Today’s offering comes to us from Sprocket Wagner (she/her). Sprocket is a journalist devoted to bringing diverse and equitable coverage to topics of religion and spirituality. She’s an eclectic Pagan, a Witch, and an aspiring scholar of interfaith theology. Find her on Mastodon, or on her website, Interfaith Heathen.
As I’ve finished up undergrad and gone about moving in with my partner, I’ve been thinking a lot about cooking. I’ve faced a lot of shifts in how I interact with and feel in the kitchen. I’ve gone from lacking the time and facilities while in college to being the primary chef for my household. Along with that have come a whole new set of expectations I’ve placed upon myself as I present my gender identity more authentically as a trans woman, going from basically being expected to stay away from the kitchen to being its primary denizen. As my partner brings in most of our income, it’s fallen to me to stock our pantry with our budget in mind, prepare meals with some semblance of nutritional balance, and take various forms of neurodivergency and chronic illness into account. I’ll admit, it’s taken a lot more energy than I ever expected.
Then I came across The Just Kitchen by Anna Woofendon and Derrick Weston, a meditation on cooking, the kitchen, and justice. It is also occasionally a cookbook, and contains a number of recipes throughout its over 200 pages.
The cover to The Just Kitchen: Invitations to Sustainability, Cooking, Connection, and Celebration, by Derrick Watson and Anna Woofenden [Broadleaf Books]
This book is not one you’d initially expect to see on a Pagan’s bookshelf. It does use a lot of Christian language, which, to the authors’ benefit, is disclosed in the introduction. This disclaimer says that this is done to “illustrate truths [the authors] believe are universal.” I generally find this to be true, although some Pagan readers may be turned off by the liturgies and biblical examples scattered throughout. Luckily, the more specific language is pretty self-contained and can be skipped should you feel inclined, but much of it could be translated to a Pagan or especially animist mindset. Importantly, just about every mention begins with “in the Christian tradition,” and while Christianity is certainly prevalent, it’s never treated as a default as many other writers have done.
The genuine effort to de-center Christianity is praise-worthy, as few authors even make the attempt, but the lack of analysis of the privilege and institutional support Christianity has hinders the book’s goal. While the structure of support is used to fight other forms of injustice, I don’t think it’s taken into account that many of us lack a physical faith community. For example, community gardens are brought up a number of times. While they’re great for fighting various inequities, like racial and wealth disparities as well as environmental impacts, many of us lack such public spaces where we can truly display our faith and make this work, as the book suggests, a devotional act.
Many of the book’s proposed solutions are community-based, and while I wholeheartedly approve of mutual aid, I would not feel safe making those acts openly devotional in my conservative hometown where they are very needed. Pagans generally don’t have the kind of institutional resources to do these sorts of things, or communities to do them with, and there are many others who are ostracized from faith communities they belong to. I would love to see these privileges explored in further works.
However, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to read and review this book if I didn’t think it was worth a reader’s time and money. There’s plenty of criticism of Christianity here, especially in regards to toxic charity. From the intentionality of their writing, I sense the authors of this book would be open to these important interfaith conversations, which is why I’m writing this review in the first place. There’s a lot to be gained from collaboration, especially in the kitchen.
Most of the important points are made secularly, and there are many important points being made. The analysis of aspects of justice in the kitchen and beyond it is very thorough, and expounds upon viewpoints I don’t often see represented in this type of work. For example, vegetarian and vegan lifestyles, as well as their ethics, are discussed a few times. While there’s a good examination of the problems with industrial farming, including the effects on workers who are often from marginalized groups, and the general ethics around meat consumption, there’s also a reminder that plants, too, are alive. In fact, one of their interviewees expounds upon the spiritual nature of taking a life to feed oneself and one’s family, and the mutuality and respect that should come with it. These are issues that I find many Pagans I’ve met already have a stake in, and this book explores them in ways I hadn’t thought of.
I’ve been grappling with the ethics of my diet for a few years now, and reading this really brought my intention to a struggle I’d placed on a mental back burner. Growing up, I always knew where our meat came from. My father hunted and fished, beef came from a local farm, eggs from the farmer’s market. Aside from trying not to think about the chicken from Walmart, I trusted that my father and our local farmers treated their animals with respect. There were many days my father would come home empty-handed despite having a good shot on a particularly young deer. He always ended up rewarded by the land he hunted with big deer that would last for months.
But now, I’m on my own. I don’t have the time or resources to hunt, and once I move into the city proper, I won’t have a car to get to those spots or haul in the result. Perhaps, as the book suggests, I should cut back on meat consumption entirely, for the sake of both the environment and my budget, and buy ethical meat when possible.
This was only the first in a series of personal interrogations this book has induced. Many of the book’s suggestions are based in mindfulness – being aware of the sensations of the kitchen and our own thoughts as we cook. These practices led me to really look into some of my feelings and frustrations, and I decided to put these tips and tricks to the test.
In drafting this review, I decided not only to make one of the recipes in this book, but to do so as justly and spiritually as possible. First came the planning. I tracked down the local farmer’s market, which also happened to be on grocery day. One of the book’s many pullouts for self-reflection prompts the reader to describe the geography of their kitchen – what places, events, and people impact their culinary practices and feelings around the kitchen.
In my case, there’s a sprinkling of Appalachia in my kitchen from relatives and the very land on which I grew up, a bit from the Norse gods and especially from Brigid, and a bit from my ancestors, both chosen and otherwise. Before I left for the farmer’s market, I made sure to make an offering. One for Anthony Bourdain, who’s a major reason I do journalism in the first place, and to my grandfather who taught me many of the things I know how to cook. In being mindful of these things, I felt more connected than I have in quite a while.
Choosing a recipe was easy. The recipes contained within are personal ones, shared by those interviewed for the Food and Faith Podcast, and as such they’re all pretty affordable and accessible to any skill level. They’re also mostly vegan or vegetarian, and ostensibly many are gluten free. The farmers’ market I attended had an abundance of eggplant, so I went for the Berengena Guisada, or stewed eggplant. All of the produce necessary was at the market, and I already had the rest of the ingredients. The shopping trip took a lot out of me, so being mindful of my energy levels, I decided to make this the next day, which was also a full moon.
Vegetables are a farmers market [WindowsObserver, Pixabay]
Slowly, as I added the various ingredients to the pan, the smells came together like a building symphony. I tend to neglect my senses to avoid overstimulation, but by opening myself to the experience, I was able to connect to the act spiritually, and soon the scent was nearly guiding me more than the recipe. As a dabbler in kitchen magic, at this moment cooking felt more like ritual than routine, and I really appreciate this book for helping me reach that point.
In the end, I didn’t feel nearly as drained after cooking as I thought I would be. I served it over rice as suggested, and my partner and I both thoroughly enjoyed it. The recipe made more than enough for us to have it for multiple meals, and it was just as good each time. It was really filling, and hopefully thanks to the way it was made, recharging.
All considered, I’d give this book a solid 4 out of 5 stars. While I think the attempts at decentering Christianity fall a bit flat, and those influences hinder both my enjoyment of the book and my ability to follow every suggestion, there’s a whole lot of value here that can easily apply to a Pagan or animist worldview.
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