On Starting Again
In recent years I've moved so many times. There’s been relief in purging the unnecessary, but each and every time I have felt heartbreaking separation from the kitchens to which I'd grown so attached.
That’s one of the reasons I’ve taken such a long sabbatical from writing and sharing my cooking. I’ve never stopped cooking, but to write about what I was cooking, to record it on video, to share it with the world, it all suddenly felt like too much. Adapting to new kitchens wasn’t the problem, but processing the loss of the kitchens where so many memories were made just felt very difficult to overcome.
This is how I see it:
Kitchens have a way of speaking to us. They call us in to create things that nurture ourselves and others. A cup of tea, a pot of soup, a family-size pizza. It’s the one space in the house that orchestrates the gathering of family, friends, or even just you with you, alone. The ingredients we bring into it are its special guests that gift us with texture and flavor, forging that certain magical experience into our lives with every meal they help to create. But the kitchen is where it’s vigorously innovated then carefully incubated, until the meal is brought into the world.
When you lose that place, you lose all the connection it once brought to you, to your life.
For me, cooking has been a way for me to survive, particularly in times when I just couldn’t see any way to thrive- not just in the physical sense, but in the very real emotional sense. It will always seem a miracle to me that I’ve even learned a fraction of what it takes to put a medley of ingredients together in a way that they people find delightful, other-worldly even. And that it makes us happy, nourished, and fulfilled. It’s a gift I don’t take for granted.
Ingredients have been my constant companions.
I especially appreciate the imported ingredients, the exotic ingredients, the “foreign” ingredients because they have always been my best teachers. They introduce me to new flavors, new cooking techniques, and they invite me into new worlds of culinary discovery where I can expand my culinary horizons and stretch my professional capabilities. I love to learn their stories, discover where they thrive, how they grow and how they are utilized differently from one culture to another. This is how I’ve been accompanied in the darkest of times, and where I can reflect on some of my best memories, all of which I plan to expand on in this newsletter with culinary stories and recipes from recent travels, such as:
Visiting a camel farm in Ramona, California and going camel crazy with my friend and author on that topic, Christina Adams
Shopping at open air markets for the most amazing fresh local produce, mountain herbs and teas around the Aegean coast of Turkiye.
Visiting pomegranate, olive, and lemon trees situated among fields of lavender in the Mediterranean region of Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Discovering the unique cuisine and incredibly hospitable people of Dubrovnik, Croatia
Cooking with Michelin star chefs in Amman, Jordan after experiencing five days exploring the pastoral lands of the northern part of the country and shopping at the open market for local ingredients to make our dishes presented to at an evening gala.
Exploring an oyster farm in Carlsbad, California where they’re doing so much more than just raising great oyster babies.
Kitchens have been my cocoons. Ingredients have been my companions. Together they have healed my mind and lifted my spirits. They’ve given me the gift of curiosity for more. And most recently, they’ve allowed me the serenity to experience some really important downtime so that I could recharge and shae it all once again.
So, I’m back. Starting over yet again. This time from a kitchen in Vancouver, Canada, one to which I am now very much attached. At least for the time being….
