ABSENCE & PRESENCE

cooking, grieving, living

There’s been a month-long pause in my posts here on Substack. I’ve been elsewhere: entirely, body heart and soul, engaged with my precious child Tashi, born on this day, November 27, in 1990. So full of light and humour and with a capacious thoughtful mind, he was robbed of a full lifespan by a brain tumour in his upper left parietal lobe, “a suburban part of the brain” he’d say. It didn’t change his personality, his essential self. But it did finally kill him, thirteen days ago, on Friday November 14

His brother Dom and I decided to have an open house two days later, on Sunday, a large gathering of friends and chosen family, with no speeches, no ritual, just an open-hearted coming together. There were conversations, tears, cross-connections made or discovered, stories told, and food and drink to sustain people through the afternoon and evening. Tashi would have enjoyed the party enormously; I could picture him threading his way through the crowd.

We knew people would be hungry and distracted. We needed food that could sustain us all, in various ways. Dawnthebaker brought over a huge load of her whole grain baking: slices of butter cake, pecan squares, chocolate digestives, loaves of bread, and more. And she’d ordered a cheese plate from Cheese Magic and charcuterie boards from Sanagan’s.

I had bought two smoked trout at Wychwood market, so I broke them up into shards, sliced sorrel leaves I’d picked from the garden into chiffonade, squeezed on some lemon and drizzled on a little sesame oil: one plate done. I’d already soaked a large batch of small white beans (Dawn had bought them from a local Amish farmer). Sunday morning I cooked them in my large Staub pot plenty of water along with two chopped red onions, until tender. Mustard seed, nigella seed, turmeric, fennel, and cumin, went into hot olive oil in a large cast-iron skillet, followed by minced garlic and ginger and chopped tomatoes. About fifteen minutes later I added the whole skillet full of flavours to the pot of beans to simmer some more before taking them off the heat. I left the pot on the stove during the party, with a ladle in it so people could help themselves.

Dawn meantime organised all her baked treats and the charcuterie and cheese trays. Then she peeled and cubed root vegetables (celeriac, beets, squash, etc) and roasted them in a hot oven to yield a jewelled heap. We boiled a huge pot full of beautiful potatoes from @marvelousedibles, then peeled and chopped them. Dawn poured on a dressing of her home- made crème fraiche, with olive oil, a little vinegar, and plenty of chopped pickles, and garden herbs. She sprinkled on the last of the nasturtiums from the garden in a kind of blessing before she put the bowl on the table.

All this relaxed focused unhurried work in the kitchen was a balm, a wonderful way to move into the day.

Friends brought more food of all kinds: crackers topped with pate and jelly, cakes of many kinds, and many other thises and thats which I have now lost track of. Altogether we had plenty of food, but in the end, after about 150 people had come and gone, not too many leftovers to clear up.

We spent the next few days sorting through things, spending time with visiting friends, trying to get used to the idea that we are now in a new era, bereft forever, but at least no longer anxious about coming through for Tashi.

You may wonder why I never mentioned Tashi here before. When I started this Substack at the spring equinox this year, I wanted to keep it separate, a world apart from the realities of the heart. I was trying to live each day fully, rather than anticipating the deep grief that lay ahead. And Tashi deserved his privacy.

toddler Tashi with bread dough; this photo ran in my HomeBaking book

A week later Dawnthebaker and I took the train to Montreal.. I needed to change pattern, change scene, jolt myself into the new world I’d be living in.

We stayed with Lesley Chesterman of the Eat my Plate Substack. She’s a good friend, with loads of energy and wonderful food knowledge and curiosity. Both Dawn and I needed a break and a change of pace. We spent time at Atwater Market; visited the McCord Stewart Museum to see the new Menu exhibit, a history of Montreal from about 1960 to the present, seen through its restaurants; had an evening eating oysters and chorizo at Mamie because we were too impatient to wait for half an hour or more to get into PumPui for Thai food; drank many interesting wines; had blood sausage for breakfast at Larry’s; had delicious poutine and beer at Dieu du Ciel; checked out Brebis (cheeses and more) and Lawrence (aged meats and more); and had long lovely digressive conversations with Lesley and her partner, wine writer and educator Jean Aubry.

blood sausaage for breakfast at Larry’s

On our last evening we stayed home and cooked supper with Lesley. We’d invited another friend, legendary food writer Julian Armstrong to join us. The meal included five or six different wines (chosen by Jean). We began with a salad of roast delicata squash slices tossed with chopped radicchio and endive, moved on to leek risotto, braised brussels and carrots, and sliced duck breast, and closed with a pear-frangipane tart topped with crème anglaise. A feast of food and conversation. Very restorative.

Now back home, I confess to feeling adrift. I’ll read, see friends, try to find a groove…

After four years of dread (mostly buried deep) knowing that Tashi’s tumour would eventually kill him, after four years watching his amazing grace and lightness and clarity since the diagnosis, and despite it, I need to find my way in this new world. How to do that? I guess it will be a continuous work in progress. I need to keep hold of the feel of his sense of humour, his alertness, as he went on loving his brother, watching out for me, and engaging with his friends

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