A Very Stupid Moment

A week ago, I sat down to write my monthly food column for The Provincetown Independent and sighed very heavily. Writing has been hard lately. In truth, concentrating on any one thing for more than ten minutes has been hard lately. 

“What is it?” My husband asked.

“Every time I sit down to write one of these things, I try really hard to meet the moment. I’m just not sure how to do that here,” I said, two days before a violent, white supremacist insurrection at the US Capitol. 

“Bro, you’re writing about clams. Just write about the clams,” he replied. I laughed and wrote an article. 

He was right that day, of course. He was also right on the day in October when, after reading a first draft of my first of those columns, in which I used the word “despair” three times, he said, “It’s a little heavy for soup.”

That, obviously, is how Soup and Despair was born. We felt like we needed a place to be heavy, a place to be sincere, a place to meet the moment. Both Flynn and I have committed ourselves to working harder than we expected on these letters. We demand a lot of ourselves for them, for you all. We are offering up a lot more of our brains and hearts and guts than we have in any work we’ve shared with the world in quite some time, because it’s good for us, and because you deserve it.

All that said, I’d like to admit to you all that this week, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.

This week confirmed what a lot of us already knew: Bad people in power will stop at absolutely nothing to stay there. They will not stop short at inciting a mob of white supremacist, fascist assholes to commit acts of sedition and insurrection (did you ever think you’d have to use those words so many times?). They will not stop short at trying to find a way to blame the opposition for the murderous mess they created themselves. They will not stop short at nearly destroying the very thing they are trying so desperately to stay in control of. 

If you are reading this, there’s a good chance you and I already agree about the fact that the soon-to-be-former-President should have been removed and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law this week. We don’t really have to discuss the fact that impeachment should absolutely be carried out a second time, both to levy consequences against said soon-to-be-former-President, and to signal to the obsequious worms-in-waiting like Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz that there are actual consequences for making a deal with the devil that is white supremacism. We already both feel like, if we were soon-to-be-former-Vice President Mike Pence — which we obviously wouldn’t be, because you and I are not politically craven religious fanatics willing to suckle at the festering teat of a sociopathic narcissist who constantly belittles us, just to remain close to the power we’re too inept and unlikeable to amass ourselves — but if we WERE, we might take it personally when the President sends a mob of white people to hang us from the actual gallows they constructed outside the Capitol building, and rally the dwindling Cabinet around enacting the 25th Amendment. We already agree that most of these dumb cocks have neither a grasp of what is and isn’t “Orwellian,” nor, as it turns out, how the fucking First Amendment actually works. 

You might not yet agree with me that all cops uphold and benefit from white supremacy, and that the reason we didn’t see more of them protecting the Capitol building from insurrectionists is because a lot of them were there waving flags in their street clothes instead, but I suspect that as this story unfolds, you will eventually. 

I suspect, also, that if you are reading this, you, like me, may need to take a deep breath and unclench your jaw right now. Do that thing where you roll your shoulders back and down, and notice how far they’ve crept up toward your ears and forward towards your chin. I can’t promise you won’t go back to clenching and hunching, or that I won’t either, but at least we’ll have taken a break.  

Also, if your life is anything like mine, some parts of it may have hit the proverbial fan this week. Maybe there have been relationship issues. Maybe there have been health scares surrounding the raging pandemic that is worse than it has ever been, nearly an entire year into it. Maybe you lost someone you love, or observed an anniversary of having done so in the past. Maybe your birthday celebration got interrupted by the chaos. Maybe you just wanted to be able to enjoy taking back the Senate for one godforsaken second before they stole that joy from us too. Whatever happened, I’m sorry, friend. This has been a fucking doozy, hasn’t it? 

I don’t particularly recall what I ate this week. I know that a lot of it was delicious. I know that I made a lot of it on auto-pilot. I know that I cursed a lot while I was enjoying whatever it was. To be honest, this week didn’t make me very hungry. But it did make me want to drink. 

If you don’t or shouldn’t drink, apologies — lean into this Marcella Hazan tomato sauce that no one (correctly) will ever shut the fuck up about. (Actually, drinkers, you do this too. It’s one of my auto-pilot tricks that has utterly changed my life.)

For the rest of you, let’s drink something grown up, intentional. It requires a bottle of booze you probably don’t have yet, but once you do, you’ll be able to make, like, twenty other cocktails that will make your people roll their shoulders down their back and unclench their jaws.

And, if you find yourself with an excess of unharnessed holy rage, let your elected officials know — demand that they call for the 25th, fully support impeachment efforts, and hold their peers accountable for any involvement in this hideous, utterly predictable, deadly mess.

Listen to This Shit: I Made You A Playlist”A Very Stupid Moment” on Apple Music”A Very Stupid Moment” on Spotify

The Peacock Alley Martinezadapted from John Guerra’s recipe, originally printed in The Provincetown Independent

2 oz. gin (the original calls for Old Tom, but I’ve been using regular ol’ Beefeater)1 oz. sweet vermouth¾ oz. dry vermouth ¼ oz. maraschino liqueur (Luxardo is my favorite version, and the prettiest bottle)Dash Angostura or Peychaud’s bittersDash orange bittersLemon peel

Measure everything but the lemon peel into a mixing glass. Add cracked ice, and stir for at least 15 seconds, or until the glass is really cold on the outside.

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and twist the lemon peel over the glass to express the lemon oils, swoosh it around the rim, then drop peel into the glass.

*You can make two of these at a time in a regular-sized mixing glass (or pint glass), but don’t do more than two at once. Like baking, some magic gets lost when you triple or quadruple the recipe. It’s called science, look it up, sweetie.

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!