I spent twenty years in restaurant kitchens — the heat, the speed, the beautiful chaos of a Saturday push. I loved every minute. And then my own health asked me, quite firmly, to slow down.
The food that brought me back wasn’t complicated. It was simple and seasonal — vegetables with their dirt still on, broths that took their time, meals cooked with full attention and eaten at an actual table. Cooking that way changed how I felt. Eventually, it changed what I do.
Now I cook that way for other people’s tables: celebration dinners that taste like the month they happen in, and quiet weekly meals that hold a busy household together. Restricted diets aren’t a footnote here — they’re often the reason we meet, and some of my favorite menus to write.
Pull up a stool. The kitchen’s warm.