After coming home from work, having made very little in comparison to what I’m used to making, the first thought through my head was “I want to cook something.”  Mind you I was not particularly hungry.  It seems that one my stress levels start to rise, I seek to busy my hands and plunge my mind into something other than what is plaguing me.  My de facto way of diverting myself is to start whipping up something delicious.

It just amused me that the first thing I thought of to soothe my scattered mind was to pull out a frying pan.  Some people take a bath.  Some read a book.  Some meditate.  I want to make dinner.  We live in a world where people constantly try to avoid having to make meals, with instant meals, take out, and restaurants, whereas I seek to make them.  Instant meals, with the exception of Lipton chicken noodle soup (which harkens from my childhood and will always hold a special place in my heart and blood pressure levels), have no place in my kitchen.

Of course, this lead to the question “What to make?”  I started fiending for some okonomiyaki, a Japanese pancake/pizza that I throw green onions and shrimp into for a tasty, carbohydrate-laden delight.  But I am out of Kewpie mayonnaise (I need to get to Von-Son, and soon) and green onion.  (Rats.)  Udon?  My veggie drawer isn’t stocked for a proper udon pot.  Tempura?  Too tired.  Soup?  No onion.  Realistically, if I felt like it, I could have whipped up some nikujaga (a meat and veggie stew) but by the time I seriously thought out all of my options, I was too tired, and just made a packet of Lipton soup.

But the point still stands.  I find cooking soothing.  It distracts me from what is stressing me, and it is not only a joy, but a therapy.  I wonder if I am the only one who thinks this way.