The Kitchen Shrink, by Dr Andrea Oskis, is a sumptuous and satisfying book. Oskis, a psychologist and award winning cook, takes her two favourite subjects and skillfully blends them to serve up a treat.
In each chapter Dr Oskis recounts her work with a different counselling client, looking specifically at the role of food and the meaning her patient’s ascribe to it. From the bachelor who can’t commit beyond three dates -and loves a McDonald takeaway. To the sixth former who’s ready to fly the nest – starts withdrawing from her mum’s cooking first.
Oskis’s writing is beautifully clear and flowing. I was able to enter the evocative world of food and flavour, without any convoluted paragraphs jolting me from my journey. Because of this, I found myself going into a slight torpor. Pages describing creamy tiramisu, delicious, salty halloumi cheese and buttery mashed potato. And served alongside all this food talk, is the theory of attachment.
As a counsellor, and a mother, I know the basics of attachment theory. How our survival is completely dependent on our primary caregiver. And when we arrive in to this world, mewling and vulnerable, our first food and first love ideally arrive together. The breast; the good enough mother; maternal preoccupation. And on the flip-side, I’m aware of what can happen when attachment goes awry. How babies can become anxious, insecure or ambivalent. It’s a complex subject. But Dr Oskis really knows her stuff. She’s researched, taught and written about the subject for twenty years. Her expertise means she can breakdown dense theory, in just a couple of short well written sentences.
While reading this book I was struck by how little attention I had paid to food in my own counselling room. Of course, clients talk generally about comfort eating. Spongy, creamy cakes and sweet, sugary biscuits that are demolished in a matter of minutes. Usually in a bid to hide difficult feelings, and soothe mental pain and anguish. But I had never thought deeply about different types of food, and what they mean to me.
And, as I’m sitting and reflecting on this, a series of images fly into my head. Here’s me in my first year at Kingston University, standing in the kitchen of my student halls at 2am. I’ve returned from a club, and it’s been fun, but also overwhelming. The venues are bigger, the faces are new and the music sounds loud and angry. Even the walk home takes focus and concentration. But instead of getting a chicken burger and chips enroute, I decide to warm up a tin of rice pudding. Rice pudding is the dessert of my childhood, it reminds me of Sunday Dinners at home with Formula One on the TV in the background. The smell alone soothes me.
Then there’s me in my second year. Bad at organisation, worse at self care and still saying out too late, too often. I’m juggling study, ever more socialising, a potential new relationship and a part time job. So, it’s little pots of tiramisu, with transparent cellophane lids, bought from Sainsbury’s that soothe my feelings. I love the comforting cream, the damp sponge and the way they always look and taste exactly the same. The combination of sugar, cream, alcohol and coffee keeps me going for another couple of hours.
And finally, I’m in my third year. But my dissertation is unappealing and my heart is slowly breaking. I’ve realised my relationship isn’t going to make it beyond university. It’s expired and possibly rotting. So, I find myself eating Farley’s Rusks. I wish this weren’t true, but it is. They’re wheaty, sweet, and easy to suck and digest if you’re too anxious to manage a meal.
I read The Kitchen Shrink with my counsellors hat on, because that what I am. But I honestly believe, this book is relevant to everyone. If you eat food and have emotions, then hopefully, you’ll gain new insights into your own patterns. And best of all, because the book is beautifully written and features mouthwatering recipes, you’ll barely realise you’ve been educated at all.
If you’ve read The Kitchen Shrink, then I would love to hear your thoughts. Comment below.