This is the story of a French psychotherapist who treated depressed patients using the Vittoz method. Depression isolates those it strikes, trapping them in a circle. To heal, they must gently break free from that circle and learn again to feel life, to see others, and to accept themselves. Why not in the kitchen?
When depression is severe, or when someone is particularly fragile, psychiatric hospitalization may become necessary. It is a devastating illness: we watch a child grow, we see them study well—even brilliantly—we make dreams and plans for them. Then everything collapses. Recovery will be long and painful; there will be setbacks, moments of discouragement, uncertainty about the future. In 1989, I was treating two young people in their early thirties. One was a commercial engineer; the other had completed high school. Both had spent considerable time in psychiatric clinics, and a single hour-long session each week would not truly help them. They needed to be engaged—with their hands, their minds, and their hearts. From Vittoz we know that the brain and nervous system rest when manual work fully absorbs the perception of the five senses. So why not consider cooking as the ideal occupation, where taste, smell, sight, hearing, and touch are constantly stimulated? Cooking means coming into contact with life itself, sharing it with others, and learning to concentrate: a moment's inattention can bring cuts and burns.
When I understood that the One who had set all this in motion and willed it into being was watching from above, I set aside my doubts, closed my medical practice, and threw myself into the pastry cream.
When I understood that the One who had set all this in motion and willed it into being was watching from above, I set aside my doubts, closed my medical practice, and threw myself into the pastry cream.
These reflections became the foundation of our work. It all began with the purchase of four cake pans and a few pastry boxes. At my home, twice a week, we started baking cakes. They were simple creations, and our friends were gracious in their judgments. The two apprentice cooks became five; my kitchen grew too small, and I went to see the mayor. My deepest hope was that the young people for whom I had begun this new form of treatment would recover. But I had not anticipated that others would arrive. I had never intended to become so deeply involved in this new venture. My medical practice was thriving, my life was well organized. So I went to town hall and asked—quite deliberately—for a kitchen. In my heart, though, I was certain they would say no, and that I would be forced to ask parents to take turns helping me keep the initiative going. But at town hall, they said yes: they could lend us a kitchen. A group of friends decided to help. An association was formed with an affectionate and capable president. We received invaluable advice from a renowned Paris caterer. More young people arrived. We met Michel Gilbert, then Secretary of State. It seemed all we had to do was ask.
A Work-Based Support Center
When I understood that the One who had set all this in motion and willed it was watching from "above," I set aside my doubts, closed my medical practice, and threw myself into the pastry cream. For two and a half years, we all worked as volunteers—both the young people and the instructors—and we got our kitchen running. Now it has a name: "Marta and Matthew's Kitchen." It has become a "Work-Based Support Center." Twenty-three young adults work there half-time. All completed their regular schooling through university level, and all are recovering from mental illness. Cultural similarity is essential, because these young people need to rediscover their sense of self and rebuild their self-image. The kitchen serves as a bridge between the day hospital and regular employment. Over six years, fifteen young people have left us after recovering enough stability to make plans and pursue other goals. Some resumed their studies; others found work. A few chose to stay in our supportive environment, working full-time. All learned to manage their illness better. For them, life truly had a new beginning.
Today We Serve More Than a Thousand Customers
If we now look at this initiative through a businessperson's eyes, we can only feel satisfied: our customers have grown increasingly loyal and devoted. Today we have more than a thousand. We are grateful to everyone who, from the beginning, with constructive criticism, helped us achieve a high level of professional quality. Last year our income exceeded all expectations, and the kitchen we use today is truly our own—the fruit of all our labor. The profits go toward recreation and housing for our young people. Why "Marta and Matthew's Kitchen"? Well, don't you agree that a cook and a tax collector make fine patrons? — Suzanne Vidon, 1996 O. et L. n. 22