COOKING THROUGH THE APOCALYPSE WHEN DISASTER THREATENS, TAKE A CUE FROM FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA AND FIND COMFORT IN THE KITCHEN

Coppola had personally borrowed millions of dollars to maintain creative control over his movie. His star, Marlon Brando, was threatening to back out of his agreement and keep his million-dollar advance. Coppola had already endured numerous delays because the Philippine government kept recalling the helicopters Coppola was using for the film to fight rebels in the nearby mountains. And now, Coppola watched helplessly as the torrential jungle rain tore his elaborate, carefully made sets to shreds.

At the crossroads of his career, the director took decisive action.

"Francis has decided to make pasta," said Eleanor Coppola in her documentary on her husband's movie masterpiece. "And he's turned on "La Boheme' full volume."

Quick now, while there's a short breather in the current world crisis or some immediate personal disaster is not assaulting the home front: Name two of the world's constants.

Try these for starters: Eating and facing problems.

They're almost unavoidable. Each day we need to face what can seem like insurmountable dilemmas that test our ability to find solutions and resolve. We also need to eat.

So why not join the two?

Coppola ended up making what many consider one of the greatest movies of all time, rallying from that low point during which he retired to his Philippine bungalow kitchen while his daughter splashed around in the water that was flooding downstairs.

So today's lesson in survival, compliments of the guy who made pasta while the deluge swirled outside: cooking through the apocalypse.

This is not new. Cooks and those hovering around their activities have understood the therapeutic value of cooking since time eternal. The comfort food explosion with its emphasis on home, hearth, Mom, childhood, calories, warm satisfaction, Mom (did we say that?) and old favorites has endured for decades.

Cooking through the apocalypse (or CTA, for short) takes this one step further. No matter what the crisis, from angst over the sorry state of the world (CTA was particularly useful last September) to impending deadlines to family crises, cook through it.

Or at least cook through the panic and unsettled emotions to find your inner strength and see different solutions to what seem like insolvable problems.

"Cooking is a very peaceful experience," says University at Buffalo Provost Elizabeth D. Capaldi. "It involves repetitive action, chopping, activity not difficult but one that uses enough of your brain, you can't worry about something else. It's reliable. Then you get to eat what you make."

Capaldi, UB's second-highest administrator who also has special expertise in the psychology of food, is well-versed in the therapeutic value of cooking. When people move from one country to another, they bring their cuisine, she says. Their cooking is an expression that the best of where and what they came from will endure.

"It's a familiarity that provides a feeling of security and safety," Capaldi says. "Cuisine is one of the most stable features of a culture. Clothing changes. Languages change. But a culture's cuisine is something that stays the same."

Anyone who has been around food and families knows Capaldi is right. Greg Pecora, chef at Calvaneso's Cosmopolitan Grill in Williamsville, recently expressed the sentiments of generations, regardless of nationality.

"Food was always a big issue at home," Pecora told First Sunday magazine food writer Lois Baker. "It has always been a topic of conversation. Eating, to Italians, involves a lot of memories of the past and discussions of previous meals. Everyone in my family is food-crazy."

Memories of the past. Subjects of conversations. Food-crazy. Cooking through the apocalypse involves tapping into those connections and resonant threads. Who among us could not admit to being at least a little food-crazy?

And remember when Capaldi said cooking was reliable? That's important. Because when facing torrential jungle rainfall and Brando's threat to walk with your personal millions, the simple act of mastering your environment for a few hours is important. Follow directions in good faith. Apply yourself in a constructive way. And it works - for once, it works. Then you get to eat what you make.

"I cook every night because it's a peaceful time of day," said Capaldi. "No matter what happens. No matter what time of the day I get home from work."

Stay one more moment with the image of reliable satisfaction through applied work. Consider the idea of taking a kitchen full of unrelated items - torn packages and half-filled bottles and produce that needs pruning and powdered material that looks anything but appetizing - and making something you trust enough to eat. Liquids. Vegetables. Meats. Leaves. All shapes, sizes, smells. Chaos reigns on the counter top. And when it's over, the result is something different and better than the sum of its parts.

Chemists would call it a compound, the magic of alchemy. Poets would see order over chaos, mastery over confusion, comfort from the apocalypse. Zen masters would nod wisely, and cannily note how finding distance and space from one set of circumstances allows you to see new, creative arrangements of those same life coordinates, but just in a better way. Mathematicians would recall how great minds can see the same data in some original and entirely orderly way, "A Beautiful Mind's" John F. Nash of Nosh.

Chefs just call it cooking.

This is no retreat from problems, no escape from reality through culinary oblivion. This is opening yourself to a deeper understanding of life's tensions, portals and possibilities. It's plugging into the generations of primal memories each person shares. It's a renewal, an affirming communal experience of sharing a meal with people you love. This is a daily opportunity to experience something special, a joyous occasion people tend to do anyway without understanding its implications.

And a glass of wine doesn't hurt.

Coppola followed his pasta-making turning point with one of the great accomplishments of modern film. He turned his risky personal investment into an enduring fortune. People called him a genius. His adventure in the Philippine jungle became the stuff of legends.

To paraphrase the movie's great Col. Kilgore, "I love the smell of bacon in the morning. It smells like victory."

e-mail: canzalone@buffnews.com