August will mark the two-year anniversary of this “In Search of Lost Smell” page. I’ve posted one thousand three hundred and thirty-nine meals, written eleven long form blog posts, attempted one poorly stitched together interview podcast, been profiled four times by news outlets and new friends, participated in a month-long online artist’s residency, and even delivered my first sponsored content this month. For two years, I’ve shopped almost exclusively at farmer’s markets and composted every scrap. Recently, I even helped get my apartment a city brown bin. I started a garden, then a windowsill garden, and learned about more vegetables than I can count on my fingers.
Today’s newsletter isn’t meant to be a laundry list of pats on the back, but rather, a look back on the insane growth of these last few years. I started writing these because I could feel a ball of energy inside me, something constricting that needed to be unleashed and explored. I was ashamed to admit that I felt lost, that this grew from a place of pain. And then slowly, the more I shared, the more I realized that growth takes humility, curiosity, a complete suspension of self-judgment. I am not exaggerating when I say that I feel like a different person.
In my very first newsletter, I wrote that I would essentially always be “in search of lost smell” – not recuperating a sense per se, but feeling my way through this life. To mark two years under this silly little moniker, I wrote down as many of the lessons I’ve learned as I could muster in one sitting. They are not in any particular order, nor are they all about food, since this project has been more about loneliness, identity, love, and coming into our own.
I hope this list will unfurl forever.
It takes a while to build a home and space you love. Take your time to settle in. Until then, you can use the old peanut butter jar as a pie crust roller.
Once in a while you’ll break a glass in the kitchen at 1 am. It will suck to sadly scoop it up and feel like you have to take care of everything by yourself. But that’s okay. You’ll grow to value being so self-sufficent.
For the love of all things holy, stop buying pre-minced, jarred garlic.
Growing your own food will teach you patience and intuition and wonder. You will gawk at how a tiny wing of basil generates into a fragrant leaf. When you snip off the mature tip for your pasta, gratitude will radiate from your core.
Giving someone attention does not mean giving them consent for anything else. You can be your full warm, welcoming self without fearing that it is giving off the wrong impression. That’s on them because you are in the driver’s seat.
There are times to say no to things and times to say yes. Learn to differentiate between your body’s no signals and yes. No feels like a catch in your throat, a hesitation in your limbs. Maybe it’s a lift of the eyebrows or a caution sign flashing in your brain. Yes can feel like all these things too. Except encircling them is a little ball of excitement-fear. That’s usually a good thing for you to walk towards.
Find people that make you feel alive, who make you smile stupidly to yourself. So many communities exist out there. Someday someone you just met will send you an email saying something along the lines of this recipe made me think of you, and you won’t feel so lonely in this world.
Every chef might think this is elementary, but you don’t know it yet. Eat seasonally. It will make you realize the energy and love it takes to generate one beautiful tomato. After patiently waiting months and months, the squeal that emerges from you with the first bite of a white summer peach will make you cherish each passing day.
Don’t be embarrassed that you don’t know what a ramp is. A lot of people don’t know what ramps are. Now you know.
There are two types of persimmons at the market. One is squat and crunchy and sort of like if a cactus got infused with carrot sugar. The other is a bit more oblong, and if you bite into it before it looks rotten, you will proceed to scrub sawdust off your tongue for several hours.
Buy flowers for yourself.
Shop like Alice Waters. Instead of making a list, read through a few recipes every few days to get a sense of pairings and staples. Then, pack up three or four cute totes and head over to the farmer’s market. Touch everything, and when one of the sparkling veggies exerts a magnetic pull, take it home and then decide what to do with it. Shopping with your eyes will teach you what’s freshest and tastiest.
A lot of being consistent is less about grit than it is about knowing how to assess your energy tank every day. Listen to how you feel while balancing a commitment to your projects and ambitions. You can exercise grace along with discipline.
Aprons are amazing.
Get good spices. Grind your own when you can.
You will have days where it feels like the ceiling is closing in on you. Like you are pushing up with your arms above your head and the more you extend, the harder the world compresses you into yourself. Honestly, sometimes it’s hormones. Sometimes it’s your brain giving in. Take a walk. Buy an ice cream. Get on the train going downtown and don’t decide exactly when you’re getting off until right before. It will clear your mind to embrace randomness for just a moment and to try and let go of order and plans.
Pickle all your scraps because they shouldn’t go to waste.
Be careful what names and labels you call yourself because these can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. There is always room for growth and surprising ourselves.
Keep reading. It will pull you out of your own overthinking tendencies and allow you to inhabit another mind for just a moment.
Bodies of water are healing. Don’t let too much time pass between visits.
Cooking beautiful meals for yourself is important. Plate your personal dish because, truly, why not? Make it a ritual. Giggle at the way the steamed fish sits atop the fig leaf with the sauce artfully swooshed around. Delight at how ridiculous it is to sprinkle sesame mindfully and then whip away the excess with a towel, only to sit on your folded leg in your pajamas and lean on the bistro table covered in mail. Every night is your night.
You can pick wines because of fun labels. Nobody cares.
Some details matter and others don’t. It’s okay to be discerning about what deserves your attention and care at any particular moment. Let the other things flow.
Flaking is never cool. Keep your word.
Be open to new possibilities for your life. A path could reveal itself at any moment, and instead of fixating on ten steps down the line, try taking each with an open mind and someday you’ll probably be somewhere you never imagined.
You’re not going to use that Swiffer you bought. Don’t bother.
Keep a few pantry staples around that will be used in most meals or save you when you’re low on fresh foods. Think: tahini, peanut butter, hondashi, nori, vermicelli, pasta, noodles, somen, rice, polenta, tomato sauce, miso, anchovies, vinegars, flour, jam.
Maldon salt is amazing. Put it on everything.
If someone makes you feel a little smaller, it probably means you don’t really like them that much. That’s okay, and you don’t need to overextend yourself.
If someone inspires you on the other hand, maybe take them to coffee. Tell them you think they are super cool. Most of the time people won’t think you’re lame for saying or asking, and you’ll make a special connection and be able to bask in some of their energy.
Nobody in New York is on time to anything. This will frustrate you deeply at first, but you can either learn to be exactly on time rather than insanely early, or just bring your headphones everywhere.
You don’t need ten mugs.
The bodega cat is friendly. Pet her, it’s fine.
Be patient. Sometimes your mind or heart move faster than the time it takes for life to catch up. Change takes time, and we can’t always will something into existence. Trust that your pace is right.
Journaling is cathartic. Try and do it every day with a minimum of three pages. Don’t censor yourself or read back. Write as fast as you can, and sooner than later, you’ll discover that you do have new thoughts every day. You’ll learn the patterns and cadence of how you think, recognize when there are knots you can slowly undo.
Some of the best days will be ones where you decide to wander. Maybe you’ll find a random craft store and delight in the adorable projects in your near future, or you’ll stoop up the perfect bookshelf on the street corner. Perhaps you’ll serendipitously bump into a friend. Make time to encounter this magic.
Say thank you often.
If your dish is missing something, it’s probably vinegar.
Your palate changes constantly, so keep trying things even if you think you already know them. You change, the soil changes, the weather changes, and all tastes change. We are always reinventing ourselves.
You can’t eat an olive straight off a tree. Apparently, a lot of people already know that, so maybe figure that one out.
Don’t listen to the people who say you can only do one thing with your life. You can teach music, play concerts, work a full-time job, cook, write, craft, and whatever else you want to do. And you can still be darn good at them. An abundant life has variety, and each of our pushes and pulls informs the others.
There is good olive oil and good balsamic. They are both extremely worthy investments.
Carry cash sometimes.
It’s not all on you. Learn to accept care and help. It will make you stronger, not weaker, and you are not a burden to those who love you.
Be extra. Make the mooncakes from scratch with your own personalized stamp and bike deliver them to friends. Start a jewelry exchange across the nation. Make an extravaganza with handmade faux flowers and menus for Mother’s Day. Life is chaotic and inherently meaningless – we make it meaningful. Do it all.
Don’t let fear of what imaginary people in your mind might think stop you from doing something you actually want to do. That’s ridiculous.
You’re going to break down sometimes, but just let it happen. You’re going to be okay and someday, maybe two years down the line when you feel pretty good, you’ll read back some journal entries from when you felt so alone. So stuck and confused. Maybe you won’t know exactly how you got out of the hole, but it was probably because you trusted that it would happen.
Everything is going to be okay.
Keep on cooking.
Wash your dishes.
Seek joy.
If you are new to this newsletter, you can read more about my journey and growth through the “archive” for more extended musings.
What lessons have you learned since 2020? Anything resonate with you? Let me know - I always love to hear from you.