Since Taco Tuesday Eve, I have had exactly one night’s good sleep. And then I had to go and ruin it by waking up and remembering who was shitting in the White House. I can’t even track how disruptive the “fascist, loofah-faced shitgibbon” has been to my already endangered productivity, but I’m starting to worry more about what it’s doing to my state of mind. This “expect the worst, you’ll never be disappointed” crank suddenly wants to suggest fud things that might make us, the doomed, feel a tiny bit better as we hurtle toward Armageddon. Like making your own antidepressant (it really is the best stew recipe ever). Or watching the soul-restoring  “City of Gold,” an amazingly resonant documentary that makes vividly clear how vital immigrants are to food in this country (the FL-FS should be strapped in, “Clockwork Orange”-style, to watch it). Or, especially, rereading the McCarthy sections of the great “As Always, Julia.” All the food stuff on how “Mastering The Art” came to be is enticing, but it’s the political history that resonates right now. The very sharp and acerbic Mme Child would absolutely not believe she had to protest this fucking shit all over again.