Cooking with Friends

The last few years, my boyfriend Kole and I were living in the Hudson Valley region of upstate New York. We landed there for his third and fourth years of medical school and lived two sweet years in one of the most naturally beautiful places on Earth. It was an interesting time to live there - the Hudson Valley’s population grew at one of the fastest rates in the US at the beginning of the pandemic, as people fled NYC for more space and fresher air. The small town we moved to was charming and walkable, but surely was feeling the weight of rapid gentrification and a changing identity. It was a sleepy place for full time residents during the week but flooded with a weekender population Friday to Sunday.

We knew no one except for a few other medical students in Kole’s class. Sean and Bryce were friends of Kole’s from school that I’d never met.

We moved into the second floor apartment of a little blue house with a rickety fire escape and two units. The same month, Ben and his beautiful golden retriever, Ozark, moved from the Midwest to the first floor.

All of us ended up in New York not necessarily by choice, and only for a finite period of time. The best thing to come out of those years for me was the scrappy friend group we formed, transplants from different parts of the country who landed in this beautiful and odd place just for a short while. I think we were all seeking connection to ground us in a time that felt so impermanent. Kole, Sean, and Bryce were undertaking the mammoth that is medical school and the at times crippling pressure that a career of such magnitude can take on someone. We were all walking the tightrope of “I’m excited by the adventures of my 20s” and “I’d really love to know what the next step in my life is.”

At least once a week, Sean would pick up Bryce and drive over to our house. Bryce does indeed know how to drive, but rarely ever did for fear his ancient Jeep would break down in an intersection. We’d move between our apartment and Ben’s, cooking in both kitchens. Ozark got comfortable following the action (or the tennis ball) up and down the fire escape. These dinners always featured many bottles of red wine and a never ending slew of stories from the local hospital where Sean, Bryce and Kole were working.

We did a pretty good job making lemonade: finding the standout local food spots, picking through the countless antique stores and knick knack shops, cutting our own Christmas trees, spending time on Kole’s family farm. We took road trips to Maine for various medical school events and used them as excuses to go to the beach and dine at our favorite Portland restaurant.

A lot of the time our social activity was simply to cook together. Once we blew a fuse running two air fryers in the kitchen simultaneously because we were trying to air fry chicken wings as fast as possible. We made dumplings from scratch, attempting to learn different folding techniques from YouTube videos. Ben loved to grill. Sean made an incredible chicken pot pie. Bryce could be trusted to come through with something alcoholic or a quart of Stewart’s ice cream.

If “having your friends over for dinner” was a profession that’s the only thing I’d want to do. Cooking with and for my friends is my choice way to connect and spend time with others. My favorite weekday is the one where there’s a dinner guest on the calendar. Our weekly group dinners were an entry point to warm and joyful friendships that made those years so rich, and have luckily outlived New York.

Kole, Ben and me on our California road trip this winter

I wouldn’t have admitted it then, but I was very scared and unsure what this time in my life would bring. I was living with my significant other for the first time, in a new state, with a new job, and the lingering presence of a pandemic keeping us all on our toes. As someone who fears change I was really challenging myself to embrace the newness of it all and not totally lose my marbles. But now when I think back, the things I remember most are the times spent belly laughing at Sean’s reenactments of hospital drama and cooking Thanksgiving dinner in our barely functional kitchen. I think so fondly of this period of time, of the special bubble we found ourselves in and the soft unspoken bravery of choosing to invest in new friends, knowing your paths might only overlap for this brief moment. Just making new friends in your 20s without the safe backdrop of college or work is basically a miracle, let along making good friends. Good friends? Rare.

I think about how significant sharing meals was to our time in New York, about how central cooking with friends is to my relationships old and new. Cooking for people is a special gift. It says “I love you and I care about you.” I find it to be so personal and thoughtful. Food is a bridge in so many ways; it is culture, history, common ground, adventure. It’s a gift I love to give and receive, and I believe so strongly in its power. I believe that like good food, you can find friendship almost anywhere, but it’s usually better when made at home.