Do Something Pretty While You Can 

We've been writing this newsletter for just long enough now that people are starting to send us feedback, and I wanted to break the fourth wall for just a moment and say thank you to anyone who's sent us a note to say that this writing makes them feel less alone, or that it gave them some much-needed levity on Day One Million at home with their kids, or that they made a recipe and really liked it. I'd also like to say that if you've felt that our writing here is too dark, or that we're making too much out of The Times That We Live In, or simply that you, personally, need something a bit lighter right now: That's totally fine. This is a free thing that you don't have to read! And - I can't stress this enough - we are not doing this for you.

In art - and in writing in particular - I don't think it's unusual to write for an audience of one, and this fact is part of what makes it a worthwhile endeavor, and one that provides some measure of balance to the everyday world. We cook for our families, and for our physical selves, in order to provide comfort and to keep ourselves alive. We work for a living, but that work has an intended audience, and whether we think about that consciously or not, we spend the bulk of our waking lives serving that audience. I am not often inclined to give anyone else advice, but if I were to offer anyone a key survival tactic for the remainder of this pandemic, it would be this: Find something to do just for yourself, and if you can't figure that thing out, find something to do just for your best friend. Every piece of writing I have completed, drafted, or abandoned in the last dozen years has had one person in mind as I've written it, and that person is unfailingly Rebecca. 

What is the point of doing creative work for yourself or just one other person? The point is that you cannot possibly create anything truly good - or at the least, rewarding - if you're doing it because you think a whole bunch of people are going to like it. Moreover, I would argue that it is very healthy to be really selfish about something that matters only to you or to one other person. But I'm not a writer, you might be thinking. I don't really even care for it. Well, I would bet all the money that I have that there's something in your life that you don't make time for because you think it's a waste since it isn't useful for anyone else and there's only so many hours in the day. Maybe that's some goofy little doodles that you do, or maybe it's reading in the bathtub, maybe you just wish you had an excuse to text your best friend your fleeting thoughts more often. I am here not to give you permission to do that thing, but to fucking demand you do it, because we've had enough joy stolen from us this year.

It is in this same spirit that I purchased a 7-foot Christmas tree this year, and that I've decorated it with more ornaments and lights than I've ever had in my home. Christmas is my family's only real celebrated holiday, and for us it is about the decorations and the twinkly lights and the gifts and always the things we choose to bake and cook for one another. This year, without the ability to do all of that with them, I'm doing all of it for me.

With this in mind, I wanted to share one of my favorite holiday recipes, for sticky cranberry gingerbread. I will link directly here to Melissa Clark's work in the New York Times, because it is one of the very few recipes I cook regularly that I have not adapted one bit. It is perfect, and it makes an excellent dessert or breakfast, travels well if you want to drop off something nice at a friend's house, and while I have not tried it, I reckon it also freezes well. 

I'd also like to share a playlist that I made a few months ago while really settling into the idea of living inside of our collective despair. I imagined this playlist as the road trip none of us could take - or the soundtrack to Thelma & Louise if Thelma & Louise was simply a metaphor for the year 2020. Check it out, you might find it soothing. (And if you don't, I don't care: I made that shit for me.) 

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!