On the quiet art of tending a life — your garden, your table, your people, yourself. Slow living, seasonal cooking, intentional wellness — from a Pacific Northwest island where the ferry schedule enforces a certain relationship with time.
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When Jean-Michel asked for something different on the grill, ground beef stuffed peppers were the unexpected answer. Flavourful, inexpensive, and completely at home beside the boerewors.
On a question asked in a field of dahlias overlooking Penn Cove, what the research says about time, money and happiness, and the radical act of spending your hours on things that have no return on inv
On a cheese-making class, a protein-rich lunch I have eaten almost every day for a year, and the quiet ritual of making something rich and creamy and entirely your own.
On a moment during the Tour de France, what it revealed about generosity and team, and why ruthless self-interest does not always carry the day.
On well-worn recipe books, a Facebook group for South African cooks, and the mielietert that has earned a permanent place at our table.
On recovering from surgery, watching friends take the long way round, and the hard-won discovery that the outcome is almost always better when you stop pushing.
On opposing salad philosophies, a South African braai, and the carrot and fennel salad that finally settled the argument.
On Merlin, a backyard chair, a Kindle I sometimes forget to open, and why technology is at its very best when it slows you down instead of speeding you up.
On gâteau salé — the rustic French appetizer that looks impressive, requires almost no skill, and can be made entirely ahead. Five variations included.
On a clematis vine in full bloom, a labradoodle who greets you like you've been gone for a year, and the quietly radical idea my friend Kate left behind when she died.
