sesame seeds Archives

Let me show you the easiest most delicious way to cook the perfect prime rib roast from https://meatified.com. It seems intimidating, but is really both simple & forgiving!

it's turkey time

turkey stroganoff

leftovers never tasted so good

the holidays in one bite

cranberry butter cups

I regret nothing

everybody lies about

caramelized onion dip

but it's worth it

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Ahi Tuna Sashimi with Pineapple & Avocado-Ginger Cream

Ahi Tuna Sashimi with Pineapple and Avocado-Ginger Cream #paleo #whole30 #sashimi

Not too long ago I told you all about my first ever sushi-eating experience. It was awesome! It even inspired me to make this dish. I wanted to come up with another grain free and paleo sushi-inspired dish: this time I wanted it to have layers that mimicked the construction of nigiri, but without the […]

Ahi Tuna Ceviche with Sesame and Mint

Ceviche makes me think of tropical beaches, most of the time. Especially since my go-to versions are usually seasoned Mexican-style. But I went a little fancy with this Ahi Tuna Ceviche and decided to go with a more Asian inspired flavor theme after going to a sushi restaurant for the first time ever and LOVING […]

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Alright, so cranberries are having their 3 spotlig

The further I got into sobriety, the more I realiz

If you, too, are seeking simplicity and comfort of

Before & after // I didn’t take any photos for a $Before & after // I didn’t take any photos for a year. Sobering-up-me was a being of fractures. Sharp edges that didn’t fit anywhere, no matter how many times I rearranged or reimagined the pieces. People seem to think (or I apparently assumed) that becoming sober brings an automatic sense of the whole, of coming back together. That it’s as simple as taking away perhaps the only thing that was, in the strangest sense, holding them together in the first place. Magically yielding a version of the ‘before’ that is not yet broken in the ‘after’. Maybe that’s true for some people. But sobering me was an agonizing act of disassembly. It was heading back to cuckoo land and knowing that this time, the nest was never mine. It was realizing that I had always known I was the interloper, pushing others out of the nest to stay alive in a constant state of mimicry that became its own death anyway. Sobering-me wondered if her old creativity was another act of imitation pushing her ever closer to the edge. Hi, I’m the cuckoo, it’s me. When you’ve never known who you are, how can there be anything familiar to fly back to? For some, sobriety might be a reclamation, but mine has been a kind of excavation. Part extrication, part excommunication. I wasn’t yet a year sober when I picked up my camera again, my first foray into what may or may not be left behind. I picked something simple, a cozy soup as a placeholder to practice camera settings & styling again. But that March-cold light wasn’t what I wanted to see. I used to feel like editing photos after the fact was about ‘fixing’ them; that it was about finding what was ‘wrong’ with what I’d made in the first place. The same way that part of me wanted to portray my self-portrait last post as a sober ‘after’ without acknowledging the ‘before’. As though the after is a new version of me, as fixed as my stare. But any after cradles it’s before at it’s heart. So, just as I’ve warmed & brightened this photo to create the sense of contentment that I wanted to see, I’ve shown you the before, too. I can’t have one without the other. There’s no sobriety without what came before. No thawing tenderness that doesn’t follow the cold.$

Eighteen months of sobriety have me seeing myself,

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