When we were in college, Kili and I spent the last year in quite a few classes together, as we were both completing not only our English degrees, but our TESOL certifications together as well. The last quarter was a doozy. We were in an Oscar Wilde author study, which we both agree was one of the most difficult and one of the most influential classes we've ever taken. We also had to create an entire unit plan for an ESL class in a matter of weeks--including each lesson, each activity, each rubric, and profiles of each student you were going to pass and fail (okay not really...).
As I recall, we spent a good two weeks spread out over my kitchen table, papers and computers and a requisite glass of wine everywhere. See? What I remember most from those few weeks was the one night that I took a step back and stopped for a few hours. Kili kept typing away, but I moved into the kitchen, chopped some onion and carrots and potatoes and celery, rolled out some dough, and made a few chicken pot pies.
That pie saved our lives. I think we subsisted on it and Wilde witticisms for days on end, and made it out in mid-June sun-starved but full.
I pride myself on my pot pies, but I haven't been able to make one that good--before or since. I made another one last night, for Kili, Ari, Brendan, & I, and even though we each went back for seconds, it lacked that life-saving or changing factor. More butter, maybe?