Putting My Head in the Oven

The corona virus has spread throughout the world affecting us all. Most days, I am alone in my small apartment with my small dog, in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. Walking on the open beach among the blue waves, breathing the salty air letting her run off the leash is the only sense of calm that I can find. Once we return to the sidewalk I see the people with masks and gloves. The fear is palpable.

Recently I started to think about the time, years ago when I ended my ten year marriage. With two little children and a defunct career in advertising that I had abandoned to become a full-time mom, l was pretty terrified. Not only was it just plain sad, for my children and me but the debt that my husband and I had incurred during our time together was daunting.

My mind would whirl and swirl thinking about how to survive and to get through each day. The worst was when my kids were with their father and I was alone in my head in an empty house.

I started baking. Putting your hands in something and focusing on the task at hand is some of the best anti-anxiety treatment out there. More and more I  was in my sunny kitchen doing my occupational therapy. I got an occasional job cooking and baking for small-scale clients like realtor's open houses. Cooking for other people brings a new dimension with it and that was what really hooked me. You have a deadline, you must watch the clock. Your product must be perfect, it has to look a certain way. It's pressure that demands getting out of your reality and focusing on the task at hand.

I went on to culinary school, built a solid career and raised my kids to be two amazing adults. There have been terrible heartbreaks both personally and business wise in between but nothing quite like those early days of divorce. My talent has carried me and getting my hands busy always kept me going.

2020 was going to be a spectacular year, I decided. My daughter and her husband are expecting a baby in August. My son is in a good relationship and has a job that he likes. I was the one who needed a change. I quit my administration job at the culinary school in Manhattan where I have been for three years. I wanted only to teach, I decided. No more sitting behind a desk, doing administrative work on a computer, going to meetings and dealing with corporate politics. I took a cut in salary to go back to being in kitchens, teaching others and being in charge of my life. The other piece of my plan was to go back into private chef work. Not full time which can be incredibly demanding, but part-time. My goal was work smarter, not harder. My positive attitude worked out, I picked up a well-paying client in early January. For a good month  everyone I knew, including at school said that I looked like a new person. I was beaming. Back in a uniform, operating the commercial equipment, hanging with the other chefs and no longer responsible for anything else- along with working three days a week in a beautiful private home for people who appreciated my cooking- my question for myself was what took me so long to do this?

And then a couple of weeks ago it all changed.

Circles of people lined up around Trader Joe's. I would shop for my client but my choices were becoming limited. We order a lot of food online and more and more they would be out of product. The family started stocking up on wipes, disinfectants and yes, toilet paper.
I was still scheduled for recreational classes at the school. I asked the guests to wash their hands as soon as they entered the room. I joked about there being a plague out there so let's do what we can. My last class was a brunch class and there were a couple of medical professionals in it. We discussed the virus and they were playing down the panic, comparing it to the flu which in their opinion was much more dangerous. Would you like another mimosa?

The family left their home in Brooklyn Heights to go stay at their home in the Hamptons indefinitely.  I was off the schedule from school for another week. Day by day I watched this thing get worse and wondered when were they going to close school. It is a huge facility with hundreds of people in and out every day for professional classes, recreational classes, events, lectures. All based on food where even on a good day not everyone practices proper kitchen sanitation.

Finally the word went out, the school had to shut it's doors. Within a few days all of us were laid-off. Hopefully to be recalled upon opening, but who knows when that will be. Additionally the whole industry has taken a crippling blow. Will people even want to go to culinary school? What type of careers will be available to them? All of our connections- the restaurants, the hotels, had to close or severely modify their businesses.

For the first ten days without work I had no structure except my dog's need to relieve herself. Much of my time is spent laying on my couch (which I am wearing out) binge-watching Netflix and Governor Cuomo's daily news conference. The lump in my chest of fear and anxiety is there all the time. I can't be with my daughter, feel her belly growing with my first grandchild or take her shopping for maternity clothes. My parents are in lockdown in the senior housing facility where they live in Connecticut. No friends, no family, only myself and  Zelda the dog. We have family happy-hour occasionally online with my brothers and their families, and my son in Vermont, or Facetime one another but as everyone knows now, it is not the same as being together.

In comparison to so many others though, I have landed on my feet. Thanks to my new client I was able to put some money aside and can pay my bills for a couple of months, which I would never have been able to do while in my former position. This week I was shuttled to their house and cooked for them for two days. This will most likely be an ongoing thing. They want my service and I have to pay the bills. I show up wearing gloves and a mask, whisk all of my outside clothing off and on go the chef pants. Wash my hands thoroughly and get to work.

Am I taking chances? Yes, I am. I imagine Andrew Cuomo chastising me. You're right, Governor. I tell myself that this is limited exposure. I am afraid, but I feel pressured to do it. I need the money.

I stood in the kitchen with the sun shining through the large windows of the modern house in the Hamptons, my mise en place set for all of my prep. Turn the grill on at 4. Rotate the muffins in the oven and give them another 8 minutes or so. Practicing my knife skills that became so rusty when I was doing spreadsheets in that office. Thinking about when I used to teach knife skills, and longing for that.
The water is boiling, time to drop the pasta.
I'm going to need to chop some cilantro too.
A few hours later I realized that I hadn't thought about anything else except getting the food on the table by 5:00 or that my small dice is getting better, oh and I need to make a prep list for tomorrow. For a little while I felt kind of normal.

Grey haired now with a face that shows some years, my hands still moving swiftly, I am reminded of that knot in my stomach back in 1996. Cooking saved me then, I hope it can save me now.