Last weekend, in a malaise of storm-induced depression, I totally shut myself in the house and decided to bake. I'm not a great baker. I hate recipes. And baking often requires that you follow recipes. If I could learn to do dry good proportions by feel, it might be different. But I hate following words. I also can't read music for shit. I have a vague feeling that these two things are related. The part of my brain that connects inscription to action is just a burnt bridge in the synapse web.
Anyway, I spent last Sunday watching that horrifying Jonestown doc on PBS, which fucked me up and totally set the tone for the entire week. I believe in anesthetizing my grumps with carbs. I decided on a Boston Cream Pie recipe I'd been eyeballing in an issue of Everyday Food. The cake was a bit sturdy for my taste, I forgot the vanilla, the custard not quite rich enough, but it's an easy recipe you can make with ingredients already in your pantry or easily obtained at the bodega (or the nearby gas station, in my case). I also love topping cakes with chocolate ganache instead of frosting. Next time, I'll probably try Gale Gand's recipe, which uses sifted cake flour and requires beaten egg whites.
Then Monday's shooting happened, followed by one of the deadliest days in Iraq. So my 9" cake did little to lift my spirits. The only Netflix we had at home were Why We Fight, a doc on the Iraq War and the history of the military-industrial complex post-Eisenhower, and Parallel Lines, a doc on a woman's life post-9/11, which I couldn't even touch. And, of course, there was no escaping the coverage of Virginia Tech.
Questions I've been stirring around this week: What would an interactive photo gallery of the Iraqi civilian victims look like? What words would their loved ones use to describe them? How do you teach a loner to love themselves? Will teachers be earmarking disturbing works from future Bret Easton Ellises, Ryu Murakamis, Trevor Browns? What does it take to make a mother feed her child cyanide?
I ate the whole cake all week, with the exception of two slices, by myself. I ate it cold, straight from the fridge, with wet, jarred pears. It didn't numb me, it just made me feel a little bit bad about myself. Some weeks, you can't just eat your questions away. I can accept that.
wow thanks for this post. I really agree.
Oh Ganda, the angst and sadness of the past week were hard ones. The international, national and personal disasters (I'm speaking of myself here) that fell all at once were utterly mind numbing. Wish I had thought to numb myself with sugar.
I offer a virtual hug... I couldn't read this without tearing up. Sigh.
Ganda,
I saw that Jonestown documentary too.
It was fascinating, though, yes, extremely upsetting.
Listening to the final tapes of Jim Jones as he's instructing parents to give their children the cyanide-and-valium-laced Kool Aid is beyond chilling.