Lately I find myself baking, cooking, and preserving a lot of things because it’s such a psychologically uncomplicated (thought not always uncomplicated in the practical sense), satisfying form of creating.
I’m not doing it in lieu of the harder stuff, but it’s good therapy in between.
I’m sure the cooler weather has something to do with it as well.
I’m not worried about what these pickles mean, if they make sense in the context of other food I’ve made before or want to make in the future, or if they’re stylistically mature. I made them and that’s good enough.