In Praise of Comforting Things:
A Love Letter to the Little Weird Joys That Save Us. Plus, Pasta Fazoolander & A. E. Housman
There are few universal truths in life, but here’s one I’ll stand by for a super long time: sometimes, the best thing you can do is microwave a mug of hot cocoa, wrap yourself in a blanket that smells like childhood, and rewatch that one episode of your comfort show where literally nothing happens—or if it does happen, it happens in super predictable ways.
You know the one. Someone bakes a cake. A dog wears a sweater. There are bicycles being slowly pedaled. The stakes are low. The serotonin is high. The world plays out in passive tense.
Comforting things are the under-appreciated sidekicks of survival. While ambition and hustle get standing ovations, our fluffy socks are backstage holding the whole production together. We don’t give enough credit to these soft, quiet allies (inside of us and out)—the ones that ask nothing of us except to breathe and maybe light a candle that smells like vanilla and emotional healing.
I used to think comfort was indulgent. A luxury. Something to be earned after you’d slayed a metaphorical dragon or finished an Excel spreadsheet without crying. Or something that only wealthy people got to have after their private fundraisers in their fancy homes.
But now I’m convinced comfort is actually the prerequisite. The fuel. The cocoon that lets us come out, wings uncrumpled, ready to face the absolute chaos of life (or at least, the grocery store on a Saturday during tourist season in Bar Harbor, Maine).
Comfort looks different for everyone. For some, it’s soup. For others, it’s a playlist with titles like “Songs That Hug You.” I once found peace by hugging a hot water bottle shaped like a penguin. No regrets.
And let’s be real—there’s a particular magic in the mundane. A chipped mug that’s survived five homes. The sweater that smells faintly of someone you love. The book you know by heart but keep rereading because the characters feel like old friends who don’t mind if you’re in your pajamas again.
In a world that’s constantly telling us to strive, stretch, optimize, improve—comfort says: You’re okay. Right now. As you are. Sit down. Take a breath. I made cookies. And soup.
So here’s to the soft things. The silly things. The sentimental, slightly embarrassing things that tether us to joy when the news is bad and the sky feels too big. They might not fix everything—but they remind us we’re still here, still human, still worthy of warmth.
And that? That’s enough for a tiny bit on a Monday, right? Before we go out into the world again and try to make it a little more good.
POEM
“Loveliest of Trees”
A. E. Housman
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
SOUPISH
A lot of Americans put in an anchovy fillet or bacon or panchetta in this recipe, but I am cheap and those cost money and kill animals. I’m always going to choose the recipe that is has less death in it.
I know! I know! What a weird way to say it.
This version is from Michigan Plum, which is a pretty cool website. The entire recipe takes about an hour, including the 40 minutes of cook time. The entire recipe is verbatim.
Pasta Fazoolander
Ingredients
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 carrots, diced
1 can diced tomatoes
4 cups vegetable broth
1 can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
8 oz ditalini pasta
Fresh parsley, chopped for garnish
Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
Directions
In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the diced onion, minced garlic, diced celery, and diced carrots. Sauté for 5-7 minutes until the vegetables are softened.
Add the diced tomatoes, vegetable broth, cannellini beans, kidney beans, dried oregano, dried basil, dried thyme, red pepper flakes, salt, and black pepper. Stir well to combine.
Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce the heat to low. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes to allow the flavors to meld together.
While the soup simmers, cook the ditalini pasta according to package instructions. Drain and set aside.
Once the soup is ready, add the cooked pasta to the pot. Stir well to combine.
Ladle the Pasta Fazoolander into bowls. Garnish with fresh parsley and grated Parmesan cheese.
Serve hot with crusty bread for a complete meal.