A Little Dish Of Pickles To Stay Alive

I made a joke the other day, which was absolutely not a joke, about how cornichons are basically my emotional support animal at this point. I made this joke as I sat at my laptop, trying to peel back the layers of my ego and write what I mean about the people I’ve loved and the food I’ve eaten, while trying to shield my eyes and ears from the infinite visual and emotional horrors we have access to 24 hours a day on the device of our choosing. When I started that thought, there was a ramekin of tiny pickles in front of me. By the time I’d reached its end, that ramekin was empty. 

Flynn laughed when she read this joke and said, “I almost wrote a newsletter yesterday that was a paragraph of me being like EAT A LITTLE DISH OF PICKLES TO STAY ALIVE.”

So obviously, I’ve stolen this sentiment from her, but I like to think we’re collaborating on it, cosmically, psychically, like we always do.

I dug back through the archives of what she and I were thinking and writing about a year ago at this time, and laughed aloud when I realized the answer was, well, pickles — specifically her recipe for quick-pickled julienned carrots. A year ago, Flynn was lamenting the fake spring that New York always throws at us this time of year, convincing us that good, fun things are possible, right before it drops down to 23º F again and breaks our hearts. Provincetown does this too, although usually a little closer to our birthdays in April. 

As I write this to you, it’s sunny but chilly outside, the days have just gotten longer by an hour through the sheer will of man to control time, and I am beginning, as I usually do, to get nervous about the quiet time slipping away. At its least savory, this panic manifests itself in hours hunched over my phone, staring into the open void of war, disease, and the fact that spiders are about to rain down upon us from the sky. At its most useful, this panic manifests itself in tearing through books and writing words, trying to catch up with all the sweet friends who have also hibernated through the winter, and cooking as many winter foods as I possibly can before it’s too warm to turn on the oven. 

It’s the end of the world for so many people and I’m over here stuffing cabbage. 

There have been a number of articles this week about the pandemic that have made me feel less alone, and less insane, although definitely a lot more sad. I will recommend that you read them only if you find yourself cocking your eyebrow when your friends talk about how fun this summer is going to be, or when your brother-in-law says he’s “done thinking about Covid,” or if you, like me, can’t stop thinking about how many people have lost someone in the last few months alone. Because maybe you, like me, have lost someone important to you, and you feel the ripples of that all around you when you least expect it, no matter how long they’ve been gone. Dan Sinker will not offer you much more hope in Esquire this week, but he will make you feel less alone. Ed Yong will break your fucking heart in The Atlantic, but in a way that feels prescient and sobering. I don’t want to think our lack of communal mourning is normal, and I suspect you don’t either. I don’t want to forget what we’ve been through. And if you are someone who has lost someone in one of the man-made horrors we’ve been living through, I want you to know that you haven’t been forgotten.

Still, somehow, the crocuses are coming up, a judge in Texas temporarily blocked Greg Abbott from terrorizing trans kids and their families, and we have each other. Those are the three good things that aren’t cornichons that I could think of today. We take what we can get. 

Deep breaths and big hugs, folks. Eat a little dish of pickles to stay alive.

Listen To This Shit: I Made You A Playlist

“Somebody’s Gone” on Apple Music

You’re reading “Soup and Despair,” a (sometimes) 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!