When the world has gone mad – and by all indications it has – it’s a good time to go quiet and focus on what is immediately at hand. It’s a form of mindfulness that, for me, puts the present moment (and whatever small task or action you are doing) into your brain, thus eliminating the empty space that worry and stress and doubt might otherwise occupy. In this manner, mindfulness can become a constant form of meditation throughout the day.
A couple of days ago, I set my evening focus on the pictured dish of linguini with red clam sauce, which Andy had lovingly made for a Friday in Lent. I thought of the care and preparation that went into it, the way he increased the recipe so as to send a batch to my parents, the repeated tasting he did to make sure it was progressing as it should (I always forget to taste what I’m making, which is basic Cooking 101 and why I’ve never truly excelled at it), and the delicate way he draped the pasta onto the plate so I could get a photo of it for this very post.
From there, I focused on the visual feast before me – all delectable scarlet against cream with accents of fresh green, all backed by a plate of Robin’s egg blue. Watching the gentle ribbons of steam unfurl upward, and noticing the chip that seems to now be part of every plate we own, I took it all in, without judgment or annoyance (even the chip) before moving onto the scent. One eats using all the senses, and scent is one of my favorites. The earthen wheat-based coziness of the linguini melded with the spicy tomato into a familiar cocktail called dinner, and I paused, as much to appreciate the fragrance as to let it cool. A side of garlic bread completed the culinary cologne – all these gourmand fragrances coming out lately are no accident.
Finally, there was the indulgence of eating – the way the fork felt in my hand, the way the plate was warm to the touch, the way the pasta wound around the fork – and finally the way it tickled my tongue, gave way between my teeth, and traveled into my stomach. All the magnificent taste sensations, all in the most mundane actions for human survival. The simple act of eating dinner, when performed mindfully, can be a soul-enriching experience, offering moments of gratitude and appreciation, and occupying the mind with the goodness of what’s presently happening. Does it make the reality of the world go away? Not at all. Soon enough, the news cycle re-entered consciousness, the social media nonsense continued its endless scroll, and the concerns of elderly parents re-emerged, but the mind was slightly more at ease, and a little more equipped to handle them.
That said, I won’t pretend I’m always this mindful, as much as it’s a goal. Take this chocolate chip cookie from Stacks Coffeehouse in downtown Albany. The other day I popped in for a quick lunch break and just scarfed it down, without being the least bit mindful. I was hungry, and it was sweet. End of story.
