When I started a part-time job as an assistant cook at my neighborhood market last fall, I never dreamed that five months later the grocery store would be an outpost for social interaction in a worldwide health crisis.
People who work at pharmacies, grocery stores, gas stations and drive-thrus represent a new breed of first responders. I make soups and salads. Never has homemade soup been more urgently needed!
At the family-owned grocery where I work, County Fair Foods in the Beverly/Morgan Park neighborhood, we feed hundreds of people every day, including many elders and essential city workers. They know the head cook, Carmen, by name. Some customers shop with their elderly parents to stock in meals for the week.
I derive great satisfaction from providing not only comfort food (think turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, chicken pot pies, sausage with peppers) but also interaction (now from a respectful 6-foot distance) with the customers, some of them my longtime neighbors. Gathering around food sparks powerful connections.
Early last week I overheard a woman my age shopping with her mother ask, “Ma, do you want a rotisserie chicken?”
“OK,” her mother replied in a tone that said “ho hum.”
I was just that minute setting out fresh-from-the-oven packaged dinners of Cornish hens with homemade mashed potatoes, a great buy at $6.98. I pointed them out to the ladies.
“Mom, you love Cornish hen!” the daughter enthused.
Her mother’s face brightened. “Yes!” she said.
“Here’s a nice fat one,” I said, handing her the plastic container to see for herself.
“Thank you,” the daughter said, locking my eyes in deep gratitude. She added two more to their basket. I have walked in that daughter’s shoes. Small kindnesses matter.
Later, a woman who knew me from my teaching days sought me out at the store. Her family had a house fire and was moving into a rental, she said, and was there any chicken noodle soup? There was. She left with two large containers of golden comfort.
As limited as we are at present, at least we can still “run to the store.” People stuck at home are cooking like crazy, according to what I’m seeing on Facebook. My daughter in Denver texted a photo of a beautiful round loaf of fresh-baked bread with rosemary. I could smell it across the miles. Her planned visit home this week was canceled.
Familiar places like grocery stores seem strange these days. After the initial rush, crowds are thin indeed. Products like bakery goods or salad bars that were self-serve are now pre-packaged or on hold indefinitely. Painter’s tape on store floors mark off social distancing for customers standing in line. Shortages will continue. Even the produce stockers and checkout clerks wear gloves.
In lockdown, our world feels very small right now, even as we are connected as never before for the common good of the world at large. Small kindnesses and comfort matter more than ever.
Leslie Baldacci is a former Sun-Times writer and podcaster and retired Chicago Public Schools teacher.
