From the Editor's Desk

How I Learned to Eat Alone and Not Be Lonely

In the spring of 2020, as my world shrunk to the square footage of my apartment, food became a mode of injecting pleasure and delight into an otherwise bleak and lonely period of my life. I frequently ordered pizza from my favorite local spot in Washington, D.C.; I sampled different brands of instant ramen; I baked loaves of banana bread. In some ways, this routine was familiar. In high school, after my parents separated, I would cook dinner for two—my mom and me—but she worked late and I would eat alone before she got home. For much of the pandemic, though, no one came through the front door.

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