when cooking feels like a slog
This is part of a series of ways to approach common pain points around food and cooking. A quick disclaimer: although I have a masters’ degree in food studies and have taught kids about food for over a decade, I am not a doctor or registered dietitian, and the ideas below are just for inspiration.
I hope you’ll find something helpful, of course, but you are the expert on your own cooking routines.
Recently, I surveyed a group of around thirty people and asked them to describe their biggest challenge when it comes to cooking. I was surprised how quickly responses poured in — and how much they had in common.
Burnout. Decision fatigue. Dread. Lack of inspiration. Lack of motivation. Catering to other people’s tastes instead of my own. Exhaustion. Overwhelm. Feeling like cooking is a chore.
As someone who loves to cook and has made a career out of it, let me just say: I, too, find cooking to be an absolute slog sometimes. Add kids and the crushing expectations around family dinnertimes, and it’s no surprise that cooking can feel like an unrewarding chore.
Here are a few thoughts on how to tackle that dreaded kitchen burnout:
Park downhill.
Despite what we might think, there is no prize for the fewest kitchen shortcuts or the meal that takes the most effort. Cooking in a way that’s convenient, comfortable, and easy is nothing to feel bad about; it can be the goal.
If dishes are what stress you out, maybe it’s time for a new system (ahem, she who cooks does not wash up) or a growing index of one-pot meals.
If cooking is tiring or uncomfortable for you but you need or want to cook, treat your body kindly. Get an anti-fatigue mat to cushion your feet, or pull up a stool or chair to the kitchen counter. Cut corners liberally. Embrace conveniently prepped ingredients like grated cheese, pre-chopped onions, frozen vegetables, and microwavable rice. Again: no prize for the most effort.
Forget where things “should” go in the kitchen and store the tools you need where it makes sense for you. Keep your most-used kitchen tools and ingredients where they’re easily accessible when you begin cooking — a cutting board out on the counter, your two favorite spices by the stove, your clean cast-iron pan or pasta pot right on the stovetop. Print or transcribe your most frequently-Googled recipe and hang it on the fridge.
To paraphrase a favorite writer on domestic work: your kitchen is here to serve you; you are not here to serve your kitchen. If cooking is important to you, why not make it as easy and comfortable as possible?
Take an (actual) break if you can.
If the never-ending work of meal planning, prep, and cooking is getting to you, tap out for as long as you can afford to. I’m talking a complete break from anything more complicated than pressing a button, opening a package, or boiling a pot of water — for a couple of days or longer.
Here’s what I mean: Takeout. Frozen burritos. Cereal and carrot sticks. Microwave meals. Boxed mac and cheese with some frozen peas tossed in (even this might be borderline too much work). Want the same frozen pizza and bagged salad two — or five — nights in a row? Go for it.
Despite our cultural insistence that these choices are somehow morally inferior, I would like to provide a counterpoint: nope.
Worried about nutritionally balanced meals? It can help to remember that nutrition is built over years, not days. (And you’d be surprised how many nutritional boxes are ticked by a frozen bean burrito and some baby carrots.)
Are you the one who does all the meal planning and prep for your family, and you worry about letting them down? Good news: they’ll be happy with a very basic meal and a caregiver who isn’t burned all the way out by the time dinner prep is done.
In my kitchen, cooking is morally neutral. Whatever sounds good to you, whatever is easiest and affordable, whatever gets you and your household fed: give yourself permission to just do that.
If cooking is important to you, taking an actual break instead of pushing through burnout will allow you to come back to it refreshed.
Keep a record of dinners.
On my phone, I have a running list of every dinner I make at home in my Notes app. I don’t write out the recipes or go into great detail; last month, a typical week looked like this:
“4/16 — sausage sandwiches; salad. 4/17 — sausage and farro stew with kale. 4/18 — rigatoni with chicken ragú; salad. 4/19 — miso salmon rice bowls with roasted broccoli. 4/20 — veggie fried rice.”
It takes me about ten seconds each night to log my dinner as I check my phone for the last time, and it is a gift to my future self for when I’m feeling burnt out in the kitchen. When I inevitably get to a week where I ask myself despondently, “WHAT DO I EVER EVEN MAKE FOR DINNER?” I pull up my “Dinners” note and scroll through for ideas. (You can do this in a notebook too. I used to keep a yellow legal pad in the kitchen just for jotting down dinners.)
What have I made with salmon before? What have I cooked in the dead of winter, or during heat waves past? My dinner log will tell me. It also helps me remember how I used up certain ingredients I might have in my fridge or pantry (miso, farro), and how I repurposed leftovers (leftover sausage went into a stew on Tuesday; leftover rice became veggie fried rice on Friday).
Instead of going to Pinterest or my cookbook collection when I’m already feeling daunted and burned out, I can stick to a resource that really knows my tastes and abilities: myself. Give this a try for a couple of months — don’t obsess over it; keep it simple — and see if it helps.
Embrace the meal template.
You’ve probably heard of this trick. Some people swear by having a set theme or meal type for each night of the week (think of the school cafeteria calendar and its repeating variations on a theme). It helps many get past one of the most daunting parts of cooking: the decision fatigue.
This can look like:
Mondays we have easy pasta with some kind of protein (white beans, sausage, etc) and salad. Tuesdays are when I grocery shop and the store has fresh fish, so we have fish and veggies with rice or noodles. Wednesdays we all get home late so we do slow cooker meals. Thursdays are chicken dinners; we have four or five favorites we rotate through. On Fridays everyone grabs leftovers or makes their own sandwich.
Or just:
Meatless Mondays. Takeout Tuesdays. One-pot Wednesdays. Pasta Thursdays. Stir-fry Fridays.
If meal planning feels daunting, give yourself some parameters like these to follow and see if it cuts back on the decision fatigue.
Romanticize your cooking.
Sometimes, cooking burnout requires going into survival mode (see above), but occasionally it can be shaken off by adding an element of — dare I say it? — fun. Romanticizing your cooking a bit can combat the dread that comes with days and years of utilitarian meal planning.
So inject a little whimsy. Try to recreate the amazing eggplant Parmesan from that place you used to live next to. Play cookbook roulette by opening a cookbook or two at random and building a meal around the recipe you land on. (Did you know you can check cookbooks out of your local library?) Pick a cuisine you want to explore, then seek out recipes by a food blogger or cookbook author from that country (a “Bibimbap Bowl” by Sally from Wisconsin might be great, but Maangchi’s japchae is way better). Recreate a meal from a favorite childhood book (any Redwall readers in the house?). Have a living room picnic with sandwiches and lemonade, a dinner of just appetizers, or a “toothpick dinner” with miniature, spear-able foods (tiny meatballs with dipping sauces, bite-sized fruits and veggies).
Yes, there are times when the idea of a whimsical dinner might make my eyes roll all the way to the back of my head. But sometimes, romanticizing my cooking a bit can help me remember: oh right. I like this.
Throw out the rules.
If it isn’t already clear, I would like to declare the end of strict rules around what dinner “should” look like. If you’re feeling burnt out, make what sounds appealing, easy, or fun, and you’ll be better off than if you rigidly follow a set of food rules that don’t serve you.
So: breakfast food all day long. The same thing for dinner five nights in a row. A big, hearty lunch and a very simple supper. A dinner that’s just carrot sticks, crackers, and a ton of dips. Dessert on the table with dinner (this is a fraught topic I’ll address in another post, but… just try it). “Weird” menu combinations like loaded nachos and frozen edamame.
The next time you find yourself obsessing over how you “should” cook and eat, ask yourself: where are these rules coming from? Are they really serving me? What would happen if I completely disregarded them this week?
And if you’re feeling unsure, get in touch. I will give you some dinner ideas and a stack of permission slips to cook and eat exactly what feels good.