Sharing stories of food stories we love.
I'm sitting here in my usual spot, thinking about home. My phone pinged this morning with a message from my oldest sister: In one week we'll all be at home together!!!
That means sleeping in my narrow double bed. Brushing my teeth next to my sister in the mirror. The sound of doors opening and shutting as we all get ready for bed, footsteps in the hall in the early morning, the busy warmth of a house full of people.
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When I'm home on the farm, I like to take a walk around our three ponds once the sun sets. From afar, the lights of the house are ablaze, standing out like a beacon in the acres of darkness.
I stomp the mud from my boots, open the kitchen door, and warm, sugar-scented air wafts towards me. Two of my sisters are making linzer cookies, one of my dad’s favorites. There’s an open bag of flour on the marble counter. Powdered sugar spills out of its box, a batter-coated spatula is propped up on a mixing bowl, and scraps of cookie dough are strewn around.
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Currently: listening to Etta James on stereo. Wearing a soft, oversized men’s J. Crew sweater in dark hunter green and obscenely comfortable sweatpants. Battling a headache, wondering: Would a glass of wine help or hurt? When the doctor said 'Advil', did he maybe mean to say 'Argentinian red'?
Never mind that. I’m going to put my feet up and pretend this entire city doesn’t exist. Some days I like to do that, between you and me, it’s a fun little trick, no losing our patience here! Just ignore it all!
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Life can be a difficult, slippery beast some days. Remember when you were in first grade? Before you even owned a real three-ring binder, and instead just carried your “papers” in a floppy manila folder? Problems at that age were concrete and clearly defined. They weren’t nebulous, sinister clouds in your head. They were numbers 1, 2, and 3 on your math worksheet. Write out the answers, done and done. Maybe you struggled (basic arithmetic can be so taxing when you want to be playing four square at recess), but the task was surmountable.
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This week: what sadness. Walking down the street on Friday night after watching the news, everything appeared out of place. Even my neighborhood looked strange. I felt disoriented and unmoored. When news like this hits, the abstract things you rely on—safety, order, logic—aren’t there when you reach out for them.
In these moments, it feels inappropriate to seek out joy. Reveling in the taste of buttercream frosting on moist cake, taking a photo of a warm loaf of bread, or discussing a recipe seems frivolous, unbefitting of the solemnity of the world.
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