bread and my home smells like heaven. The pizza dough for lunch is peacefully rising on the kitchen counter. My lavenders and arugulas are blooming. It’s winter, but today we woke up and it was spring. Because I’m happy, I’m sharing this message sent to my email by one my readers, Mery Sananes. Like me, she’s Venezuelan and I absolutely subscribe to what she wrote. It summarizes, in a beautiful way, the reason why I cook.
“All what you say in the 'about' section of your blog, is more than enough for me to write you.
I believe in the ritual of sitting around the table and talk and taste.
I believe in the ritual of making bread and setting the table for the children to smile.
I believe in the magic of legumes, fruits and vegetables.
I believe that in everybody’s hands is the possibility of making art from food.
I believe eating must be in Technicolor, not black and white.
We come from the same land, where friendship is tied to a guarapito (small, very light cup of coffee); homemade desserts so you always have something to give to your guests, or something for them to take home; where food is always an invaluable treasure, because even when there is not plenty, by cooking, you become a magician.
Because corn and coffee become poems on the stove.
And finally, because I like that I found you, I’ll come back to this site to pick up your secrets and light up my tables.”
Thank you Mery!