The blog post I wrote yesterday Letter To My Father was a form of therapy for me, a slice of unshared details of my personal life that affected me in so many ways.
The kitchen is also where I seek solace. A therapeutical protocol encompassing hot and cooling spices, creamy sauces, doughs that come alive through the grace of yeast and love.
Sometimes a simple grilled cheese sandwich has been my best friend specially when I’m exhausted or on the run.
Sometimes my soul requires something hot like a bowl of udon floating in broth.
On hor days there is always fruit and a bowl of antipasti sitting in the fridge waiting to be enjoyed.
My mind wanders and I often daydream as I stir a pot of marinera or dig my fingers into silky dough. I never leave the kitchen when I’m canning. I wait while my jars process like a helicopter parent would watch their child.
I never am alone either as I have a chorus of angels at my feet every step of the way.
After all, my pups and kids are all the family I have and for them it is why my cookkng has become a labour of love.
May your home be filled with warmth, your pantry full and may you always have good health!
Xo,
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