Good morning. Malaise grips me, even under bluebird skies and in low humidity, with mourning doves cooing in the eaves. It may still be hard for some, against the sorrow and anger reflected in the news these past few days, to become excited about cakes and ale, much less to pass along recommendations to cook this stew or that lagniappe.
But I will do it anyway because it works, because cooking in the face of tragedy is one way we can make better the lives of those around us, to offer comfort, to deliver hope to regions where hope is scarce.
David Tanis’s new recipe for tomato risotto (above) proves that plain. It’s a heartening summertime feast, easy to make, elegant, soft-salty-sweet. You could serve it with a Canlis salad tonight, use the meal as a chance to talk through what everyone’s feeling, where they think we’re going, what we ought to be doing in the morning to help make things right.
You could head outside to make a Lowcountry boil — Frogmore Stew, some call it — to herald American joy in the middle of a sad American week. Or stay inside to sauté steak with ginger and butter, to do the same. (I like that with rice, and green beans tossed with XO sauce and roasted in a hot oven.)
This is a good moment to bake a cake — rainbow sprinkle, say, or lemon-spice.
Also to make cookies, lasagna, clam chowder, mac and cheese.
And can you imagine what would happen tomorrow at wherever it is you take yourself in the mornings, if you arrived with a basket of fried chicken and a shrug? Just because!
Cook something, at any rate, if only to keep your hands busy and your brain engaged. You don’t even need a recipe. You could just take this idea and run with it: a salad of sturdy greens, with a dressing of blue cheese and bacon fat and red wine vinegar and maybe a little mayonnaise for emulsification and lot of cracked black pepper for zip. Add a big handful of dried cranberries, some toasted croutons and a bunch of slivered almonds. Go to.
Or click on over to NYT Cooking to see if there’s something else you’d like to make tonight, a particular recipe, a sort of cuisine. (You do need a subscription.) You can also visit us on our Facebook page, and on Instagram, Twitter and YouTube if you like.
Please write if anything goes awry along the way: cookingcare@nytimes.com. We will get back to you. Or you can write me: foodeditor@nytimes.com. (Someone did the other day to point out that I inexplicably credited this recipe for whipped cream to Jason Epstein. It’s Jonathan Reynolds’s recipe, of course.)
Now, can I tell you a story? I was up in Maine last week, and my flight home got canceled on account of bad weather in New York. I was at the Bangor airport when that happened. I waited in line, and someone at the end of it managed to get me rebooked on a flight out of Portland the next morning. I tried to rent a car to get there. Enterprise: No dice. Budget: No dice. Avis: no dice.
Then: “Where you going?” This was a guy just finishing up at the Avis counter, getting his keys. “Portland,” I said. “Come on,” he said, “I’m going to Boston.” And just like that we were hurtling south in a bright red Charger that purred like a lion, two strangers at the start of a buddy movie.
He was Romanian, a Canadian citizen, a bureaucrat for the government of New Brunswick, a former deck officer in the merchant marine, full of opinions, a couple of jokes. We talked for two hours straight, and I got out of the car knowing that while the world is dark and terrible, there are good people in it. I still feel that way. I don’t want to forget it. I’ll see you on Friday.
