I used to love cooking.
I relished the challenge and the magic of transforming a medley of ingredients into one cohesive dish. I delighted in poring over new recipes and trying different ingredients, techniques, and equipment. I cherished feeding my family and sharing meals with friends.
Early in the pandemic I enjoyed the novelty of constantly cooking at home and joining everyone else in baking bread, preparing whipped coffee, etc. Ten months later, the endless grind of cooking (and cleaning) had sucked the joy out of cooking for me. I hit a wall and largely left the kitchen. I continued to make basic meals like scrambled eggs that required minimal effort. But I rarely cooked anything just for fun or to try something new.
The other day I watched Chef Melissa Miranda’s latest Bon Appetit video featuring her version of the classic Filipino dish, chicken afritada. It’s a pretty straightforward affair, until the end when Chef Miranda looks at her plated dish and says:
“This is not our lola’s afritada but this would be Mel’s afritada. I think they would still be pretty proud seeing their food plate this way… Looking at this dish as Filipino Americans, Filipinx Americans, and Filipina Americans, there’s so much for us to be able to share. And there’s so much of us reclaiming and taking pride in our food. And to be able to look at our food and it be so beautiful.”
During quarantine, cooking had gradually lost all meaning for me. But hearing Chef Miranda talk about her food with such emotion sparked something. For the first time in a long time, I felt inspired and excited to try.
Chicken afritada is typically a one-pot meal, but Chef Miranda’s version is a little more complicated. It involves crisping the skin on chicken thighs, making a sauce, and roasting two sets of vegetables. It’s a recipe that takes care, attention, and skill.
As I prepared the dish, I reintroduced myself to the thwack of the knife against the cutting board, the sizzle of garlic and onions in a pan, the fragrance of roasting chicken, the question of whether more salt is needed. I fumbled around at first, and then I gradually fell into the familiar rhythm of cooking.
I finished my chicken afritada, and I instantly knew. It was something good.