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.


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.


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.


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


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


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


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




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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