The famed architectural critic and designer Michael Sorkin died on March 26, 2020, from COVID-19 complications. I briefly met him for a project at his firm Terreform, and I was impressed by his drive and his faith in the possibility of tangible and beautiful transformations of our inhabited spaces towards greater justice and sustainability. His list of Two Hundred and Fifty Things an Architect Should Know, recently celebrated in the 99% Invisible podcast, is not poetry, but has the evocative power of verses. This blog post is an homage to Sorkin and to low-key aphorisms.

 

Random things I may remember about food in the pandemic

Many shoppers act as if the dynamics of infection do not apply to supermarkets aisle.

Some people object that liquor stores are open, as opposed to a barber’s. I don’t.

Ireland has supported Navajos and Hopis to thank them for the relief funds they sent in 1847 during the Irish Famine.

The aroma of bread baked in the oven is comforting, whether or not you are stress baking.

The impending lack of meat has made the food system disruptions real for many Americans.

Some people may celebrate by cooking, others by looking at pictures of food posted by others.

Disinfecting every single food item that enters your living space is a secondary annoyance when you have enough to eat.

The long lines at food banks are a reminder of the cruelty our society.

Cocktails shared over Zoom get you drunk without buzz or joy.

After weeks of lockdown, even comfort food loses its appeal.

The convenience of online shopping cannot replace the excitement from the sounds and smells of a food market.

Cookbooks could end up replacing the trips we won’t be making.

Chef competitions on TV are as anachronistic as ship battles in the Colosseum.

Discussing the pros and cons of different recipes for the same dish has partly replaces sport banter.

Figuring out ways to use leftovers may feel as creative as drawing.

When buying stuff is not easy, you don’t forget what’s in your fridge.

It makes sense to get burgers at drive-throughs, especially when gas is cheap.

Consumers are not worried any longer about the plastic protecting the food they buy.

Fields do not harvest themselves, nor meat seals itself in plastic.

Many food workers are essential workers. They should be paid accordingly.

Migrations policies can be critiqued when the lack of cheap labor shakes our food supply.

Always use a thick mitt when handling a pan you have cooked with in the oven.

Looking at chairs piled on tables through restaurants window makes you sad.

Microorganisms in yeasts are drawing almost as much attention as the virus behind the pandemic.

My grandmother would have not appreciated any comparison between today’s scarcity of flour and war-time food rationing.

Negronis are still my favorite, but boulevardiers are growing on me. Wine often doesn’t cut it.

Prepped meal companies that tout 15-minute preparations are trying to get you.

Contrary to expectations, pasta does not riegn supreme over my pandemic table.

Making panzanella with fresh tomatoes may not be enough to pretend it is summer.

Many restaurants, spectral in their emptiness, are turning into ghost kitchens.

Getting a food delivery precisely at the time it is supposed to arrive feels special.

Having access to an outdoors grill is an enviable luxury.

Growing food from scraps is not the domestic equivalent of hydroponics.

As it requires precision and patience, baking is not my kind of cooking

Carrying heavy bags of groceries does count as physical exercise.

Sure-fire culinary remedies for the captivity blues may not exist

I stand corrected: dark chocolate melting on warm bread right out of the oven may be it.

It takes work and political will to turn disruption and confusion into opportunities for creativity and innovation, and it’s not a guarantied outcome.