01
Random Burritos: a love letter to the philosophy of putting anything in a tortilla
My kitchen is a mess. My cast iron is spotless. The burritos are excellent. This is the only thing you need to know about me as a cook.
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Essays
Longer thoughts, loosely organized. Grief, work, bodies, brains, and the occasional strongly held opinion about snacks.
02
The recipe I make when I need to feel like a person who cooks
It doesn't have a real name. I call it Chicken and Potatoes. It takes 40 minutes and it makes my apartment smell like I have my life together. I do not have my life together. But I have this.
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The soup incident, or: how I accidentally made something good while having a breakdown
I was crying into a bag of tomatoes that were three days from the bin when I accidentally invented the best soup I've ever made. This is that story. Also the recipe.
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On the particular grief of no longer being the person who has it together
I used to be the one who remembered everyone's deadlines. Now I forget what I was saying mid-sentence. This is not a tragedy. This is a Tuesday.
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Napping as resistance: a manifesto for the chronically exhausted
Productivity culture will tell you that rest is a reward. I am here to tell you that rest is a right, and also that I have a medical condition that makes this non-negotiable.
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Gerald, my sourdough starter, has survived more than I have
I named my sourdough starter Gerald. He has survived two apartment moves, one hospital stay, and my general negligence. He is thriving. I am taking notes.
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The MBA was not a mistake, exactly, but it was definitely a choice I made for the wrong reasons
I got an MBA because I thought it would make me feel like I had arrived somewhere. Reader, I arrived somewhere. It was a conference room in a building with no windows.
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