Hi Reader, New Year’s Eve has always amused me. It’s the one night we collectively pretend we’re the kind of people who waltz into parties wearing something sparkly, carrying flawless canapés, and greeting everyone like we’re hosting the Oscars. Meanwhile, I’m in the kitchen debating whether I have the emotional bandwidth to iron a napkin.But I love this night. It’s theatrical. It’s indulgent. It’s forgiving. You can get away with almost anything as long as it’s bite-sized and served on a...
5 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, Holiday hosting has a way of testing your reflexes. One minute you’re blissfully sinking into the sofa, polishing off the last of the peppermint bark, and the next you hear the four most adrenaline-spiking words in the English language: “We’re stopping by...soon!”Instantly, I snap into action like a short-order cook with a minor superiority complex. The fridge door swings open, the mental math begins mathing, and suddenly I’m transforming stray cheeses, that half-used jar of...
6 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, I don’t know when it happened - maybe somewhere between my third failed attempt at wrapping gifts and the moment The One caught me eating sliced cheese straight from the wrapper - but every year, right around this time, my body reaches a spiritual truth: it is officially sandwich season.There’s something about the tail end of December that flips a switch in me. Maybe it’s the collective exhaustion of a month spent roasting, braising, whisking, icing, mulled-wining, and trying to...
10 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, I’ve learned—through trial, error, and one unfortunate carving me meltdown in front of guests—that the key to holiday sanity is doing as much as possible before anyone shows up. There’s a special kind of joy in sliding a perfectly prepped dish into the oven while your guests think you’re some kind of culinary savant. (Let them believe. You’ve earned it.)The One always rolls his eyes when he sees me whisking gravy at 10 p.m. the night before a dinner. “Can’t this wait until...
12 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, Before the glorious chaos of unwrapping presents, before the calls from relatives who still can’t figure out FaceTime, there’s that rare, golden hour—the hush of a winter morning when coffee burbles, the oven hums, and you can almost believe time’s agreed to stand still.I live for that hour. It’s when The One pads into the kitchen, what little hair he has sticking up like he lost a bar fight with a pillow, and I slide a pan of something sweet into the oven—baked French toast, a...
14 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, The oven’s roaring, the playlist’s questionable, and I’m already out of counter space. In other words, everything’s going exactly according to plan.There’s a particular kind of magic that happens when a roast takes center stage. It starts quietly—just a low hum, the scent of searing fat and herbs - but by the time the kitchen fills with heat and anticipation, you can feel it. That pulse. That hum. Big Holiday Energy.I used to think the holidays were about control—timers,...
17 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, Some people collect ornaments. I collect cuisines. Each December, while everyone else is debating turkey versus ham, I’m in the kitchen hopping time zones. One minute I’m dusting off the stand mixer for Italian panettone, the next I’m whisking egg yolks for French sabayon like a man possessed. By the time the table’s set, my apron looks like it’s cleared customs. The One and I in Bologna, yesterday (Dec 14) It’s a habit I blame on wanderlust—and butter. For several years, The One...
19 days ago • 2 min read
Hi Reader, Somewhere between the second potluck and my third “simple dessert contribution,” I realized I’d become my circle's designated Pastry Sherpa. You know the role—the one who arrives with a cake carrier clutched like a newborn, silently praying that buttercream holds its shape until dessert.Bringing sweets to a holiday gathering feels like entering a culinary gladiator pit. You spend hours coaxing a batter to behave, only to dodge traffic, icy sidewalks, and Aunt Florrie's unsolicited...
25 days ago • 3 min read
Hi Reader, By mid-December, my social feeds are full of Portuguese people recreating their grandmother’s exact Christmas Eve menu from the Old Country—same codfish, same sweets, same everything, down to the brand of paper napkins. That… was definitely not my childhood. I grew up as first-and-a-half-generation Portuguese: my father right off the boat from São Miguel, my mother American, and me planted somewhere between the Azores and the mall. There wasn’t a laminated list of What We Eat on...
28 days ago • 5 min read
