The Witches Next Door
I went to a funky, magical, little restaurant with my dear friend Honey. We had soup, among other dishes. Hold on to that thought and I’ll come back to that in a bit. Honey and I spent the morning traipsing around a local trail, getting lost in the oaks and blackberries. A creek runs alongside much of the trail we chose to follow and it drains into meadows once festooned with tall brown grasses and flowers during the spring and summer months. Those meadows are now returning to their muddy lives as seasonal wetlands, overgrown with blackberry bushes, sorrel, wild radishes and probably another hundred delicious, edible plants we missed.
Finding the Restaurant and Soup!
We headed westward a few miles to a favourite beach. Sitting on the beach, we wiled away a couple of hours standing awestruck and mostly silent. Huge waves crashed onto rocks sending up massive plumes of spray and causing us to retreat hastily to higher ground. We were a little cold and a little wet when we got back into the car. That’s when we found the restaurant (See, I told you I’d get back to the restaurant at some point.)
We were greeted at the door by one of the owners and cooks. She explained how the restaurant worked. It’s a “pay what you can” model and there are no real prices and no real set menu. She showed us where the food was and said “enjoy!” in that way that people who authentically care about sharing the food they love cooking for you say it.
One of the first dishes we saw was a delicious soup. It was warm and hearty and full of deep, rich flavours. The soup was chock full of herbs and spices, grown on the redwood patio, and chunks of local root vegetables recently harvested. As we opened the lid and began to ladle the soupy deliciousness into our bowls, we both said “This smells like the soup at Witch Camp!” What we recognized instantly was that this food was made by a person. A person that cared about the total strangers that they would share their food with. A person that said “enjoy!” but what they were really saying was “It’s my greatest pleasure to cook this food for you today. May it comfort and nourish you right down to your very soul.”
Tea and Baba Yaga
Then they brought us tea. And let me wander into the kitchen unattended. I tried to figure out just what the combination of spices and veggies were on the stove, simmering in a giant pot. Then we talked about the handmade Baba Yaga’s house that was conspicuously placed on a table by a huge cauldron where we later dropped our cash. We talked about magic and tea and food and history and how Baba Yaga was going to visit the restaurant next month to tell her tales. Not the ones we know of mind you, but the ones we need to hear about now. Food, homemade, good food became the catalyst for conversation and discovery and finding the things that bring us together.
Cooking with friends
Last night, a good friend of mine, Jenika, who is on a bit of a wander across North America for a few months, wanted to cook something together for our family meal. I pulled out two of my favourite, well-used cookbooks and before long we were chopping and dicing and sauteing and laughing (We were drinking whilst cooking too, but that seems only a sensible part of every recipe to me.)
Neither of us are strangers to a kitchen. I’ve cooked most of the family meals here at The Cauldron House for the better part of a decade. Jenika has cooked for friends, cooked at festivals and camp outs. Both of us have donned an apron, grabbed a knife or spoon, and headed into the kitchen at various Witch Camps.
As we cooked, the house filled with the earthy, meaty, herbaceous aromas with that special kind of alchemy that happens when heat and raw ingredients meet one another. We were reminded of what it is to cook for dear friends and community. We told stories of favourite meals and swapped recipes and recounted the times we found ourselves suddenly thrust into cooking for 30 hungry people with seemingly nothing available but two potatoes, a celery stalk and a handful of rosemary (total exaggeration but if you’ve ever been put on the spot to make something out of nothing, you get the point!).
Sharing a meal makes us all a little more friendly
There’s a larger magic at work here. People I know, probably people you know, are suffering. Some are struggling with disease or homelessness or the uncertainty of where their next meal is coming from. I have friends that are divorcing, questioning their place in the world, scared of their government, a myriad of problems large and small. And eating soup made by a stranger who suddenly becomes not so strange anymore can make a difference. Sharing a meal with a friend who is thousands of miles away from home, makes where they’re sitting right now, home.
I love cooking and sharing food. It is magic for me.
I’m doing something my editor here at Patheos is not a fan of. I’m asking you a question and I’d love for you to respond in the comments, rather than on the social media site you might have found this article.
What foods do you cook when times are tough for you? When you want to show someone you love just how much they mean to you, what’s your go to recipe?
Yep! I’m asking you to share your “this is what I cook when things go to total shit in my life and I need to feel comforted” recipes. Because right now, that steaming pot of “Willo Soup” might just be what helps someone you don’t know, get through another day.
Notes:
Carin Mckay – Thank you for teaching me about food magic even though we’ve not yet cooked in the same kitchen. Thank you for your devotion to feeding many communities. Thank you for your amazing cookbook.
Check out The Ceres Project in Sonoma County. Phoenix, myself and our local Pagan community have been quietly donating to this group for a few years now.
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