File Under: Things You Didn't Plan But Nailed Anyway

What I Found at the Bottom of the Fridge (And Under the Books)

This was supposed to be a salad post. And then it turned into a manifesto.

Because that’s how it works, right?

You go looking for a lemon and find a deeper truth in the crisper drawer.
You write a recipe and realize it’s actually a love letter.
A little vinegar, a little clarity. Shake. Serve chilled.

I almost didn’t post it at all as we tend to do when something feels a little too personal.
But some things need to be said without a filter,
and someone has to say them first.

If you’ve ever wondered whether this space is for you?

It is.
It always has been.

I Would Never Gatekeep This has always been—and will always be—a space where all are welcome.
All identities. All ages. All expressions. All walks.

Yes, I speak directly to women in most of my work.
That’s the lens I know best, the lived experience I can speak to with truth.

But that doesn’t mean others are excluded.
It simply means: I speak from where I stand.
And from here? I see you.

This has long been a space where LGBTQ+ folks, especially trans women, have felt safe, seen, and celebrated.
That won’t change.
Not now. Not quietly. Not ever.

This isn’t a brand value.
It’s a soul value.
It’s the invisible thread that runs through everything I do.

Because I carry the people I love, protect, and stand beside into every room I enter, including this one.

So if you’re here trying to move forward while the world feels like it’s closing in?

Welcome.
We start by noticing.
Then we create space.
Then we reclaim what’s ours.

The photos?
The pretty pics?

They’re not the whole story.
They’re the doorway.

The deeper work?
It’s this. The clarity. The self-trust.
The knowing of who you are and what you stand for—especially when everything around you feels unsteady.

So in case it’s ever been unclear:
I stand with you.
Not because it’s trendy.
Not because it’s topical.
But because it’s true.

And after all that truth-telling, I figured we could use a snack and lucky for you, I’ve been teaching my son how to cook.

Not follow a recipe, actually cook. Taste, stir, ask what it needs. Taste again. Add a splash. A pinch. A little more lemon. Trust yourself.

And no—this is not turning into another tiny fruit rant.
(Although if you missed that unhinged ode to micro produce and women in boxes, I’ll leave it here.)
I promise this post is 100% fruit-free.
Well, unless you count the lemon. Which I do.

Anyway. Back to the salad. And the metaphor.

Because that’s also, incidentally, how I live and work.

There’s no single recipe for the creative work I do.
And thank God for that—because if there were, I’d ignore it anyway.
(You’ve met me. You’ve seen the tiny fruit soapbox.)

Yes, I’m a creative director.
A writer. A former chef. A mentor inside Photo Club.
An editorial shoot producer. A personal brand strategist. A forever student of visual language, and a woman who once turned a Vogue deep-dive into a personal essay about lemon slices and the patriarchy. Sooo.

Let’s just say: my process isn’t linear.
But it is layered. Curated. Lived. And usually served with a side of good lighting.

This Substack?
It’s the one place I don’t have to choose which version of me gets to show up.
It’s all welcome here, the meals, the musings, the moments when you realize the salad wasn’t actually about the beans.

As Emily Grosvenor (editor of Oregon Home Magazine and writer of I Would Do It Differently) put it so kindly when she featured this space last week:

“I really enjoy all the things you do to explore the self.”

Same, Emily.
Same.

There’s room for all of it here. The layers. The leftovers. The tiny soapboxes. The big feelings. We mix. We toss. We serve. We repeat.

A Very Good Bean Salad (Non-Recipe)

I’m a chef, not a food stylist.
Which is part of why I hesitated to share this photo.

But the salad was too good and honestly, if you’ve ever told someone you used to cook professionally, you’ll know the exquisite pain of no one ever wanting to cook for you again.

So the thrill of my son cooking with me lately? Extra special.

And this? This was our “there’s nothing in the fridge” moment that turned into a crunchy, lemony, deeply satisfying bowl of magic.

Here’s how it happened (roughly):
– 2 cans black beans
– Thinly sliced radish, red onion, and red cabbage (mandolin = helpful but not required)
– A few stray green onions, snipped with kitchen scissors
– Pickled radishes & a handful of Kalamata olives for salt and bite

The dressing (no measuring required):
– 4 cloves garlic, grated
– Half a lemon
– Splash of champagne vinegar
– Really good olive oil
– Dijon (Trader Joe’s is solid)
– Maldon salt + black pepper

Shake it up in a jar. Pour generously. Toss. Let it sit for 30 minutes at room temp.
Eat it straight from the bowl. With someone you love, if possible.

PS. I’m a creative director and a solid photographer, just not (yet) in food.
Total respect to the artists who make it look like poetry on a plate. I’m not there yet. But flavor-wise? 10/10. No notes.
And if you invite me over, I promise to bring something delicious.

The Books Under the Books (Because I Know You Zoomed In)

This week’s faves are brought to you by my coffee table.
More specifically, the photo I shared (scroll back if you missed it).

Apparently, I'm not the only one who zooms in to see which books are under the books.
Respect. I do it too.

So here's a peek at what's currently in my rotation, books I'm reading, referencing, quietly drooling over, or just not-so-subtly using as visual personality traits.

For the farmers market romantics:
Elizabeth David on Vegetables – If you think vegetables need deep-frying or mayo to be edible, this will change your mind. Elegance meets simplicity. The writing is transportive. The photos? Impeccable.

For the “wait, why do I love this?” people:
It’s All Easy by Gwyneth Paltrow – Yes, really. The recipes are fine. But the photos? Stunning. I kept buying her cookbooks without knowing why—until I realized: it’s the photographer. That’s the magic.

For the secretly vegan-curious:
Oh She Glows by Angela Liddon – A gift I haven’t fully read, but I’ve made enough from it to vouch for the deliciousness. I’m not even vegetarian. The photos aren’t groundbreaking, but the food is.

For the kitchen-with-kids crew:
Green Kitchen Smoothies – Playful, nourishing, beautiful. The kind of book that makes smoothies feel like a lifestyle. A quiet lifesaver if you’ve got little ones.

For the moonlit mystics among us:
Waking the Witch by Pam Grossman – If you know, you know. A friend sent this after I mentioned it in passing. It’s at the top of the stack for a reason.

For the quietly brilliant cooks:
Super Natural Every Day by Heidi Swanson – These recipes feel like someone knows you and cooked for you on a Sunday morning. Thoughtful, nourishing, unfussy. Photos are clean, calm, quietly artful.

For the visual dreamers + brand builders:
A Beautiful Mess Photo Idea Book – Not a strategy guide, but a sweet reminder of why we pick up cameras in the first place. Their early visibility work through style and storytelling? Iconic.

For the seasonal stylists:
The Wreath Recipe Book – If you’ve ever wanted to become a woodland fairy with excellent taste, this is for you. Subtle, styled, and a feng shui dream for seasonal shift lovers.

For summer grill queens (and kings):
Asada: The Art of Mexican-Style Grilling by Bricia Lopez – A vibrant gem. Rich flavors, beautiful stories, and the kind of recipes that make you want to plan a dinner party right now.

Honestly, this isn’t even the full stack.
But if you want more? Hit reply. I’ve got plenty more under the books under the books.