I Got Laid Off in a Pandemic—And Cooking My Grandmother’s Recipes Is Saving Me

Photo credit: Dave Londres
Photo credit: Dave Londres

From Oprah Magazine

“Grano a grano, se llena la gallina el buche.” It’s a saying my grandmother loves to say whenever someone is in the process of working toward a goal: “Grain by grain, the hen fills the stomach.” And they are words she’s saying to me a lot these days.

In late March, I was laid off from my job as a deputy editor for a women’s lifestyle site. It’s been the longest time I’ve gone without a job since I graduated college during the recession of 2009. So during the pandemic, I’ve been working toward the goal—grain by grain—of finding full-time employment, while also managing the anxiety around making sure I stay healthy, as well as my family. And I’ve found a form of therapy during this time in an unexpected place: The kitchen.

I didn’t take losing my job personally. My former company, like many others, took a significant financial hit as a result of COVID-19. I’m certain it had nothing to do with my performance, and everything to do with what’s happening in the world right now; in fact, I’m now just one of 32 million Americans collecting unemployment benefits as of June 26, according to the U.S. Labor Department.

And I didn’t just lose my job. When the Harlem apartment I shared with my two roommates came up for lease renewal in July, with no guarantee that we’d have steady jobs any time soon, temporarily moving back home with our families seemed like the best financial bet for all three of us. It was a lot of change and uncertainty at once; being laid off and quarantined at home is a scary combination. Yet when friends call to check in on me and see how I’m doing, they’re often surprised at my optimistic response. “I’m in good spirits,” I tell them. “I feel joyful. I’m working out, writing—and I’m cooking.”

Staying positive has been a choice, and one that staying physical and being creative have definitely helped with. But it’s been cooking classic Dominican meals alongside my abuelita that has saved me.

Photo credit: Courtesy of Johanna Ferreira
Photo credit: Courtesy of Johanna Ferreira

Anyone who’s ever been laid off knows how easy it can be to let your mind spiral into negative thoughts. But during a pandemic, the risk of falling into a deep state of anxiety or depression are high. Even before I lost my job, when New Yorkers were instructed to shelter-in-place in March, I instantly challenged myself to get through this without becoming an anxious mess. I quickly came up with a process: First, I would dedicate time every morning to meditate and count my blessings; so far, no one in my family has been seriously affected by COVID-19, despite the fact that both my parents and a number of relatives are essential workers.

The second thing I was going to do was work out every single morning, to maintain my health and work toward building my immune system. I also decided I would read more books and freelance to get my byline out there while I continued to apply for full-time editor jobs. And lastly, to keep my spirits high, I said: I will cook.

Back when I was still in Harlem, I would cook for my roommates, almost always one of my grandmother’s recipes. One night it was sancocho, a hearty stew made with numerous kinds of meats. Another night it was pastelon de platano maduro, a sort of Dominican lasagna made with sweet plantains. And other nights, it would be more typical dishes like rice and beans with pollo guisado—stewed chicken. Every meal made me feel closer to home, closer to my abuela, and reminded me of what really mattered: community, family, and human connection.

When I moved back home with my parents and Abuela Celeste, I was instantly in even better spirits. Because now I had the opportunity to cook alongside the muse herself. And the cooking process became an even bigger project for me as I worked to make meals that would keep my family healthy by cutting our meat and sugar intake and moving toward a more pescatarian diet. Recreating Abuela’s recipes without meat was a challenge we both enjoyed; every afternoon in the kitchen became an experiment, an adventure, and an opportunity to hear her stories.

Fridays soon became bacalao con mangú days. In the Dominican Republic, bacalao is a very typical dish, a salted cod fish often sautéed with red onions and peppers. Mangú is a traditional Dominican side dish of mashed plantains.

“Bacalo is popular in the Dominican Republic now, but growing up, it was considered a dish for the poor, because it was a lot more affordable than meat and even other fishes,” Abuela told me in Spanish once as we stood side by side in the kitchen. “The reason why most folks eat it either with mangú or steamed yucca is because it was cheaper to boil a root vegetable than buy a bag of rice.”

Abuela says I inherited a lot from her. She says I have her joyful spirit, her love and appreciation of people, and her skills in the kitchen. “You’re like me,” she tells me. “You’re passionate about cooking, and that’s why your food tastes so good. I love cooking, even at 92...because when you’re cooking, you forget everything else that is happening. It forces you to slow down and be patient.”

One afternoon after Abuela had served the bacalao we’d prepared right next to the mangú, we sat together at the kitchen table to enjoy lunch. I was overwhelmed with appreciation for the moment—for the unexpected time I’ve had with her and my family during one of the scariest times in history.

Eventually, I’ll get a good job, and I’ll move into an apartment of my own—there’s no doubt about that. Though it looks like it’s sticking around for a while, I know that this virus will not be here forever. So in the meantime, I’m making the best of this time, even if it means being unemployed and living back at home.

“¿Y qué se va a cocinar mañana?” Abuela often asks me. “What will we cook tomorrow?

I always tell her with a smile: “I don’t know yet. But I’m sure we’ll come up with something tasty.”


For more stories like this, sign up for our newsletter.

You Might Also Like