Jill Stanton

Any doctor will tell you: we rush too much, we’re stressed, we’re ornery, and we eat badly. We don’t cook either. It’s easier to eat fast-and-greasy on the way home or just call a takeout joint. It’ll still be fast and greasy, but oh joy, it comes to the door.

And so, the sweetness of slow eludes us.

In Italy, a guy named Carlo Petrini fixed that problem by inventing an organization called Slow Food, designed to help Italians take back their diminishing food culture. Slow simmered soups, slow-rise bread, slow-baked in wood-fired ovens, slowly savoured with real cheese from real cows. A little oil, a little more wine, the happy babble of family and friends all squabbling around the same table. It was fun, healthy, and traditional, and today his International Slow Food groups are doing very well in 130-odd countries. No doubt Petrini has grown rich on the profits, which is okay with me; may he and his appetite live long and prosper. Those of us who love to hang out in kitchens only wish we’d thought of it first.

I do love hanging out in my own kitchen. It’s not fancy, but it’s fun, and on a long weekend in a cold season, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Sadly, it’s hard to find the time because I’m so busy being rushed, stressed, and ornery, though I do eat well, and enjoy every moment of it — and that includes the hunting, gathering, and cooking.

Here’s my advice about enjoying food to the max. Feast your eyes first. Shop where the food looks terrific. Smell the fresh bread from the bakery, stop for coffee next door, flirt with the regulars. Now take the groceries home, turn off the phone, crank up the music, and sharpen your favourite knife.

In these dark, cold months, I like to throw a stew together, or a pie, partly for the fun of it, and partly because it smells so good once it’s underway. (Regarding the pie, I didn’t say anything about making my own crust. Pie crust, especially puff pastry, is my personal nemesis, and the Pillsbury Doughboy does just fine.) Mound some apple cubes into a pastry shell, hit it with a little cinnamon, a wisp of sugar, and fling it in the oven. If there happens to be an oven-ready turkey available, put that in too, and take the rest of the afternoon off. Forget those godawful potpourri concoctions; a turkey dinner with apple pie is the original aromatherapy. If memory serves, aromas that make you feel this good are frequently illegal.

Cooking and baking isn’t just about the food. It’s also about the music, and you gotta have the right tunes. Music to cook by? For starters, Sir Michael Philip Jagger, almost any of his early stuff. I’m also partial to the entire soundtrack from The Big Chill. (Yes. I’m old. Get over it.) I love to cook along with the blues, Chicago, Delta, Texas… Love John Lee Hooker and Etta James in my kitchen. Nobody sings “The Jealous Kind” better than Etta, except maybe Delbert McClinton, the boy from Lubbock.

Having cooked up a feast, it’s time to dig in. Eating alone isn’t a bad thing at all, because you can eat any darn thing you like, anywhere you like, and any way, including with your fingers. But eating with the right people is even better. Let it be people you love to hang around with. People who make you laugh your head off.

Above all, be slow about it. Your mama could have told you that, and she probably did. Mental note to cooks, lovers and departing friends: slow it down, dammit. Lingering is an art, and it takes practice.