“…and then they poured it into the ocean.”
A man I once wanted to date was describing his last two afternoons spent watching Tibetan sand mandala painters. These monks painstakingly labor over their intricate sand painting for days, only to destroy their art in the end – symbolizing 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 on a date. I can’t even recall his name. Our exchange, however, 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, without regret. My passion lies in the crafting, my delight in the sharing, others’ appreciation in its consumption.
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 recreation and occasionally my vexation. Two-Bit Tart chronicles what’s in my head and on my stove on any given day. It’s a candid account of my attempts to decipher life through my love of food; a window into an imperfect woman and chef chronicling her culinary vices.