This Squash Soup Was SO Good I Almost Chugged It.
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Hey Reader, You've probably noticed the writing that precedes my recipe inspo has gotten shorter and shorter. This was partly because I was traveling a lot, partly because I was doing a lot of writing elsewhere, and partly because I worried that many of you didn't sign up for my rather long ramblings on this, that, or the other. And I get it. But, two updates: (a) just handed in the draft of the first chapter of my memoir; and (b) was just told that Cookbook 2 is on its way into production! This means the proverbial pen can rest "elsewhere," leaving it free to spill its ink here. Still, I want to be respectful of your inbox. Hence, I'll be sending my "storytime" missives in a separate email. These more narrative messages will cover a wide range of things, but if I had to pick a theme that connects them all, it would be Relationships. Relationships with your family, your friends, your colleagues, your community, and, perhaps most importantly, yourself. My hope is that you'll find these writings/essays enlightening, even empowering. That said, if you'd like to just receive my weekly recipe email (which is totally cool!), click here ! If you'd like to receive both, you don't have to do anything. And without further ado, here's this week's recipe! This Week's Recipe Inspo.
What I'm... Parting Thoughts. I recently spent a couple hours in Paris. I took a train in from Belgium JUST so I could enjoy a croissant and a cappuccino, before hopping on a plane to my next destination. Why such a short trip to Paris? There was a time in my life when I used to fantasize, quite regularly, about doing just this: dropping into Paris for a croissant and cappuccino, before moving along with the rest of my day. I remember this period in my life so vividly. Every Saturday, I'd head to the salon to get my hair and makeup done. I can still smell the air as I walked out of the salon—the cigarette still cooling on the pavement, the hint of algae from the lake, the diesel oil leaking from the Benz parked right in front. I can still hear the “clack clack clack” of my slingbacks as I strode to the cafe. The jingle of bells as I pushed open the sea-green door. The smell of yeast enveloping me like an unrestrained embrace, the kind I’d had so few of in my life. The kind that made me at once wistful and uncomfortable. “One croissant and a cappuccino, please,” I’d tell the young woman over the glass display. And already, I was playing a part: “Paris Joanne,” even though I couldn’t speak French. Even though I’d never dream of actually going to Paris. Even though I hadn’t the faintest clue of whether Parisians actually ate croissants or whether this was just something you see in the movies. It didn’t matter. For the next couple hours, I could live in this tiny little world I’d created at this tiny little cafe on Oak Street, where I’d pull apart the flakiest croissant, marvel at its butteriness like only a woman who’d eaten real French croissants could, and adjust the lock of hair that kept dangling in my face like the c’est la vie woman I so desperately wanted to be. But wasn’t. Because, inevitably, I’d have to get back in my car, turn on the engine, adjust the rearview mirror, and drive back to Real Joanne. Tired Joanne. Sad Joanne. Trapped Joanne. Sometimes, saying goodbye to Paris Joanne…? Seeing her shrink in the rearview mirror? I thought it would kill me. I share this little snapshot of my life because I cannot emphasize enough how IMPOSSIBLE I thought it would be for “Real Joanne” to merge with “Paris Joanne.” I did NOT see the path that could bring the two together. It was hidden from me for a very very long time. Until one day? I could see it. And I decided to do the FREAKING HARD WORK to build that path, step onto it, and eventually… WALK IT. If you feel like any of this applies to you? I hope you take away one thing: You deserve to walk it too. Wishing you all the best,
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