Even with a heart fractured in places I feared would never heal, I found solace in the alchemy of the kitchen, where cooking became my quiet hymn of healing.

Grief can twist your soul, making even the simplest joys feel impossible. For six long months, I stopped cooking and eating. I survived on nothing more than eggs and smoothies, a shadow of the person who once poured love into every dish.

Every Sunday, in our little yellow house bathed in sunlight, I’d sit by the window, leafing through magazines, as laughter and fierce gaming competitions filled the air. The girls would challenge their dad, their giggles intertwining with his booming laugh, while Amma (mom) paced, moving things from one spot to another as if the world might stop if she didn’t. Michael—my Michael—would pause to make me a cocktail, pressing a kiss so full of love it would melt my heart. God, that man was picky, but I didn’t mind. I cooked only for him, savoring how he’d close his eyes when the flavors were just right.

Then, in the fall of 2022, my house fell silent. Too silent.

My mother and my husband were gone within nine days of each other, leaving a void no recipe could ever fill. The flowers from Amma’s funeral hadn’t even begun to wither when we were accepting a fresh wave of sympathy for Michael.

For two years, I dragged myself to cook, more out of duty than joy, my heart too heavy for the passion I once had. The girls, my beacons of light, took the reins—TikTok-inspired dishes from my eldest and endless ramen experiments from my youngest. Their laughter in the kitchen became my lifeline.

When I asked them what they wanted me to make this holiday season, I braced myself for something simple—tacos, maybe? Instead, they asked for Julia Child’s beef bourguignon. My heart sighed, heavy and hesitant, but their eyes sparkled with hope. How could I deny them this little comfort?

My girls are my truest love. In the cracks of my broken heart, they plant seeds of joy. And so, I put on my apron, sharpened my knives, and dusted off Julia’s hefty book. Lamb bourguignon it would be—a Hindu twist on a French classic.

Cooking this dish isn’t just a task; it’s an act of love, a journey. So, come with me. Together, we’ll make this rich, soulful stew that promises flavor and perhaps a few kisses.

With these steps, we’ll bring this dish to life—together. Cooking is more than feeding the body; it’s nourishing the soul, a way to stitch broken hearts with the threads of love and memory.

To my girls and you, let’s create something unforgettable. 

 

Simplified Cooking Guide

For a visual guide to the recipe, check out Chef Jean Pierre’s Beef Bourguignon Recipe.

Ready to cook? Enjoy!

“I’d love to hear how your beef or lamb Bourguignon turned out! Any tips or life advice you’d like to share?”

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