So here we are. Approaching the end of the year.
I don’t think many of us feel sad about this - 2024 has, as far as humanity goes, been catastrophic.
I think that in times of collective despair, all we can do is lean closer to what feels good and to people who make you feel less lonely. Art - be it cooking, music, paintings, films or other - is more necessary than ever during these periods. it makes us feel something other than heartache, and that’s pretty important.
Here are a few Little Things to survive what might feel like the end.
Recipes.
I hope you have a calm evening coming up where a moment to light candles, play some nice music, cook something wonderful might be possible.
For colder weather.
Alexandra Dudley’s peanut, butternut noodle soup.
Ottolenghi’s mushrooms with butter bean mash.
Nigel Slater’s almond and lentil stew.
For warmer nights.
Ravneet Gill’s brioche buns with ice cream.
Jamie O’s summer lasagne.
Sami Tamimi’s watermelon salad.
Music.
A playlist for for softer moments.
Also, this evening celebrating the life of Nick Drake, if you’re in London.
Art | a couple things which have made me smile of late.
Love Story from Hoxton Mini Press
The everyday magic captured by Sam Youkilis
These paintings from Georgia Herbig.
Ceramic work by Alma Berrow.
Writing | fiction, non-fiction, food writing, essays to escape into.
Art Against Despair from The School of Life
Conversations on Love by Natasha Lunn
An Alphabet fro Gourmets by MFK Fisher
Greek Lessons by Han Kang
All That Man Is by David Szalay
Poetry. | ‘Small Kindnesses’ by Danusha Lameris (always worth resharing).
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
Movement.
Online yoga classes with the best, Charley Logan. Not for much longer. Get it while it lasts.
Watch.
I find returning to tried & tested things are best when my head is scrambled. Hunt for the Wilderpeople still makes me feel as good as it did the first time I watched it.