“…and then they poured it into the ocean.”
A man I once aspired to date was describing his last two afternoons spent watching the Tibetan sand mandala painters. These monks painstakingly labor over their sand painting for days, only to destroy their art in the end – a symbol of life’s impermanence.
“I’d be heartbroken to devote all that time creating art only to see it demolished,” I declared.
“Isn’t that what happens with your cooking?” he wryly replied.
We never did go out. I can’t even recall his name. Our exchange, though, has remained with me. Food IS my art and it took a nameless man to show me that. My kitchen is my studio where I practice and play. At its denouement, my art is devoured, demolished. My passion lies in the crafting, my delight in the sharing.
The experiences at my stove echo my life’s triumphs and fiascos…and ever-present self doubt. My kitchen is bomb shelter and Band-Aid, my respite when I’m overwhelmed and my surefire reason for procrastination. It’s my voice, my meditation, my pleasure and often my vexation.
Two Bit Tart chronicles what I’m thinking, doing and cooking right now. Sometimes my endeavors succeed, but oftentimes not. It’s a candid account of my attempts to decipher life through my love of food, a window into an imperfect woman, blissfully cooking imperfect dishes, while seeking the meaning of life.
A culinary school graduate and an itinerant student of Italian gelato, pastry and most recently pasta fresca, I call myself neither Chef nor expert, but a chronicler of culinary vice.