Listen, I'm Out Of Juice

In my head, I have written four different versions of this letter. 

The first I gave up on because Lyz Lenz already wrote it: “I am worried we will forget the dead. Forget that they didn’t have to die. I am worried we will whitewash insurrection. And I am worried that we will mock people who bear witness to the pain of this year as weak. I am worried that we will make a silver lining out of blood.”

The second was marginally more cheerful — about friendship, and Joan Didion, and creamed spinach and Conversations with Flynn About Cheese — you may still get that one someday.

In the third iteration, I threatened just to send, “Listen, I’m out of juice. Here’s how you make creamed spinach.”

The fourth letter was titled “God, I Miss You,” and it was simply a list of the things that I miss about each one of you, anonymous to everyone else, knowing you’d spot your own place in my heart from a mile away. But it made me too sad, and I thought it would make you too sad, too. 

In a perfect world, each of these letters would say something special. They’d stand alone as singular pieces of work, individual caches of advice, or at the very least as something different to talk about. This is the point at which I, like every writer who has ever worked on anything longer than 1,000 words or for more than a few months, start to panic that I have nothing original, nor of value to say, and that we’re all wasting our time. Why can’t I seem to concentrate on anything important for more than five minutes? Am I wasting this time — this utterly free time — by not accomplishing some greater goal? By not finding the right thing to say?

Then, Flynn sent me this.

It’s not the first distillation of this thought I’ve read lately, and I told her that I feel like I need a different version of this reminder at least once a week in different words from different people. Maybe you do too. It would be crazy if you didn’t. 

And then, the lightning bolt — maybe these intrusive, anxious, repetitive thoughts are because we’re living through the most repetitively anxious time in most of our lives. We read death stats in the thousands every day. We argue over whether or not indoor dining and schools should reopen every week. For fuck’s sake, TODAY begins our fourth Presidential impeachment proceeding in a year (one more repetitive thought — sign up for Dan Sinker’s Impeachment.fyi and save your brain the trouble of fixating on every single second of coverage). The things we usually turn to as a salve for the crushing effect of monotony aren’t available to us. Concerts don’t exist. It’s dangerous to go on vacation. It’s irresponsible to have a dinner party. Even heading down the street to the local pub involves a level of risk usually associated with base-jumping while having unprotected sex. 

Only a few things have helped break me out of this brutal rut lately. I made myself creamed spinach from scratch the other day for the very first time (maybe we’ll get to this in two weeks). I am elbows deep in Jeff VanderMeer’s “Southern Reach” Trilogy (maybe familiar to you as the Annihilation books). I have somehow managed to practice yoga for 25 days in a row, so far. These things — it’s very important to note — are not accomplishments, they are coping mechanisms.

The real comforts have been, absurdly, in repetition. Revisiting films I already know I love. The same cocktail over and over again. Demanding that anyone who is sad immediately watch the episode of the Chris Gethard show where Paul Scheer and Jason Mantzoukas guess “What’s in the Dumpster” (this is actually required viewing). And old, favorite recipes that feel like a familiar, warm blanket. 

The antidote to repetition is repetition? Look, I don’t know either, man. Just make some soup.

Listen to this Shit: I Made You A Playlist”Listen, I’m Out Of Juice” on Apple Music”Listen, I’m Out Of Juice” on Spotify

Locro de PapasAdapted from Orangette who adapted it from Gourmet (RIP) who adapted it from Ecuadorian abuelas

2 tsp. annatto (achiote) seeds2 Tbsp. olive oil3 ½ lb. russet (baking) potatoes1 yellow onion, chopped½ tsp. ground cumin7 cups water1 cup whole milk1 ¼ cups coarsely grated queso fresco, queso blanco, or ricotta salata2 firm-ripe avocadosCilantro, to garnishSalt and pepper, to taste

In a small saucepan or skillet, heat the annatto seeds and oil over low heat, swirling the pan often, until the oil is bright red-orange and barely simmering, about 2 minutes. Use a light-colored pan, so that you can gauge the color of the oil as it simmers. Remove the pan from the heat, and set aside to rest for 10 minutes.

Peel the potatoes and cut them into ¾-inch chunks, dropping them into a bowl of cold water as you go. The water will keep them from turning brown.

Pour the annatto oil through a fine-mesh sieve into a large stock pot, discarding the seeds. Warm the oil over medium-high heat, and add the onions and half of the potatoes. Cook, stirring frequently, until the onion is softened, about 10 minutes. Add the cumin, salt, and pepper, and cook, stirring, for 1 minute more. Add the water, stir to scrape up any brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pot, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, until the potatoes are very tender, about 25-30 minutes; then mash the potatoes into the broth. I like to use my immersion blender here to make it super smooth. Remove the remaining potatoes from their bowl of water, drain them well, and add them to the pot. Simmer, partially covered, until they are tender, about 20 minutes more. Stir in the milk and the cheese, and increase the heat to bring the pot to a simmer again, stirring. Try not to let this boil once you’ve added the dairy. Remove from the heat.

Ladle the soup into bowls, top with chunks of avocado, the cilantro, and more cheese, if you’re into that kind of thing (you are).

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!