What Could Possibly Be Soothing?

Where can any of us possibly begin?

It is possible this week that some of us might feel something like relief -- I’m writing this to you before any of us know. What I do know for certain, is that we will all have some psychic wounds to lick, irrespective of the outcome of any election. There is no adequate way to address an election cycle this fraught and destructive. There is no adequate way to address the incomprehensible pain that over a quarter of a million families have felt in this single year. There is no adequate way to address the momentum of the swelling civil rights revolution. It feels, to me, like we require many more moments of silence than we will be capable of honoring.

Each of us will have to grieve -- it is one of the only sure metrics of human existence. For some of us, it will be searing and immediate. For others, it will linger in the wings until we least expect it.

Whatever your relation to the events of the world around us this year, I suspect that your nerves have been frazzled and your patience tested. I suspect that your imagination has been stretched nearly to the breaking point imagining a way out of something like despair. One of my favorite poets, Lora Mathis, addresses it this way: “Despair is a community feeling, it seeps into our relationships, it grows out of the fabric of our days, and it is seeded in the societal conditions we are steeped in.”

We all need to be soothed in some way, but what could possibly soothe us at a moment like this? Where can any of us possibly begin?

Sometimes, the answers to these kinds of big questions come at you sideways, in the middle of the afternoon, while you are staring out the window, or into the fridge, trying to keep yourself calm, or grounded, or -- at the very least --- fed. For me, the answer has most predictably become: soup. And, in this case, a very particular soup.

I know how trivial that sounds. But I promise you, this is neither flippancy nor immaturity, and I do not mean to diminish the importance of all of the big questions. It’s just that for now, this is the only answer I have for us. This is about comfort, sustenance, and a palliative measure against despair.

I thought that I first ate this soup at Spicy Village in Manhattan’s Chinatown -- a fluorescent Henan noodle temple the size of a closet, on a brutally cold night. I was with my husband, a dear friend from high school, and his (now) husband, just briefly after we’d all moved to New York and were doing our best to stay fed as economically as possible. As it turns out, I’ve conflated two of our dining companion’s favorite dishes, both of which we ate that night, and nostalgia has warped this recipe into something accessible far away from the big city, its Chinese markets, abundant ingredients, and delivery options.

My version of this soup is nowhere near as complex as the Tomato Egg Noodles and Sour Dumpling Soup that inspired it. When I think of this soup, I think of it in a plastic quart container just barely maintaining its integrity against the heat of the curative liquid inside of it. Please, slurp this greedily out of the container of your choice. If you are the kind of zealot who makes soup stock to relax (as I can sometimes be), use that. If you are a regular person, boxed stock or a bouillon cube will do just fine, either chicken or vegetable. What you’ll get is protein, a green vegetable, some vitamin C, and some fortifying inner warmth with minimal exertion, for the times when you can barely keep it together.

I make this in a batch-size meant to soothe a family of four, but it keeps beautifully in the fridge for a few days if you’d rather use this as a personal shield against the world, and the days that are dark, both literally and figuratively.

Spicy Village-Style Tomato, Egg, and Spinach Soup

2 quarts chicken or vegetable stock1 bunch fresh spinach4 Roma tomatoes, quartered (I like Romas because they’re sturdy, but any kind will do)4 eggsA knob of ginger, peeled and cut into a few pieces A few cloves of garlic, unpeeled, just crushed with a knifeSesame oilSoy SauceRice wine vinegar1 Tbsp. cornstarch

Bring the stock, ginger and garlic to a boil, then reduce to simmer for 10-15 minutes. Add the tomatoes.

Heat 1-2 tablespoons sesame oil in a non-stick pan over medium heat, and crack your eggs into it. Cook, undisturbed, until the whites begin to set, then scramble lackadaisically with chopsticks, just enough to break the yolks, and move things around. In the regular world, I despise brown bits on eggs, but for some reason they make sense to me here. Cook the eggs to your liking, breaking them into pieces with your chopsticks, and then swoop them directly into the simmering soup.

Add the spinach, a dash of soy sauce, and a dash of vinegar. Taste, and continue seasoning until it’s salty, a bit sour, and tastes like ginger. Fish out the ginger and garlic if you like, or think of them like soup roulette.

Last, mix the cornstarch with a splash of cold water and stir until smooth. Slowly stir this into your soup, and let it come back to a simmer once more. This is just enough cornstarch to make this broth feel like a blanket.

Once this soup is in your bowl, you get to decide whether you want heat -- sambal oelek, sriracha, a few fresh chile peppers. If I have sesame seeds, sometimes I’ll sprinkle in a few. The point is that you want it to taste like your version of comfort food, and to be soothed, indeed.

Listen to This Shit: I Made You A Playlist”What Could Possibly Be Soothing?” on Apple Music”What Could Possibly Be Soothing?” on Spotify

This story was originally published by The Provincetown Independent.

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!