It wasn’t long into the lockdown in March that my grocery lists began to resemble prayers. Not the kind of prayer that functions as a plea to any god, exactly, but rather the kind that serves as a pledge toward the future, a promise for another day. At that point, nothing felt certain; nothing felt under control. But as I wrote out lists of what I needed to buy, as I planned out what I would need to make enough meals to get through the week, the days — mornings, afternoons, nights; breakfasts, lunches, dinners — began to make sense, began to feel certain, if not fully under control.
Three boxes of pasta (a tube-y kind; rotini, if they have it)
Two cans crushed tomatoes (the big ones)
One can whole peeled tomatoes
Three tins of anchovies
A prayer is a bargain.