Hi Reader, Years ago, The One and I agreed to skip Valentine’s Day—no gifts, no dinner reservations, no grand gestures. Naturally, by 8 p.m., I had chocolate melting on the stove and he was pretending not to notice the champagne chilling in the fridge. Somewhere between the whisking and the teasing (“You said we weren’t doing this!”), the night turned into one of those quietly cinematic moments—two people leaning over the counter, sharing spoonfuls straight from the pan, laughing like we’d...
5 days ago • 2 min read
Oh, to be young, thin, and moderately attractive again... Hi Reader, Food has a way of saying things we’re not always brave enough to say out loud. Especially on Valentine’s Day. I know, I know. For some, this week is all hearts and flowers. For others, it’s just a Tuesday (or an excuse to buy half-price candy on February 15th). But whether you’re cooking for a partner, hosting a "Galentine’s" dinner for friends, or just treating yourself to a damn good steak because you deserve it, food is...
7 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, Years ago, I bought a pork butt the size of a toddler because it was on sale. What I didn’t realize is that pork butt isn’t just a cut of meat—it’s a commitment. A long-term relationship. That damn thing followed me through the week like a houseguest who wouldn’t take a hint. But oh, the glory when I finally got it right. A slow roast one night, tacos the next, and then, in a stroke of culinary genius (or desperation), pulled-pork fried rice. The One swore it was my finest...
10 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, There are two kinds of people in this world: those who meal prep like it’s a spiritual practice and those who panic-eat hummus straight from the tub at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday. I regret to inform you I’ve been both. There was the year I decided I was “a meal prep person” and bought twelve matching glass containers for the express purpose of getting my life together, stacked them like a shrine, and announced to The One, “We’re going to live like adults.” Three days later, I was eating...
12 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, January always feels longer than it has any right to be. It starts with fireworks and resolutions and ends with me clutching a mug of something hot, wondering why my socks are never fully dry. But here we are—almost through it—and that deserves a little celebration.In my family, the end of a hard month always called for something sweet. My Vovó would bake without announcement, like it was an instinctive act of optimism. No declarations, no “we survived” speeches—just a table dusted...
14 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, The smoke alarm went off before the first quarter, which is how I knew the Super Bowl had officially begun. The One appeared in the doorway holding a bag of chips like a peace offering and asked, “Are we winning?”Winning. Sure—if you count surviving the chaos with snacks still edible.Super Bowl Sunday isn’t cooking; it’s crowd management. It’s about making food that tastes great an hour later, survives the occasional ref call meltdown, and doesn’t require a fork or an apology....
17 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, My Vovó had a theory that the number of pots you dirtied was directly proportional to your level of foolishness. “One pan, good cook,” she’d mutter, stirring something miraculous. “Two pans, lazy mind.” I once asked her what three pans meant. She didn’t answer—just gave me a look that could curdle milk.I think of her every Monday night, when the weekend optimism has drained out of me and the sink looks like a cautionary tale. That’s when I channel her spirit: the one-pot...
19 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, Sunday mornings are dangerous. Not “hold-my-beer” dangerous—more like “what-if-I-made-my-own-ketchup” dangerous.It always starts the same way: caffeine, too much of it, an overestimation of my ability. The One's usually still in bed when I announce, “I’m making something from scratch today.” He groans. He’s seen this movie before. By noon, there’ll be three pots going, one blender disassembled, and enough splattered tomato on the walls to look like a murder scene.But here’s the...
20 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, Every time there’s a real winter storm—the kind with names, warnings, and that creeping sense of we might be here a while—The One makes the same thing. Blizzard Beef. No debate. No browsing. He reaches for a chuck roast like it’s a life preserver. It started years ago during a blizzard that shut everything down so thoroughly even the cats looked scared. He seasoned that roast aggressively, seared it hard, slid it into a pot with water, a reckless amount of Worcestershire sauce. I,...
22 days ago • 5 min read
