I still remember the first time I tried to bake with fresh strawberries. It was a mid-June afternoon—hot, sticky, and the kind of day when the kitchen window stays cracked open for the breeze. I had just returned from the…
I first made this farro salad on one of those summer afternoons that stretch out like lazy cats in the sun—too warm to cook anything complicated, but too lovely not to gather people around the table. I remember it vividly…
There’s a story behind nearly every recipe I hold dear, and this one takes me straight back to a sunny Sunday afternoon in late May. My daughter had just come home from college for the summer, and the house had…
I didn’t grow up with corn salad. At least not the kind I make now, with its sun-drenched sweetness, sharp little jolts of lime, and the kind of crunch that just feels like a backyard picnic. Where I come from—rural…
I first made this lemon shrimp pasta on a Wednesday that felt heavier than most. The kids had been cranky, the dishwasher was broken, and I had precisely twenty-seven minutes to pull something—anything—together for dinner before everyone’s patience (mine included)…
There’s a memory I come back to every time I make chicken fajitas. It was a Tuesday evening—nothing fancy about it. The kids were in that after-school, pre-dinner haze, papers and backpacks scattered across the kitchen table. My husband was…
I can’t count how many mornings I’ve stood in my kitchen, barefoot and quiet, slicing into a perfectly ripe avocado. It’s become my version of meditation. No rush, no noise—just the hum of the toaster and the soft give of…
I never used to think much of peaches. I liked them fine—tossed into a fruit salad or eaten over the sink in August when they were too ripe to resist—but I never thought to cook them. That changed one summer…
There’s a kind of joy that only comes from eating something with your hands—something fresh, messy, and just a little indulgent. For me, shrimp tacos are that kind of joy. I first started making them on Friday nights when the…
I still remember the first time I tried to make chicken quesadillas. It was a late Thursday evening, and I was standing in my small, slightly-too-warm kitchen, hungry, a bit tired from the week, and staring at half a rotisserie…