collected

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to be a recipe blog. Food is my child and thus my whole life and it’s sacred to me.  I do it my own way and I’m not ready to become an authority on that. We are ever evolving and I would expect no less. This space will evolve too, as I come to terms with the value of earning a living and try to do so in the most genuine way possible. I’m so young and so old; I know so much and so little and all I can tell you is I feel called to be in this space in a different kind of way.

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If I do share a recipe here, please know that, unlike career bloggers, I have not spent twelve loads of groceries on finding that sweet spot. Much of what I eat comes from leftovers and using up the pantry staples. In another lifetime I would make a special trip to the grocery store to purchase every last ingredient for a specific recipe, but then again, I never could follow a recipe to the letter. Which is why things will and won’t turn out, or will be variations on things we know because I’m trying to use up the coconut flour I bought for some ungodly reason that has traversed three thousand miles by my side.

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So why am I here at all? My ego would have you know I’m up to no good. I rebut that, while many people are itching to carve out their niche of the internet, I am afraid of it. I’m fighting tooth-and-nail to be invisible, give up and let my ego back me into a corner and kick me down. But I need a place to document the beginning of a new life: California and independence and living paycheck-to-paycheck inventing and chasing and reinventing dreams. According to Brene Brown (on whom, for me, the jury is still out), “WE CAN’T RISE STRONG WHEN WE’RE ON THE RUN.” I need something to be chained to, and that, my good strangerfriend, is you.

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Exploring the history of our new town while simultaneously trying not to feel guilty for centuries of imperialism (and then some)

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I magnetized the back of my pin collection for the fridge; see The Evolution of Things

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Local tomatoes and echinacea tea (and getting over my aversion to the taste of licorice (hello, streets of Venice)

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I have a guardian in the kitchen. He’s so keen on smelling everything and practically goes cross-eyed trying to get a good look at every single infinitesimal thing I do

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Fridays

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We lived nearly a month without a kitchen table and have a newfound appreciation for a solid place to sit and digest

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