The Food of Break-Ups

About author / Amy Powell

World traveler; gourmet 30 minute meals; lover of exotic ingredients; winner on FoodTV's Chefs vs City; graduate French Culinary Institute. Her recipes will tantalize your taste buds.

Whether it was the solar eclipse in Aquarius earlier this month or some other cosmic forces at work, it certainly seems as though this summer has brought on a sea change in relationships for many of the people in my life.

Far from a summer of love, this summer I have seen dramatic ends to marriages, the dissolution of engagements, and the breakups of relationships, including my own. Sure I also saw the joyous union of two people who could not be better suited for each other, and I’ve celebrated impending nuptials by hosting a bridal shower, and I’ve squealed in delight with a friend who informed me of her recent engagement, but it seems this summer, the bad is far out weighing the good.

Through it all--the weddings, the relationships, the breakups--there is food. Food plays a part in nearly every celebration, every union, every breakup. We often think about food in relation to the good times, whether it be a romantic dinner or the cake at a wedding reception. But food is just as much a part of the breakup as it is about the relationship.

A girlfriend of mine was recently commenting to me on how well she thought I was dealing with my own breakup. For her, it seems, the end of a relationship with a man usually segues into a two week affair with two men, Ben and Jerry, and a bottle of Grey Goose. For me, the stress relief is not in the bottom of a carton of ice cream but in the clutch of my tongs and at the blade of my chef’s knife.

The day my relationship officially came to an end I made 20 pounds of barbecued spareribs, a platter of heirloom tomato salad with burrata, and two bunches of perfectly charred asparagus… for five people. As much as I love to eat, emotional stress makes me lose my appetite but I never lose my taste for taking out my emotions on food whether I’m pounding out chicken breasts for chicken Milanese or working my knife out on a refrigerator full of vegetables for a pot of soup.

The end of a relationship also means putting an end to certain habits we have developed over time as our relationship developed. Some of these things can be good, like the realization that a bottle of wine that used to last me one night when I had someone to share it with will now take me through a whole weekend. Or that I no longer need to keep a supply of dark chocolate in my cupboard for him to nibble on after dinner. Other habits that need to be broken are a bit more sad, like how my girlfriend can no longer go to her favorite restaurant because she might run into her ex, and while she is still mending a broken heart she just can’t take that risk.

The day my friend’s live-in fiancé unexpectedly broke up with her over the phone and kicked her out of their apartment, for sure we sought consolation in a bottle (or several) of white wine. But we also made a point of seeking out some good food to accompany it. At a restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called Flex Mussels, my friend, her sister, and I broke bread over pounds of Prince Edward Island mussels cooked in one of 23 different variations that the restaurant offers.

Prior to that night I had been associating mussels over the past year or so with my own relationship as my ex liked little more at a restaurant than to order multiple sides of bread to sop of the every last butter, wine, and herb inflected juice of the steamed mussels we often ordered. And there we were: three girls, hungrily searching out the meat trapped in the mussel shell and scooping each one into our mouths along with mussel juice mixed with bacon, cream, garlic and whatever other wonderful flavorings had found their way into our mussel pot. What was once a shared ritual between a boy and a girl became on another night a moment of solace from the confusion and pain we felt for our girlfriend.

Sure I will remember the happy times this summer like the wild venison served at the reception for my friend’s wedding in the Catskills and the spring rolls and lettuce wraps I served up for my other friend’s bridal shower. But food isn’t just there for you during the good times. I won’t be stocking my cupboard with dark chocolate anymore and my girlfriend will probably not go back to eat at her and her ex’s favorite restaurant for a very long time. But sometimes our relationship with food can change as we do: a pot of mussels that was once shared over a romantic dinner and held hands can become the welcoming comfort food for a broken heart and shared bond among friends.

Serves/Makes: 2

• 1/4 pound thick cut bacon
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 medium leeks
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1 large tomato
• 1/2 bottle white wine
• 1 1/2 pound mussels, rinsed and cleaned
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• salt
• 1/4 cup chopped parsley