Crying into Congee
Emergency surgery + a recipe
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Hi Not So Secret Agent readers, I know I have been a bit quieter than usual. If you are the kind of reader who likes to “jump straight to recipe” in food blogs, feel free skim or skip this post. Just sit back and wait until my regularly scheduled programming. Even better, vote in the poll below for which topic you’d like me to cover in one of my fall newsletters.
Normally, I offer cookbook publishing resources and behind-the-scenes stuff about agenting. That’s 90% of this newsletter to date.
Not today though.
As some of you know from following me on IG or in the How to be a Cookbook Author Facebook group, I have spent the past two weeks at home recovering from emergency surgery.
Welcome diehard readers to one of the most ironic experiences a cookbook agent could have.
I cried eating congee.
Let’s back up. I am not usually much of a crier. Not because there’s anything wrong with crying, I am just not someone who does it often. Actually, I am working on letting my tears out a bit more regularly and productively, both for myself and to model healthy emotional expression for Maybelline.
***Not So Secret Agent Side Note: If you want help reframing the emotions that may LITERALLY be bottled up inside you, watch Inside Out 2. Something about seeing Joy and Sadness personified, and then mercilessly locked away to make room for the more complex “adult” emotions, hit me hard. Truly, it put a lot into perspective and helped me start to tap back into myself. ***
But two weeks ago, as I dipped a black plastic hospital spoon into my thermos of smuggled homemade congee and brought the piping hot magic mush to my chapped lips, I cried.
Not because I had been in debilitating pain from diverticulitis off and on since last March.
Not because, as a full-time solo parent, being in the hospital for a week and away from Maybelline was excruciating.
Not because my body decided that the surgery I had scheduled for later this fall needed to happen six weeks earlier.
I cried because I finally understood what all you food writers, cookbook authors, home cooks, and chefs have been trying to capture with your words this whole time.
Okay, I know, I know. I feel like a walking cliché. I know food moves us. I represent the people who write about the food that moves us.
But I just haven’t really ever had that tectonic shifting experience myself. Sure, I have had life-altering culinary moments, meals, and tastes (I’m looking at you mushroom consommé in Healdsburg, CA circa 2011!).
Anyway, sitting propped up in my hospital bed after undergoing emergency surgery that literally wiped out my entire stomach and digestive tract, I was faced with an important question:
What was the first thing I was going to put into my body so it could start to rebuild? What was even safe to eat?
Even though, over the past seven months I have dabbled in some foods that delight me, mostly I’ve been scared to eat. And let me tell you, that sucks for your average person. As a cookbook agent, it sucks a TON.
The irony is not lost on me.
I would laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to laugh right now.
***Not So Secret Agent Side Note: This is about the point in the story you might be compelled to reach out with advice, help, suggestions, or other well-intentioned stories. I am consciously choosing to share just as much as is comfortable for me right now. Everyone’s bodies are different, and I am not looking for medical advice. I AM accepting all well wishes, good vibes, humor, and kindness!***
When I took that first bite of homemade congee, I cried. Because of the taste, sure, but also because of how it was made. The labor. And who made it for me.
My sister, Amelia. One of my all-time favorite humans.
She is the knife to my fork.
Mia, as I lovingly call her, happened to be visiting to help ring in our dad and stepmom’s 25th wedding anniversary just 48 hours before my hospitalization. Lucky her, shortly after we finished dishes at dad’s and wrapped up celebrating one of the most love-filled marriages ever, Mia had the honor of driving me to the ER.
A few days, many IV antibiotics, and one major surgery later, I made my dazed request.
Could you modify the congee you made for mom years ago when she was going through chemo?
So of course she did. Somehow, along with spending crucial auntie-triage time with Maybs, caretaking for herself and my team of caregivers, cooking up a storm, juggling her own life and job, keeping me company for hours on end, and who knows what else, she worked her congee-making superpowers.
Then, she strolled in with a thermos-full of the magic stuff.
I say “strolled” because, despite minimal sleep and everything she was taking on, she was able to swoop into my flower-filled hospital room with the kindest smile.
She was calm, cool, and congee-collected.
This congee was made by the person I trust most in the world, so I knew it was safe to ingest as the first nourishment in my body.
It was made by the person who I share all my secrets with, so I knew it would help me start to heal.
It was made by the person who makes me laugh the hardest and who has the most witty and sharp sense of humor, so I knew it would begin the process of bringing me back to myself.
It was made by one of the people I love most in this world.
My sister Amelia.
It tasted like love feels.
And so I cried.
And here is the recipe so you can get a good cry out too.
Thanks for being here. Your support and readership fills me with Joy.
Not So Secret Agent,
Sally
Sending you healing thoughts.
A beautiful story about congee and sisters. Sending you the good vibes.