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Martha Stewart’s Culinary Philosophy: Navigating Anxiety Through Cooking

On Election Night, I found myself on the couch with my dog, our evening intertwined with both excitement and worry. While my dog snoozed beside me, I was consumed by a fear of missing out on the latest electoral updates, frequently checking the New York Times needle. With a writing deadline looming, I busied myself with scholarly readings about Martha Stewart, contrasting my distress over the elections with my culinary ambitions. Over the previous fortnight, I had delved deeply into Martha Stewart’s Hors d’Oeuvres Handbook, experimenting with high-priced ingredients to create an array of appetizers — tea sandwiches, canapés, and mini-quesadillas. Yet, as I tasted my creations, disappointment settled in; only the premium lemon and crab tea sandwiches met my expectations. The pain de mie dough refused to form correctly and emerged from the oven resembling a cinder block. The ham and goat cheese sandwiches were uninspiring, failing to balance their ingredients, while my homemade flour tortillas turned out both pasty and tough.

The anxiety of impending election results mixed perilously with my culinary panic. It’s evident that each cookbook has its own unique vernacular, one I felt ill-equipped to comprehend, particularly when drawing from my past experiences with Martha’s works. I considered seeking enlightenment in academic journals such as American Studies and the Journal of Business Ethics.

My research led me to revisit critiques of the Hors d’Oeuvres Handbook published after its inception in 1999. Unlike the disdain that had met earlier publications like Entertaining and Martha Stewart’s Christmas, the responses to this book reflected begrudging respect. Critics highlighted the 200 pages adorned with vibrant photographs from Dana Gallagher, showcasing dishes like endive boats and tuna rolls, all resembling art worthy of a master. They acknowledged that the recipes, crafted with Susan Spungen, were enjoyable and practical. The epiphany that emerged was notable: rather than viewing Martha’s creations as rigid recipes needing to be followed exactly, they recognized them as options and inspirations for celebration. One reviewer from the Vancouver Sun quipped, “We all hate to admit it, but it’s a godsend for both the party paragon and the party doofus.”

This newfound appreciation coincided with the impending initial public offering of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, which positioned Stewart to become the first self-made woman billionaire in America. In a culture that reveres wealth, acknowledging her accomplishments became almost inevitable. A critic for the Chicago Tribune noted, “If you find yourself agreeing, don’t think of it as joining the cult of Martha. Just accept it as part of a plan for her complete takeover of our lives.”

Scholars examining Martha invoked thinkers like Thorstein Veblen and Pierre Bourdieu, along with concepts from cultural critiques that could bolster any theory. I encountered sentences such as, “While MS food is ‘white,’ it is a class-specific whiteness that transcends ethnicity and becomes accessible by cultivation rather than heritage.” This interpretation suggested that Martha Stewart’s culinary universe is crafted around an educated elite’s vision of ‘labor.’

Delving into her background, it became clear Martha was part of a long lineage of public women who championed domesticity without being tethered to men. This began with figures like Catharine Beecher in the 1840s, extending through figures like Sarah Josepha Hale, who helped construct the American Thanksgiving. Joan Didion pointed out that many American women harbored the aspiration of transforming a simple recipe into a thriving business, a common dream echoed in many narratives from that era.

For me, hosting gatherings often triggers anxiety rather than joy. Concerns about guest turnout and food sufficiency plague my mind. I once co-hosted a party that ended with my roommate and me silently asking guests to leave, yearning for rest. In hindsight, we should have heeded Martha’s advice: parties require a time limit.

My last significant dinner gathering, a Thanksgiving in 2016, unfolded amid political discord with my family. To stave off conflict, I planned a prolonged feeding frenzy, serving an array of homemade treats. Despite meticulously arranging lists and schedules, the stress loomed large, and while we agreed it was bearable, the lack of enthusiasm wasn’t a strong endorsement for future gatherings.

In theory, the Hors d’Oeuvres Handbook could provide the blueprint for success at another family event. With determination, I could potentially conquer flour tortillas and find the perfect chorizo for my quesadillas. The prospect of creating visually stunning appetizers is motivating, likened to a wish to turn chaos into beauty.

Martha had articulated that hors d’oeuvres should be both appealing and delicious — a duality I struggled to achieve. My attempts fell short as even the most promising sandwiches deteriorated upon cutting. It became evident that following Martha’s directives wouldn’t yield the results I desired. Why, I pondered, would I believe these culinary efforts could ease the divides around the political dinner table? Achieving excellence demands hard work, something Martha exemplifies through her relentless pursuit of perfection in her endeavors.

Anecdotal evidence of Martha’s work ethic further solidifies this image. A friend recounted an experience on a Martha-led Christmas special, illustrating her dedication to detail even in moments not captured on camera, revealing an innate drive to create for her own satisfaction.

Ultimately, Martha’s culinary approach embodies a pursuit of personal satisfaction, and while it brings joy to her guests, the direct correlation to financial success cannot be overlooked. My recent viewing of the Martha Netflix documentary resurfaced memories of her legal troubles and the public spectacle surrounding them. Yet, even in a prison setting, Martha found purpose in gardening, showcasing an enduring commitment to nurture and inspire.

Although Martha remains deeply engrossed in her projects, her motivations have seemingly shifted from public approval to personal fulfillment. This shift resonates with the broader narrative of homemakers historically masking ambition under the guise of service. The desire to contribute through food and hospitality has often eclipsed the underlying ambition for success.

So, if you feel compelled, create those enticing hors d’oeuvres. Or perhaps you choose not to. Nourishing others may not mend the world’s fractures, but tending to your own needs is vital for survival.

Aimee Levitt is a freelance writer in Chicago. Read more of her work at aimeelevitt.com.

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