The Danger In Stopping The Ride

When I really need to get my head together, I go back to Joan Didion — this is Flynn’s fault. In this instance, I’m re-reading Democracy, and marveling at how consistently and masterfully Joan writes about women moving through incredible intricacy and intensity with a certain stillness. Sometimes numb, sometimes indifferent, sometimes hysterical. Hysterical stillness. 

Have you felt hysterically still lately? 

I spend a lot of time looking forward to the autumn in Provincetown. The weather usually remains amicable, the crowds dwindle, the dunes and the waves are still there to receive us, grateful and exhausted. Nostalgia and reality differ, of course, and the fall generally tends to go by in an absolute flash, riddled with out-of-town guests, joyful reunions, drink dates we meant to have all summer made good, restaurant closing parties, seasonal farewells — the summer is a carousel, and somehow in the fall, that carousel manages to speed up dangerously. Which means, by the time Halloween rolls around, we’re spinning less like a theme park carousel and more like a playground merry-go-round that one of the big kids has taken maniacal control of. Where did September go? October is nearly over? Stop the ride! I want to get off. 

Then, it’s November. The ride has stopped. Still dizzy, I step off, lurching to the right with the inertia of the carousel. It takes weeks to shake the nagging importance of the to-do list, the prep list, the order list. There’s a danger in stopping the ride so quickly, because you feel like you’re still on it. Sometimes it makes you feel hysterically still. 

There have been a lot of things over the last two years that my body and brain have moved through without my permission or participation. The first trips to the grocery store in the beginning of 2020. The election. The vaccination appointments. The restaurant re-openings. The difficult news. The diagnoses. The Provincetown cluster. The hurricanes. The re-emergence. The reunions. The first trip out of town. The doctor’s appointments. The mammogram. The all-clear. I feel a bit like one of Joan’s gentle zombies. 

We’ve gone a little dark here in the hysterical stillness of it all, but I want you to know that I’m about to step off this ride no matter how fast it’s going today, and once I lurch left, right, and back to the middle, there should be a moment to think. 

Happy Halloween. Be gentle with each other. See you in November.

(Also, tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of Soup+Despair! Can you believe it?)

Listen To This Shit: I Made You A Playlist“That’s Too Many Pumpkins” on Apple Music“That’s Too Many Pumpkins” on Spotify 

Here’s one of my favorite things to make for one of my favorite people.

Honeynut Squash Risotto with Garlic Spinach

1 or 2 small honeynut squash, peeled, seeded and diced1 yellow onion, diced2-3 Tbsp. unsalted butter1 c. Arborio rice1 c. white wine1 qt. vegetable or chicken stock

3 cloves garlic, smashed 1/2 bag baby spinach Olive oilHalf a lemon Salt + pepper, to taste 

Heat the stock in a saucepan until just simmering. Keep it warm, but not bubbling. 

In a wide, heavy-bottomed pot, melt most of the butter over medium heat (save a little for the spinach later), and cook the onion in it with a pinch of salt, until soft and translucent. Add the diced squash and sauté for about 5 minutes, until it’s coated in butter and warmed through. Add the rice, and let it spend some time in the butter (Marcela Hazan said to cook it until the rice “becomes pregnant with butter,” which I like to think about every time I make it). It will also start to turn translucent and sizzle a bit. 

Once you hear it sizzle, it’s time to add the wine and stir, stir, stir, until all the liquid is absorbed into the rice. Then, add one ladle of the hot stock and stir, stir, stir until it’s all absorbed. Then another, and another, until you’ve used most of your stock — this usually takes 25-30 minutes depending on your rice. Taste the rice, if it still has some tooth to it, add a little more water or stock to the saucepan and get it warm quickly — the only unbreakable rule here is that once you start, you only add hot liquid to risotto rice.

Once the rice is cooked to your liking, cover the pot and turn your attention to the spinach. Give the saucepan you used for the stock a quick rinse, and wipe it dry. Then, melt the rest of your butter with a glug of olive oil and the smashed garlic cloves over medium heat. Let the garlic cook in the fat until it smells good, and add your spinach with a bit of salt. Sauté until the spinach wilts and turns bright green, then hit it with the juice of half a lemon and turn off the heat. 

To serve, dig a little well in a bowl of risotto and pile a tangle of the sautéed spinach in there. Drizzle a little olive oil over the top, and crack some black pepper over it, if you like.

You’re reading “Soup and Despair,” a weekly newsletter by Sarah Flynn and Rebecca Orchant. It’s about food, feelings, and surviving the dark times. If someone forwarded you this email, it’s because they love you and they want you to eat. You can subscribe to it too!