Some weeks, writing about food—even delicious food—seems out of place. Or trivial. Or maybe even, well, wrong.

In the face of the anguish of our neighbors in Parkland, Florida recently, what can we say about food? What should we say about food? 

I've found myself at a loss this week. 

It’s not just this week, actually.  Over and over again, as I sit snuggly ensconced in a life of ease and privilege, I feel uneasy. A vision of myself as a citizen of Panem appears: I blithely attend decadent parties with towering tables of food in District 1. The people of District 12 scrabble to survive. 

Am I blathering about cake while others starve?  

The truth? Yes. 

Others suffer. And I write about donuts. 

And yet. 

When we are suddenly the witnesses to suffering, whether in the lives of the neighbors next door or the neighbors thousands of miles away, there is also the unsettling reality that life does go on. The minutiae of our lives must be attended to, painfully, even as the lives of our neighbors are upended.

Teenagers are massacred in Florida, and I must pick up my children at the bus stop. They need my supervision, care, and guidance, despite the fact that other children have abruptly lost their lives.

People in my community stand in line outside a soup kitchen for an opportunity to fill their hungry bellies, and I go to the store for our weekly groceries. I try to do my part to contribute to the soup kitchen, to work to erase the conditions that lead to these hungry bellies. I fill my grocery cart with these people on my mind, but I still need to fill it for my family.

A loved one experiences terrible pain from a medical condition, and I have to do laundry. We have to have clean clothes to wear to work and school even though someone we love groans in agony.

We all know this. When people we care about face a tragedy, we pay attention to the most elemental human need: we bring food. Think of the casseroles that suddenly, almost magically, fill the fridge when a family member dies. The Meal Trains established when a neighbor receives a cancer diagnosis. The freshly baked cinnamon rolls a friend drops off because she knows it’s been a difficult month. When things get hard, people bring food. 

Sometimes food—and the cooking of it—even helps us work through our grief. Someone in my life recently lost her beloved mother. As her mother’s friends and neighbors gave their condolences, they all recounted delicious dishes her mother was known for making. In order to thank the people who cared for her mother at the end of her life, she made an entire meal of these special dishes to share with them. It was both a farewell to and a farewell from her mother, a way to remember and mourn and celebrate who she was through something that mattered deeply to her: food and the sharing of it with others. 

No matter what happens in life, what suffering and grief and pain occurs, we still must eat. There is no life without food. And if that food also provides us with a flash of joy? A bit of delight in a time of sorrow? I pray that we are able to accept it—our hearts breaking, nonetheless—as a bittersweet respite from the harshness of life.

We suffer. We eat. We live. Still. 

This is a meal I made recently for my family during a hard week. For many reasons, it’s a comforting meal for us, one of those meals I always wonder why I don’t make more often. We call it Pizza Chicken, a holdover name from our kids’ toddler days when we had to employ maximum effort to get them to try new things. Truthfully, it’s a shake-n-bake version of Chicken Parmesan. I find that both the pounding and the marinating of the chicken breasts helps them become very tender. That tenderness plus the familiar toppings of tomato sauce and cheese helped to convince one of our reluctant meat-eaters that chicken really can be tasty. A hat tip to my dear mother, June, for this recipe. As with many of the delicious recipes I use regularly, this one's hers.

Pizza Chicken

Ingredients:
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Italian dressing or other marinade of choice (I use the Good Seasons Italian dressing packets)
1 cup Italian bread crumbs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan or Romano cheese
About 1 cup marinara sauce of your choice (I use Wegmans' Grandma's Pomodoro Sauce)
Sliced or shredded Italian cheese of your choice, such as provolone or mozzarella (amount dependent on how cheesy you like things)

Directions:
Using a sharp knife, slice one chicken breast lengthwise into two thinner cutlets; repeat with remaining breasts so that you have 8 pieces. Place a few of the breasts in a ziplock bag and, using a meat mallet or rolling pin, pound the breasts until they are about 1/2 inch thick. Remove breasts from bag and repeat with remaining chicken. Place all chicken into a bowl, baking dish, or ziplock bag and cover with marinade of choice. Refrigerate for 3 or 4 hours, turning chicken over occasionally.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with foil and spray lightly with cooking spray. Set aside.

Place bread crumbs and grated Parmesan or Romano in a clean ziplock bag. Working with 2 pieces of chicken at a time, remove from marinade, place in bag and seal. Shake bag vigorously, making sure that all surfaces of the chicken are coated in crumbs. Remove chicken from bag, place on prepared baking sheet, and repeat with remaining chicken.

Once all chicken is coated, place pan in oven and bake for 25 - 30 minutes, or until chicken is beginning to brown on edges and top. Remove pan from oven. Spoon 1 - 2 tablespoons of marinara sauce onto each piece of chicken. Top each piece with a slice of cheese or small handful of shredded cheese. Return pan to oven and bake for 10 - 15 minutes, or until cheese is melty and gooey. Serve immediately. Yield: 4 - 8 servings, depending on how big your diners' appetites are. Leftovers are delicious re-heated on a hoagie or Italian bread for a Chicken Parmesan sub.