, water, and salt in a pot over medium-high heat. Silently wait for it to boil, hear her chatter on about how uplifting it is to eat fresh good food. See her lower the heat, cover, and let simmer until the wheat berries are chewy, about an hour. Accept sips of wine while you wait with her.
4. Prepare dressing by combining olive oil and basil in a blender. Drizzle over kale and cooked wheat berries and toss to coat. Toss pine nuts and feta on top. Admire the salad you have just constructed. Acknowledge out loud that this is the first time you've made real food in a long time. Ignore the sympathetic look from your friend.
5. Feel much better after taking one bite of the salad. Realize how much you have missed cooking, how satisfying it feels to eat something you have created. Notice with mild surprise that the salad is very filling, and somehow you feel a little less empty for the first time since...
6. Take a few more sips of wine and focus on listening to your friend tell you about her life since you made yourself absent from it. Regret ignoring her texts and phone calls.

VII. Garlic Mashed Potatoes

Ingredients:

• 3 1/2 lbs russet potatoes
• 2 tbsp kosher salt
• 1 1/2 cups half-and-half
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
• 6 oz Parmesan, grated

Instructions:

1. Peel and dice potatoes. Take care to make sure all are about the same size. Catch yourself being extra meticulous and think about how your late significant other marveled at your patience and particularity in the kitchen. Do not cry. Instead, smile briefly at the memory. 
2. Place potatoes in a large saucepan, add salt, and cover with water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and then reduce heat to maintain a rolling boil. Catch yourself humming a little while poking at potatoes, checking to see if they fall apart occasionally.
3. Heat the half-and-half and garlic in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Simmer for a few minutes, then remove from heat and set aside. 
4. Remove the potatoes from heat and drain the water. Mash and add garlic-cream mixture and Parmesan. Stir to combine. Inhale slowly, enjoying the rich aroma of the potatoes, and realize you are cooking by yourself and things feel okay.
5. Feel a small sense of dread as you pour the potatoes in a large serving bowl. Cover and put on shoes. Find keys, put on jacket, and bring the potatoes to your car. Drive.

VIII. Meatloaf 

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 lb ground beef
• 1 egg
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 cup milk
• 1 cup dried bread crumbs
• beef bouillon powder
• 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
• 1 tbsp garlic, minced
• 1/2 tsp basil
• 1/3 tsp oregano
• 3 tbsp tomato sauce
• 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 2 tbsp Worchestershire sauce
• 1/3 cup ketchup

Instructions:

1. Arrive at significant other's family's home with prepared garlic mashed potatoes. Look around and take in a deep breath. Acknowledge apologetically that this is the first time you've been here since...the funeral. Hug everybody in the family. Notice you don't feel the pain you felt that day anymore; not as much, at least.
2. Enter kitchen to help former potential mother-in-law prepare meal. Listen to her tell you that your cooking is superior. Blush and say you've fallen out of practice, that you haven't been able to cook since the funeral. Fall silent. Watch her preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
3. Combine the beef, egg, onion, milk, and bread crumbs in a large bowl. Mix in boullion powder, garlic, cheese, basil, oregano, tomato sauce. See former potential mother-in-law raise an eyebrow and comment that you don't believe in seasoning with only salt and pepper like they say on AllRecipes.com. Smile when she laughs. Feel your smile fade when she tells you it wasn't your fault, what happened that long-ago evening. Nod and say you know. Realize it is true.
4. Press meat into a loaf-shaped pan. 
5. Combine ketchup, brown sugar, and Worchestershire sauce in a small bowl. Brush top of meatloaf with the mixture. Cover with thin onion slices.
6. Bake 1 hour. In the meantime, sip at tea with the family. Feel warm and at home. Accept everything for it is. Smile.

 

IX. Baked Berry-Vanilla Oatmeal

Ingredients:

• 3 cups rolled oats
• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 2 1/2 cups vanilla soymilk
• 1/4 cup honey
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• 3 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
• 3 cups fresh strawberries and blueberries

Instructions:

1. Take a deep breath. Hold the canister of oats in your hands for a few moments. Feel your resolve harden. 
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. 
3. Combine oats, baking powder, and salt. Place half the mixture in a greased baking dish, add half the berries, then layer on the remaining oat mixture. 
4. Whisk eggs, soymilk, honey, vanilla, and butter. Pour over the oats. Ensure that the wet mixture completely saturates the oats. Bite your lip as the smell of the oats takes you back to that day at the hospital. Remind yourself that this is different, that things will be okay. Top the oats with the remaining berries.
5. Bake for about 30 minutes until oats are tender. In the meantime, feel inclined to go to your closet.
6. Pull out a grocery bag from the back of the closet and open it. See the ratty sneakers. Smile because you still remember your significant other's laugh, though it has faded from your memory a little bit.
7. Serve the oatmeal with a splash of soymilk on top. Taste the oats in your mouth, and mentally compare to the oatmeal you had long ago when you found out your significant other died. 
8. Finish eating. Tie up the bag with the sneakers inside. Take a deep breath and throw the bag into the trash can. Feel accomplishment because you do not mourn anymore. Know that you are okay.