This one is personal

reflecting on "Depression Cooking" as radical self-care

Hello and Happy May!

Last month I mentioned that I wanted to talk about the zine Depression Cooking for this newsletter’s topic (the zine is available for free here: Depression Cooking: A Zine). For those who do not know, zines are independently produced/ self published works that are usually handmade. Because of their simple forms, they are often free (or very affordable) and therefore quite easily available to all. If you would like to read a much better description of what a zine is you can check out this article about what makes a zine a zine. 

I intended to talk about Depression Cooking—which is a short cookbook for depressed people—in a more theoretical sense; that is, how in theory it reimagines cooking and cookbook writing through radical self-care. But, as it turns out, I’ve been doing some depressing cooking recently. This month’s newsletter is going to be a bit more personal (hopefully without being too self-indulgent) than the ones I’ve written in the past. Therefore, I am going to leave a content warning:

CW: mental health, depression, anxiety, disordered eating

If these are not topics you want to/ are able to engage with right now, please prioritize your needs. Skip this. I’m sending you strength and solidarity.

Disclaimer: I edited the following piece on a day that my mood was more stable. I emphasize this in the interest of being transparent. I can’t think or write for shit when I’m having a bad mental health day. Sometimes I can jot down notes or string together some words but fully formed sentences are very difficult to put together! 

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I am a person who loves food and cooking, deeply. Often, I feel most energized, creative, and excited in the kitchen or over a meal. When my brain can no longer think in words, I retreat to the fridge or pantry, pick an ingredient, and turn all faculties to taste. I’m not a precise cook. I’m an emotional cook. Cooking is cathartic and healing and creative for me. I like that about my relationship to food. Mostly.

I am also a person with a chronic mood disorder and other mental health conditions that went untreated for many years. There are chunks of time when feeding myself anything at all is a great struggle. Last week, cooking a lavish meal was such a joy. This week, making a simple decision— what to eat for dinner— is too much. This week, culinary paralysis feels like a creative, physical and personal failure, as does putting pen to paper (or fingers to keys). During the lows—which, because of the nature of my academic work, are also usually tainted with ecological grief— food can become an especially sore point. Eating requires consumption both in the sense that I must put something into my body to be digested, but also in the sense that I must access resources that are the product of exploitative systems, or are in some way entangled in those systems. Metabolizing my complicity while also trying to do better in the ways I can is important to me, and I think, important work in general. It is also exhausting work.

Under depression it can be hard to remember that feeling like shit is not a personal failure, but rather, the workings of capitalism and ableism, which tell us to prioritize profit and productivity over life. A critique of these oppressive systems and their relationship to food and the environment is embedded in Depression Cooking, which reminds readers, “industries are our largest polluters” not individuals, who are doing their best to “survive under the crushing weight [of capitalism]” (Menezes 15-16). It’s true. It’s well documented that the fossil fuel industry is disproportionately responsible for historic GHG emissions, with the top 20 firms contributing 33 percent of historic emissions. It is also true that the industry is subsidized by the Canadian government (and other governments) and that McMaster (my place of work) continues to hold millions in investments despite announcing their commitment to divest from fossil fuels last year. 

Of course, this profit-over-life modality is not restricted to “dirty energy” initiatives. We know that so-called sustainable energy enterprises also sit on heaps of capital and do not necessarily have the interests of people or the planet at the front of mind. A certain billionaire has been quoted saying: “my original interest in electric cars and solar energy, which goes back to when I was in university, was not based on environmental concern.” Last week, this same billionaire bought Twitter for $43 billion after dodging out on his claims to donate 6 billion towards world hunger.  

With this critique of industry I’m not saying that our individual choices, especially our food choices, don’t matter. They do, as does larger-scale change and collective action! However, Depression Cooking reminds me that individual food choices may not always matter in the ways I expect. In opposition to what wellness culture would have folks believe, people are not always in the position to purchase better options (which are usually expensive) or cook lavishly (which often requires time that folks don’t have, for various reasons), especially when depressed. Depression Cooking, on the other hand, proposes a cooking practice that takes the bodymind seriously and seems to ask “what do you need and what can you manage?” In addition, this sweet little zine asserts that, in the context of depression-under-capitalism, eating ANYTHING is an act of resistance. When capitalism is actively snuffing out life, eating is a strategic refusal to be snuffed. It doesn’t matter if you’re eating french fries, chocolate, an apple, or instant ramen, as Sonali, the artist behind the zine, says, “all foods have nutrition,” “all foods feed our bellies,” and we are “in the business of surviving, baby” (Menezes 15-16). 

Because our choices are going to look different depending on the resources we have access to, where we live, our personal health and abilities, how our lives are shaped by systems of oppression, etc, to suggest that there is a single method or modality of eating that will work for everyone across all contexts, is to evoke the very logic that is squeezing the life out of us and the planet. Instead, by offering simple recipes that center around the lived experiences of depressed people, Depression Cooking gently asserts that caring for our bodies and brains, in all of their states, is profound, as is adapting our cooking practices in order to attend to our current experiences, expressions, and realities. Here, you won’t find any condescending chef notes or inaccessible recipes that only a culinary school graduate would be able to execute. No obscure and expensive ingredients. No dietary advice. No moralizing language. No “shoulds.” The goal of the zine is simple; encourage readers to attend to their bodies and brains in whatever way is manageable. I said simple. Not easy.

With that, Depression Cooking, helps remind me that with every mouthful, with every moment of rest, I’m asserting that I am more than my productivity. In practice, this will look different for each of us, but for me it looks like preparing meals that require less chopping and measuring. Tearing, drizzling and sprinkling feel easier. I also need encouraging, forgiving recipes that call for “a bit of this” or “salt to taste” or even just a descriptive name from which to draw inspiration. Sometimes, my depression cooking is elaborate, eccentric, and drawn out. Sometimes, I’ll spend the whole day dodding over a pot of beans or focaccia dough. I let my time be ordered by their rhythms, not the sound of incoming emails or “working hours.” My cooking practice always works to approach oils and sugars— once fear foods—neutrally, and to dispel pseudoscientific sentiments about nutrition and mental illness, which so often perpetuate diet culture in their assumptions about what health looks and feels like.

I’d like to think of this approach to cooking and eating as one that is rooted in care—not the commodified, commercialized, performative, and hyper individualistic version of self-care that you hear about before being told to “click the link” or “swipe up”—but in the kindest, most critically engaged and transformative sense. That is, care for ourselves and others that honour the difficulties (and joys) of living with tender bodyminds in a thorny world. That is, care that prioritizes the interests of those globally who are doing the hard and important work of living and dreaming in spite of/despite oppressive systems that target their lives daily. (When I write this, I am thinking specifically of the works of Kai Cheng Thom and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, who have both written so beautifully about care and caring). 

I’m not sure what I’ve offered you here. I wrote this knowing my thoughts wouldn’t come together in the way I hoped they would, but here they are anyway, for us to build on together! That's better than fine. 

If you haven’t already, read Depression Cooking when you get the chance.

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Updates, reading, eating, etc.

Published

Some good news! Last year I wrote a piece for an undergraduate Food Studies textbook and the textbook was finally published! The entire thing is open access, which means it is FREE to anyone and everyone. Open education is something I’m very enthusiastic about, so I’m really happy I was able to contribute to a resource like this! You can take a look at the entire textbook, which is titled Food Studies: Matter, Meaning and Movement, at the following link: Food Studies: Matter, Meaning and Movement. Feel free to share this link far and wide! 

Reading

It was, understandably, a lighter reading month for this gal. 

Sodom Road Exit by Amber Dawn

This is a queer ghost story/ thriller set in Crystal Beach, Ontario! There are some interesting moments with food, but overall it was just a fun read that had little to do with my academic work. I enjoyed it!

Cooking

Heavily inspired by Depression Cooking, I ate many differently shaped noodles. Ramen, Pasta, Mac and Cheese! 

Pictured below is one of my go-to sad meals: vegan mac and cheese with Doritos Sweet Chili Heat (my favourite chip of all time that also happens to be vegan) and ketchup, obviously!

Drinking

For those following me on Instagram, you may have already seen me gush about Ghost Roaster Coffee. This stuff is delicious. This stuff is expensive. I treated myself to a bag to celebrate winning an award. That said, they’re also a tiny roaster that is very selective with the beans they bring in and very transparent about their sourcing. In coffee, this is so so so important. 

Thanks for reading!

M.