Trays of lukewarm pasta sat on the counter, with the once pillowy ricotta and creamy mozzarella slowly solidifying around the mangled ziti. Day-old ciabatta sat on a cutting board, crumbs strewn about, with a half-eaten plate of chicken marsala resting on the stovetop — crimini mushrooms trapped in the now congealed sauce. Continue reading “on cooking through grief”
The what, why, and how of urban composting when your apartment is tiny and your backyard, nonexistent. Continue reading “a beginner’s guide to urban composting”
An inconvenient blessing in disguise… Continue reading “3 ways growing up without a microwave changed my relationship with food”
“I’m a food writer, and I want to give up Instagram for 40 whole days” — said no one, ever. And yet, here I am. Continue reading to find out why. Continue reading “why I decided to give up Instagram for lent”
It’s not everyday that you get to step away from your desk to unwind and enjoy a balanced, wholesome lunch.
Chloe Vichot is on a mission to change that with the opening of her new restaurant, Ancolie.
Is it just me or do you ever learn a new word or idea and then end up hearing it more and more often in conversation or in passing on the street? For the longest time, I brushed off these instances as mere coincidences. However, there is legitimate scientific backing behind it all. Known as Baader-Meinhof, this phenomenon explains our cognitive bias to “inflate the importance of recent stimuli or observations.”
Whether it’s the work of destiny or simply our brains’ prejudice towards patterns, I have no idea. However, the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon does explain a whole lot when it comes to my understanding of food waste.
If you were to tell me in high school that, after graduating college, I would pack up and move abroad, I would more than likely have laughed in your face. My image of post-graduate life involved hole-in-the-wall NYC apartments and cubicles, not working abroad.
But I suppose life can surprise you when you’d least expect it because, as I write these very words, I’m sitting in an empty apartment in France surrounded by two gigantic suitcases, a boarding pass, and 8 months of pinch-me-this-can’t-be-real kind of experiences.
It dawned on me the other day that I’ve been learning French for about 10 years now. My reaction to this realization? I’ll refrain from any cliché commentary on how fast time seems to pass and focus instead on the overwhelming wave of pride I felt wash over me. It has taken a whole lot of resolve and patience to persist for so long in the pursuit of a language whose grammatical complexities elude me more often than not.
In other words, learning French is hard.
I’ll also admit, however, that I felt a slight sting of shame. 10 years is a long time and, even after two stints living in France and many hours spent in the classroom, I have most certainly not attained a level of mastery over the language. Am I conversational? Maybe. But fluent? Absoluement pas.
My kitchen here in France is the farthest thing from fancy. It’s an industrial, stainless steel setup complete with two hot plates, a sink, a refrigerator, and a mini oven that looks deceptively like a toaster oven but lacks the ability to toast.
And that’s about it. No microwave to be found.
Of course, I could have purchased one myself, but I spent the first 18 years of my life sans microwave, so the thought never seriously crossed my mind.
When I think of Paris, I imagine cast-iron balustrades bordering the Métropolitan signs of the subways stations, wrought iron balconies, elegant cream-colored stonework, and wide boulevards lined with independent bookshops, cafés, and boulangeries.