I left behind my engagement ring. My husband’s late father’s mementos. Every note, card, letter, and sentimental object I had ever owned. It felt strange and arbitrary to choose one little thing among a lifetime of memories—to decide which memory was more important than the others. So taking nothing made more sense.
As we drove away, a vein of electric red ran down the whole hillside. Our canyon was ablaze.
I stayed up all night at my friend’s house, refreshing Google Maps, which showed the streets that had been hit. With each refresh, there were new homes burned. Throughout the night, in what seemed like a miracle, our street never turned red on the map. We had been spared.
But then I heard from my next-door neighbors: their home had burned to the ground.
My husband couldn’t live in the uncertainty. He hopped in the car and headed back to Altadena despite my pleading him not to. He had to see for himself. Downed power lines were everywhere. Small fires erupted right in front of his car as he drove up to our street. And then I got the phone call that would change my life forever.
“It’s all gone.” He sobbed.
“No, no, no.” I said back. “No, no, no.”
What does it mean for there to be nothing left? Where is my baby’s crib? Where are his clothes? Oh my god, my engagement ring. Where do I live? Where do I cook? Oh my god, my Dutch ovens. What comes next? Who am I now, that I have nothing?
And yet, while disaster and chaos ensues, human wants and needs do not wane. As was evidenced that morning, I am still intoxicated by the smell of good soup. That’s who I am, that’s who I’ll always be.
Devastation or not, a girl’s gotta eat. And so the question hovered over me: When I eat my first meal after this gargantuan moment of loss, do I deprive myself of the joy of good food? Five hours earlier, I wouldn’t have done that. Why restrain myself from pleasure when so much has been taken away? What a strange duality to hold all at once: Happy tastebuds, broken heart.
I have never been someone who is inclined to deprive myself of worldly pleasures: My whole life and work are built around finding joy through food. Eating delivers me little moments of that multiple times a day, and Nora’s soup will forever exist to remind me of just that. Joy prevails.
