Collecting leafy lettuce & juicy strawberries in my sun-drenched San Francisco garden
Even as a kid, I loved to create. I loved mes classes de travaux pratiques (practical classes) in school: electronics, metal, woodworking, sewing, etc. I loved the magic of creating something out of nothing, I loved the practicality of it (most school subjects seemed like useless crap to me), I loved using my hands, and I really loved using what I made.
The dream of the perfect “thing” in my head, to having to realize it. Going from the perfect one in my head to having my hands make it, and realize the struggle and see how the compromise would almost always enhance it for the best… I used to wonder why and how one could be happy with a wanna-be version of the perfection your mind conceived… it became clear that it had to do with the fact that what is done with love, care, hopes and your own sweat always comes out “perfect” nonetheless. Remember the last time you looked at a mother completely mesmerized at her little one, and thinking to yourself “what on earth???!!!!”. And all the sudden you also start to see the child in a different light, for now the light surrounding that child is the light of love, care, hopes and hard work the mother looking at her in this moment is radiating all around her precious little one.
And I love getting stuff ready. Even vegetables, when I’m cooking, the process of transforming a raw product of nature into something that will be delicious and beautiful for me – and others – to eat.
Beautiful Himalayan pink salt in a Fijian Kava bowl
I love growing food, and seeing the process of planting seeds, caring for plants, and then harvesting them for my own table. Not only do the fruits and vegetables taste different, I have a completely different relationship to them. They are meaningful to me in a way that something bought somewhere else can never have.
Could it be why my friends always seem to rediscover the true taste, flavor and aroma of fruits and vegetables when they come to my home?