*Dusts off keyboard*
Hello, hello. Anybody there?
It’s been a while, I know.
When I started this Substack, I sincerely intended to write and publish at least once a month. But, as life often does, things got busy. Since my last article, I finished my internship, hosted a pop-up at Delicatessen (one of my favorite wine bars in Paris), cooked a private dinner for a group of fabulous ladies, threw an end of season Dinner for One Supper Club bash, hosted several dinner parties chez moi, apéroed real hard, was featured in Cherry Bombe magazine, had SO much fun at the Olympic games, and spent long overdue time with my family.
So, yeah, things have going at full speed.
But there’s a common theme running through all my busyness: food. That’s no surprise to anyone who knows me IRL or even through the internet. For the past few years, my life has revolved around the art of cooking and hosting. Initially, as many of you know, it started as a way for me to heal during a difficult time in my life. Now, it has evolved into a lifestyle and brand.
However, as I’ve continued to deepen my experience, I’ve realized that cooking and hosting on a professional level require far more than just skills and creativity. Yes, knife skills matter—it’s always in one’s best interest to know the difference between a bâtonnet and a julienne cut. And of course, making your dish and table setting as visually appealing as possible is essential to draw people in. But, in my humble opinion, there’s more to it than that.
During my internship, I was thrown into the deep end of professional kitchen life. I experienced both the good and the bad, the rewarding moments and the demoralizing ones. I left a little bruised, but still confident in my abilities. I went into the internship wanting to learn more techniques, but in the end, I walked away with a deeper and better understanding of what attracts me to this world. It’s not just about cooking and the techniques that go along with it; it’s about the people that I cook for and understanding that I’m sharing a part of myself with them, much like my writing.
Working in the industry is a grind, and it takes a toll—on your personal life, your finances, your body, and in many ways your mental health. I think to keep going, one’s motivation has to extend beyond themselves and their ego. I could be wrong, but I deeply feel that it has to be about the people who are being fed, the community being built, and the story being told through food.
I think the sense of purpose is what makes the sacrifices worthwhile and drives the dedication. It has to be what gives veterans in the industry the strength to stand on their feet all day even when their backs feel like they’re on fire, ignore swollen feet, or get right back to work after almost slicing a finger in two. I imagine knowing that you’re creating something meaningful—a space where people feel welcomed, wanted, appreciated, and cared for makes it all worth it.
This may read like a romanticized idea of what it takes to survive and thrive in the industry, but without a deeper purpose what’s the point?
In January 2023, I filled out my first Year Compass booklet, it’s essentially a downloadable booklet that helps you reflect on the past year and set intentions for the year ahead. The easiest question that I answered was, “What will you do next year to leave the world in a better shape than you found it?” My response was so instantaneous and felt so right, it surprised me. It was, “I will continue to open my heart and home (and kitchen) to people in need of community and care.”
I’m still very new to this world, and in a few years, I may regret ever writing and publishing this piece. However, with every step I take and every challenge I accept, I become more confident than ever that wherever this journey leads me—whether I open a restaurant or a similar venture, publish a cookbook, or write a piece of fiction with food and cooking as central themes—the purpose is clear. I know that it will not be solely about me.
It will be about creating what I cherish in every supper club gathering, private dinner, pop-up event, casual dinner at home, or piece that I write— it’s about having a space where people are not just fed, but truly welcomed, cared for, and leave with a little piece of me.
As always, thanks for reading me.
Bisous et bon appétit.
What a beautifully crafted piece! Reading it always feels like catching up with an old friend (over an apéro) who’s sharing her latest culinary escapades. It’s incredibly inspiring to see how the ups and downs of your journey have only fueled your passion and sharpened your purpose. I can’t wait to see where all of these revelations will take you next—your drive is palpable, and it shines through in every word & dish you create.