I started this blog after my father died. Our family had just waged and lost a seven year battle with Alzheimer’s. Seven years in the trenches of fighting for the life of someone you love irrevocably changes you. I struggled to fill the broad swathes of time that I now had on my hands.
After months of watching me mourn, my husband suggested that I start a cooking blog to fill my time. I threw myself into it. I experimented with staging and rode the learning curve of photography. Website building? Sure, I’ll give a try. I wrote and rewrote recipes and introductions, trying to connect and always feeling like I’d overextended myself. The original writing tones changed from wistful to friendly and ultimately settled into a comfortable level of minimum chitchat….here’s your recipe. But what I did most, was cook.
I stood in my kitchen and I cooked. It turns out that the key to unlocking my grief was doing something I knew by heart. It had been taught to me, from my earliest memories, by my father. I leaned into that continuity. Heartbreak became determination; and somewhere along the way, I found myself again.
It has taken me some time and many trials, errors, failures and triumphs for me to figure out that this culinary journey was born more out of love more than loss. Food is how we express the depth of our caring. In any culture, in any cuisine, the heart of a home is its table. Cooking is love and love is what we could all use a little more of. Some of the greatest compliments I receive are the little notes of appreciation that my recipe made its way into your home and you shared it with your loved ones.
So with that…and with love…I hope you find something you want to bring to your table.
Thanks for being a part of this journey.