I think I’ve taken a bit of a different approach from a majority of the social media food scene over the last few months. I didn’t really get into Pandemic Pantry or go hard on the beans. I haven’t fermented anything and I don’t have a sourdough starter (although I did bake a gardenscape focaccia). I cook what feels good. I experiment with recipes and fail, and I share whatever comes out well with my neighbors.
I get these bouts of feeling powerless, though. How can anything I do possibly help any part of anything that’s happening right now? Sharing Black trauma porn on social media is not the answer, that much I know. All I really know how to do on the internet is cook. Making food is cathartic; it’s my meditation and therapy and creative outlet and anxiety release. I turn off the TV, turn on “Do Not Disturb,” and I cook. Sometimes I’m listening to my cooking playlist. Sometimes I’m listening to the kitchen. I listen to the spoon scraping the batter, the butter sizzling in the pan. The way flour sounds when it falls into a bowl reminds me of snow falling. I try to share that meditation with my followers through my Instagram stories. Maybe it helps someone take a breath, pause, and be…
