FOOD RULES

     In no particular order:

1. Slice a red-pitted kiwi on the octagonal bias around the skin and making its head a flat base approach. 

2. Never go to Whole Foods on a Sunday morning run unless your fridge in both compartments are assuredly empty— i.e., money is precious these days, don’t overstock or overextend your groceries, please finish everything first before you spend again, no matter if what you’re eating the night before are only two apple bananas and tarragon tea. 

3. Always feel good about modesty.

4. Par-boil legumes and grains ahead of time (garbanzos, pintos, orzos, farros…) rinsed in tap water first and then drain, after immerse filtered cold water in the pot for a freshness bath, add each a tablespoon of butter and olive oil, add black pepper no salt, in the simmer for effects of introductory spice and creaminess when done, use later as salad ingredients or soup purées.

5. Be kind to an in-training checkout staff ringing up your food even if there’s a mistake let it go, smile, and say it’s all good, sincerely.

6. One thing you will notice in my kitchen if ever you come visit, it’s generally clean— expediency was a training I’ve learned as a moonlighting line cook in NYC, professional sanitation is vital to the purity of food, dispose rubbish as you go, always wipe down surfaces, work to the best you can immaculately and beautifully.

7. In the book Island by Aldous Huxley he wrote: “do everything lightly though you’re feeling heavy” - this is a favorite advise given me by my photographer cousin living in Paris - still try to eat something healthy, fellows, for your soul to keep from breaking its heart; you live for others too, cousin said, no matter if you’re alone.

8. Flavor in advance your ice cubes in the freezer so when your yearning for a drink they’re ready in your high ball glass swirling with tricolors (I make ginger tea ice cubes to mix with my homemade kombucha naturally sweetened by mango). 

9. Call your sister (or a closest family member you have around) while cooking and share what you’ve got going; you don’t have to bring up missing mom’s food, sometimes calling means that already, intuitively she knows, that her absence still burns hiding in your heart, instead keep it joyful like it always was when she was still alive.

10. Don’t cry. Be strong on your table. Love, live, write. You are the poet of your food.