I wrote about baking our way through the pandemic, and it includes a recipe that bakes in time for a panic attack. I hope you'll read it. https://thecorrespondent.com/486/kneading-sanity-and-stability-why-bread-broke-the-internet/581924080386-981e4a1d?pk_campaign=daily

Bread, I’ve learned, can be cruel. It will fill you up, but leave you feeling empty. “Bread hates us,” my mother @jeramiedreyfuss used to say growing up, by which she meant: our bodies can’t process it. It makes us fat. But it’s all we want. Bread, she warned, didn’t love us back

The historian Yuval Noah Harari goes so far as to blame all of civilization on a lie sold to us by wheat. We did not domesticate wheat. It domesticated us,” he writes. Wheat even, he argues, brought us pestilence and plague.

And so I thought it was poetic, and perfectly awful, and maybe inevitable that right now, as civilization itself grinds to a halt in the face of a worldwide pandemic, that humanity would turn once again to the grain that made civilization possible.

When food shortages first hit my grocery store and my son was sent home from school indefinitely and my two cousins died of the virus, one after the other, I just wanted to know one thing for certain: that I could feed my family. I fixated on flour.

And after I was laid off, I turned to bread for comfort. Each loaf an incantation against uncertainty, against dread, a plea. I'm grateful to @The_Corres for publishing this essay on what bread means to me, and to the world, at this moment.