Cover photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash

Winter can mean different things. Most literally, it’s the coldest, darkest season of the year, and when plants and animals slumber or reserve their energy for warmer days to come. Winter can also be a symbolic season; a time to pause, hunker down, cozy up, go inward. When it takes a darker turn, Winter can consist of decline, detachment, isolation, and withdrawal.

My current Winter — a Winter during which I’ve lost my intricately woven connections between food, spirit, and body — started in 2019, after the sudden death of my brother-in-law. In the wake of that, I remember making a concrete decision to “not worry” about what I was eating. I’d get to it when things calmed down.

Because things calm down, right?

2019: Sudden death of a loved one. 2020 - 2021: Pandemic. 2021: Toxic day job. 2022: Nervous breakdown. 2023 to present: Loved one with cancer. Favorite person moved away. Death of a furry companion. The very definition of “calmed down,” right?

I’ve always had an emotional connection to food. I use it to celebrate, grieve, distract, occupy, soothe, impress, cope, comfort, love… food has been the answer to all of life’s highs, lows, and in-betweens. Five years later and 50 pounds heavier since I made that decision to “temporarily” not worry about what I ate, my relationship with food has turned into an abusive one. Swap in the word “food” in place of “alcohol,” “marijuana,” “cocaine,” etc. in a sentence describing why someone abuses drugs, and you’ve got: me.

I used to be a well-versed, energetic food connoisseur. I cooked all the time. I went out to restaurants and got to know the owners and chefs. Through food, I expressed my creativity, fueled my curiosity, lit up my taste buds, connected with people, and experienced the world through a culinarily universal language. (This used to be a food blog, remember?)

This long, long Winter, that has not been the case.

Gradually (so gradually that I didn’t realize it was happening) I’ve detached from my food — spiritually, intellectually — and have lost my insatiable desire to explore it. Instead, more and more, I’ve eaten what’s easiest, closest, most immediately gratifying. I hardly ever cook anymore, and when I do, it’s a chore, not a pleasure. Aside from a few sporadic sparks, the fiery passion I used to have for food feels all but extinguished.

I feel lost. I’ve forgotten how to find joy in cooking. I’ve forgotten how to nourish my soul and spirit by using my hands to create something that will both delight and sustain me. I’ve forgotten how to NOURISH myself. And I miss it.

I want that feeling back. That skill. That sense of abundance and possibility. That pride in producing something both beautiful and delicious. But how? I think I’ve figured out where to start, and before I tell you how, you need to hop on an imaginary plane with me and go to Hawaii.

That’s where I was for the past week-and-a-half. On Maui, precisely. And on Maui, I did all of the things one thinks of doing on Maui: walked along the beach, lazed by the pool, enjoyed the near-constant breeze, hiked beside the ocean.

It’s a running joke in our household that whenever we’re away from home, if we turn on the TV and tune in to Food Network, a Guy Fieri show will be playing. Indeed, his bleached hair and wraparound sunglasses greeted us when we turned on the TV in our Maui hotel room. And that triggered a memory for me. Something about my food-blogging heyday and the height of my enjoyment of cooking:

I used to have food programming on all the time. You know how they say that you take on the personalities of the people you spend the most time with? Well, back then, my constant companions were Top Chef, old-school cooking shows on PBS, and Food Network personalities.

So, a little less than two weeks ago, in a hotel room scented with sunscreen and salt, I decided to do an experiment and consume that level of food content once again; to inundate myself with people making, talking about, playing with, and experiencing food in a joyful, inventive, life-loving way.

In addition to all of the beaching and pooling and hiking, Food Network was playing in the background whenever we were in the room. I even watched two episodes of Top Chef on the plane ride home.

Friends, it’s already working.

I came home and, delirious from the journey, immediately took a five-hour nap. I was still battling the jet lag when it was time to make dinner yesterday, but I’d managed to place a basic order from Instacart to make sure we had the necessities for the coming work week. Other than that, I hadn’t done a morsel of meal planning. And then, something magical happened.

I decided to play Chopped in my own kitchen. I would take what we had on hand, and I would make a meal out of it.

Creativity. Spontaneity. Play.

We had ground beef in the freezer, and I will never say no to something you can make in one pot and serve in a giant mug, so I pulled up an America’s Test Kitchen recipe for Easy Ground Beef Chili. I didn’t have the exact ingredients, but I had things I could use as substitutes.

Fresh garlic instead of garlic powder.

Ground guajillo chile instead of chipotle and adobo sauce. (Guajillo chile has a similar smokiness to chipotle.)

Lupini beans instead of kidney beans. (If you’ve never had lupini beans, they’re larger in size — sort of like a flattened macadamia nut — and, when eaten, have the texture of a freshly shelled English pea — only creamier and nuttier.)

Those, and a few other minor tweaks to the original recipe, and I made my first joy-filled meal in a very long time. And it felt — and tasted — so good.

Maybe Spring is finally, finally, finally coming.