Gratitude

One of those email threads that friends send friends popped up in my inbox the other day, soliciting a favorite recipe or two--a cure for "bored palates."

Hot on its heels was a similar query for techniques on how to promote relaxation and counter stress.

Always keen to snare two birds with one net, I decided to combine the two into a single "yes, you are cooking for six hundred, but really, it needn't be stressful" missive. The key, I believe, is gratitude.

Doesn't that make sense? This is Thanksgiving, after all, when we are supposed to be counting our blessings and--as the name ever so delicately suggests--giving thanks. What better way to appreciate the bounty we enjoy than to make cooking a ritual, a rite of reflection, and a series of moments given over to sincere gratitude?

A moment of gratitude needn't be seasonal, of course. Any moment of any day could be an occasion for a deep breath, a wide-eyed look deep into the sky, a hug, a snuggle, or a rubbing of noses with a significant other. Am I grateful for my home? I might approach a five-minute housekeeping chore--sweeping the kitchen floor or giving the bathroom mirror a swift but thorough cleaning--from that perspective, rather than looking at housecleaning as a massive chore to be put off until burly dust bunnies, tattooed and carrying lengths of chain, start emerging in raucous gangs from the corners or the closet by night.

When it comes to a day of cooking--Thanksgiving, Christmas--I turn on the 40s Channel on XM radio (which seems to have disappeared mysteriously this holiday season; fine, then, I will turn to my iPhone, call up Pandora, and start off my customized playlist with the words "Hoagy Carmichael") and get my prayer on: because to me, you see, cooking is the epitome of prayer.

Today's prayer is called Tomato Basil Soup. We start off with everything we need--soup stock (either chicken or vegetarian), a bunch of basil, a large onion, eight tomatoes, four large carrots, herbs, white pepper, black pepper, and salt--so that we needn't sully our prayer by asking any Powers That Be for a wish-list. This ain't that sort of prayer after all: this is about thanking, not requesting; reflection, not desire.

As the tomatoes are dropped into boiling water until their skins split, then fished out and set on a cutting board for a few minutes to cool; as the carrots are washed, peeled, and then grated; as the onion is chopped finely and put into a soup pot with olive oil and the carrots for sauteeing; as each of those steps are taken, think about each ingredient, how it's tailor-made (or co-evolved) to offer your senses pleasure and your body nourishment. You can thank Whomever you like for this, or you can take a minute to marvel at it: in a spirit of prayer, there's scarcely a difference.

Now the herbs (except for the basil): as the oregano is added to the just-translucent onion, along with the marjoram, the bay leaves, and the sage, take a moment before adding the rosemary. (You are using fresh herbs, are you not? Dried will do, but have one or two fresh herbs on hand at least, if possible.) Crush a few leaves of fresh rosemary between your fingers and savor the aroma with a few slow, deep sniffs: this clean and wonderful sensation, this is a moment perfect for an expression of delight and thanks. Or maybe it's the sage you choose to savor, or, later on, the basil. There must be such a moment--many moments--in the making of the soup, or the prayer (and perhaps the soup!) might not come out right.

The tomatoes, skinned and coarsely chopped, go into the pot, and are stirred around with the sauteed onions and the herbs. You can let this mixture simmer for ten or twelve minutes--it's almost a soup already. Then add two, three, or four cups of stock: like the herbs, like salt and pepper, how much stock you add is up to you. Prayer is about personal expression, and cooking likewise. (Some people add a little sugar to taste, and some add a teaspoon or two of small pasta noodles or of rice, for more texture. There are many possibilities. Relax into them and follow your bliss.) Let the soup simmer for, oh, 24 minutes, during which time you'll be finely chopping the washed basil leaves. Add the basil into the soup, let it simmer (or simply stand) for another six minutes... and serve, along with saffron dinner rolls.

Don't know how to make saffron dinner rolls? That, sorry to say, is a story... er, a prayer... for another time. Meanwhile, you can always substitute. But the point is this: isn't the soup delicious, and aren't you full of gratitude right along with hot delicious soup, and wasn't that whole process sort of spiritual and relaxing?

And isn't turkey and trimmings next on the menu, followed by pie? There's a whole buffet of prayer on offer for Thanksgiving. Good thing we've set aside the entire day for the giving of thanks, for the prayerful and renewing act of conscious gratitude.