Emilee, who was around 18 at the time of this tale, was dating a slightly older man named Jody. At the time, Jody had a 2-year-old son. One spring day, before Easter, they headed to Weston, a town of about 3,500 people, 40 minutes north of Sutton, to buy his son an Easter basket and candies for it. But before buying these things in Weston, he suggested they go visit a “buddy” of his. Being a good sport, Emilee was along for the ride and also thought to herself, “The older, cute guy wants to show me off to his friends, you know?”

“So, we get off the highway and take multiple turns on these dirt roads,” she said, and continued, “We’re in the middle of nowhere. And we pull up to this house…”

“What does it look like?” I asked, sipping on my Bourbon. The Elk River, which is 172 miles long and is part of the Mississippi watershed, stretched out behind us, babbled quietly, as the pitter-patter of rain began to fall.

“It is a plywood house. There is no siding on it. Literally, it was, like, whatever scraps were brought to this guy, he built this house out of it.”

I recalled how she had referred to him as a specific type of man, so I asked her again, “And you called him a Mountain Man, right?”

“Yes,” she replied, “He was very much a Mountain Man. So, we pull up, and there is a claw-foot bathtub outside.”

We both started laughing, given the stereotypical nature of this image. It doesn’t get more West Virginia than a clawfoot bathtub in the middle of the forest, plopped on top of a mountain, now does it?

“There is a panel on one side and a panel on the other side. Out steps a naked Mountain Man from the full bathtub, and he says, “‘Hey!’ Waving real big at [Jody] across the driveway, and says again, ‘Hey! I haven’t seen you for a while!’” (She sees all of his “bits,” of course, when he stands up out of the sudsy, dirty-looking water.)

Emilee told me that while Mountain Man was drying off, she and Jody entered the plywood house made from various types of scraps. Being that Mountain Man was apparently one with nature, they didn’t have any trouble entering the house, as the door was wide open, letting in all sorts of critters, insects, and anything else that blew through the entry. Upon going inside, the first thing Emilee saw was a “massive, nasty ass” aquarium, which had the largest “yellow Boa constrictor” she had ever seen in her life.

She continued, “It was so big, that the tail was so big, the shed was probably about 2 foot on the floor up the wall and then 2 to 3 foot across the ceiling. It was tacked up there for decoration.” What she means is that the snake had shed its skin, and Mountain Man had pinned up the snake’s skin on the floor and also across the ceiling. That’s quite an interesting choice of, er, “natural artwork” to display for visiting guests, like Emilee and Jody. Apparently, that’s what Mountain Men might appreciate in those parts of West Virginia, although Emilee found it quite off-putting. Alas, she is not a Mountain Man. (It also seems, based upon conversing with Emilee, that folks in the state are fond of pet snakes, as she has also owned a few of them as well, and currently owns a snake named “Dude,” after “The Dude” from The Big Lebowski. She let me know that her snake “does abide,” too.)

I asked for further clarification about the skin, and Emilee confirmed that it was stapled to the ceiling and floor, adding, “It was probably about 16 foot long.”

“Wow,” I said, sipping some more of my Bourbon. “Oh, my God.”

“Yes, a massive albino Boa constrictor.”

But that wasn’t the only pet snake that the Mountain Man had. Emilee then said, “I sat down on the couch, and I looked in front of me, and there was this coffee table. It was a black box with a clear piece of glass on top of it, and in this glass—it was like a little terrarium, a little habitat set up, and I realized that there was a fucking copperhead inside this table, and that’s just something that he had caught.”

So, Mountain Man was a pet curator, too!

For those unaware, the Eastern copperhead is a venomous snake. While fatalities are uncommon, if bitten by them, the wound causes extreme discomfort, swelling, and even tissue damage. Once bitten, immediate emergency medical care is necessary. So, it’s not really a great idea to have these snakes as pets. But Mountain Man most likely didn’t care about those things. Clearly! Discomfort be damned! Swelling be damned! And fuck the potential for tissue damage! Mountain Man could withstand those issues. (If this guy is still alive, my hunch is he’s a MAGA man, too.)

Mountain Man finally arrived inside his plywood house, and he was fully dressed at this point. Jody introduced Emilee to him, and Emilee, naturally, because she is a normal human person and has manners, said to him, “Hey! What’s your name? I didn’t get your name earlier.”

And the Mountain Man curtly replied to her: “Oh, I’m just Another. Another Brother. And then we got two ostrich eggs from him.” Emilee began laughing hard, as did I. Did this man spring from a Faulknerian novel? Or perhaps Emilee was being sucked into an O’Connor short story without knowing it?

“But Another Brother was a white man, right?” I asked, stirring the last bit of my Bourbon with a straw, intrigued by Another, the strange Mountain Man, wondering where he was now.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emilee said, adjusting her glasses.

The rain began to fall more heavily, hitting the Elk River’s currents behind us, creating a natural harmony of sounds that matched the soft lull of the crickets. The resident cat, an orange tabby, stirred outside the open doors of the bar and mewed ever so quietly, unbothered by our boisterous laughter.

“Another Brother was this really, dirty ass, shaggy white man,” she added.

I guffawed, as did Emilee. The tabby suddenly left to find his sleeping spot for the rest of the evening.

I then asked Emilee to describe Another’s physique.

“I’d say he was about 6 foot, real thin, athletic. He had natural muscles, you know, a fit physique.”

“Ah, yeah. I know the type.”

“So, we hang out for a while with Another. We smoke a bit.”

“With Another,” I said, smirking. I then again begin to wonder, “Another what? Another man? Another stranger? Another friend? And he also referred to himself as Another brother.” Was there something psychological about that? There are so many possibilities to add to the determiner “another”—it’s nearly endless. It’s one additional, extra, or different person or thing. I wanted to find this Another and ask him why he called himself that. Because he clearly left off “brother” at times, as did Emilee when referring to him.

“But he was super paranoid when I asked him his name, and I thought I was just being normal in introducing myself, and he was highly offended that I asked him his name.” And, yes, Emilee was right, as I said already. She was being a totally normal human being in asking him his name, and somehow this caused him great angst.

“Right. Right,” I responded in total agreement. (And who the hell calls themselves Another? Well, apparently, some wild, odd, shaggy-ass Mountain Man in West Virginia.)

As for Emilee asking him his name, as we are all aware, it’s commonplace to ask one another to announce who we are when we first meet each other, which typically means providing a first name in the very least, if not one’s last name, too. It would sure have been interesting to go through life refusing to give people my name upon first meeting them…

Apparently, though, Another must have loosened up some after they smoked a bowl together, as he asked Emilee and Jody if they wanted to go see his alligator, to which Emilee said, “This is not typically what people in West Virginia say, but I was, like, ‘yeah!’ So, he takes me outside, and there is this square, wooden box. He opens it up, and there is a heat light in there, and a fucking alligator. It was probably about 4 foot long, and he grabs it by its mouth and tail…”

“What?” I shrieked, nearly spitting out my drink.

“Yeah, he grabbed it by its mouth and tail, and he’s showing it to me from different angles.”

“He grabbed it by its head?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, and I, like, got to touch it because I’d never touched an alligator.” (Like most of us.)

“Right, because who has touched an alligator?”

“So, then he lobs it back in the box and shuts the door really quick. And then he said, ‘Come to this side, I got some donkeys I want to show ya. I say, ‘Oh, cute. Little donkeys, and he has, like, this little barbed-wired fence, and he has these little donkeys in this massive field, and it’s dark at this time, and then all I hear…”

Emilee began to beat her hands vigorously on the wooden bar top, making a loud, rhythmic sound that drowned out the soft sound of rain hitting the river's currents outside. She made this sound for several seconds, catching me off guard.

She abruptly stopped and asked, “What the hell is that? I wondered.”

My eyes widened, and I asked her, “What was it?”

“I can see the donkeys, and the donkeys are not running towards me. And I look over, and there is a herd of fucking emus charging at me in fucking central West Virginia again. So, there were ostriches, emus, a boa constrictor…”

Fittingly, a group of emus is a mob, and that is something out of a nightmare if I ever found myself in that situation. Emus are dangerous birds. While they aren’t as deadly as cassowaries, I still wouldn’t want a mob of them running in my direction.

“Wait, so, ostriches, emus…”

“Yes, ostriches, emus, peacocks…”

“Peacocks,” I repeat after her.

“Alligator,” she adds. “Boa constrictor, copperhead. Donkeys.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, sighing.

“That’s what I encountered that day,” she adds, laughing.

“And your boyfriend took some ostrich eggs?”

“Yes, he took two ostrich eggs, because they are supposed to be really great to eat.”

“Wow.”

“But I did not eat them,” Emilee replied, laughing. “Yep. That was Another Brother.”

“Another Brother.” I let out a long sigh and laughed again.

“Shaggy, ass white boy.”

We both laughed.

We talked more into the night, about serious things, too, things that touched on the state of affairs in the country, and how those things have affected the small town of Sutton, and in ways that aren’t so great. I had the honor and pleasure of meeting Emilee’s daughter, a beautiful, energetic, smart young person who dreams of attending NYU to study acting. (I sincerely hope she gets accepted there and is able to live out that young life of being in New York City as a young adult. I’m sure that would be thrilling for Emilee, too, being able to visit her daughter in the Big Apple.)

I was humbled that Emilee opened up to me, shared some of her life stories, and agreed to let me write about her here. I was the only one at the bar, so I had her all to myself. It was an unforgettable tale about Another. We both suspect he might be dead, as he sounded like a wild man, a Mountain Man of West Virginia, surrounded by exotic animals, tucked away in the forests of an untamed, rugged part of the country.

Every time I drive through West Virginia, which is quite often, I am taken aback by its raw beauty and its people. This time around was really special for me, thanks to Emilee telling me her stories. When I get back there, I look forward to going back to Sutton, returning to Emilee’s bar, and hearing more tales that she has to share.

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Estimated prep time: 1 hour

Serves: 6 - 8 people

Ingredients for Marinara sauce (10):

• 2 (14.5 oz.) cans stewed tomatoes (I always buy mine imported from Italy)

• 1 (6 oz.) can tomato paste (Just like my tomatoes, I always purchase the paste from Italy)

• 1 medium-sized red onion, diced

• 4 tablespoons of Italian flat-leafed parsley, chopped

• 5 cloves of garlic, minced

• 5 tsp dried oregano

• 1/2 cup of white wine

• 2 tablespoons olive oil

• Fresh ground black pepper to taste

• Heavy pinch of salt

Ingredients for creamy tomato-based pasta (14):

• 2 tablespoons olive olive

• 2 cups of water

• 1 medium-sized red onion, diced

• 2 red bell peppers

• 5 gloves of garlic

• 1 lb of hot Italian sausage

• 1 lb of sweet Italian sausage

• 3 tsp fennel seeds

• 2 lbs rigatoni

• 1/4 cup dry white wine

• 1/2 quart heavy whipping cream

• 1/4 cup fresh basil

• 2 cups Parmigiano Reggiano

• Homemade Marinara sauce

• 3-6 tsp Calabrian chili peppers (optional)

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Tools That You’ll Need (3):

• Large skillet

• 2 wooden spoons

• Scissors

• Dutch Oven or Large Pot

• Knife (As I said in my previous piece, and I’ll say over and over again, I invested in two Japanese knives made by Imarku, one of which is the 7” cleaver knife that is currently on sale for $47—it’s the one linked to Imarku’s name. It’s usually $129. I use it for everything. Kyoku is another great option.)

• Wooden cutting board

Directions for Marinara Sauce

1. Place stewed tomatoes, tomato paste, parsley, garlic, oregano, salt, and pepper in a food processor or blender; blend until smooth

2. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the red onion and cook until slightly softened and translucent, about 2 to 3 minutes. (Do not brown.)

3. Stir in blended tomato sauce and 1/2 cup of white wine.

4. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sauce has thickened, about 30 minutes.

5. Set aside.

Directions for Creamy Tomato Sausage Pasta

1. Heat the olive oil in either a Dutch oven or a large pot over medium heat, and saute the red peppers and onions until they soften, about 7-8 minutes.

2. Stir in the garlic, fennel, and the Calabrian chili peppers, plus a good pinch of salt and black pepper.

3. Crumble the 2 pounds of sausage into the skillet and cook with the other ingredients until it’s completely browned. Pour the wine into the skillet, then deglaze the bottom and sides.

4. Pour in the marinara sauce, plus 1 cup of water. Add the pasta and stir it into the mixture until well-combined.

5. Bring the liquid to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low, and cover. Allow the liquid to simmer, stirring from time to time at first and then more frequently to prevent the pasta from sticking to the bottom, for about 15 to 17 minutes. Every few minutes, stir in a little of the remaining cup of water. Do not let the water boil.

6. When the pasta is al dente, stir in half a quart of cream, 2 cups of Parmesan, and most of the basil (leave some aside for garnish). Make sure to heat the cream up for at least a few minutes. Season again with salt and pepper to taste. Allow the dish to cool and then sprinkle the remaining basil over the top. Serve.

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Further Reading

Much to my delight, when we visited the Anchorage Museum while visiting Alaska, there was an exhibition dedicated to dogs. The show was predominantly dedicated to the role dogs play, and played, in the lives of the Alaskan indigenous peoples, but there were also pieces of art that solely celebrated humans and their relationships to these special creatures.

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Furthermore, two new scientific papers in Nature now indicate that our relationship to dogs goes back further than previously believed. The papers show that dogs, genetically different than wolves, were close to humans more than 14,000 years ago. That means that even before human beings were farming, dogs were “a common part of life across many ancient cultures.” In addition, dogs are the only domesticated animals in the pre-contact Arctic.

The show began with a moving, haunting short clip of Kimutsik (Dog Team) by Glen Gear, which he created in 2022. This clip is part of a series that confronts the Canadian government’s violent removal of the Inuit from their land into permanent settlements. This led to a horrific loss of their dogs, which included seasonal movement across land. The exhibition note stated, “By the 1970s, the Canadian Inuit Dog was nearly extinct.” Gear describes these dogs as “spirit dogs,” and he is chasing after them, not sure of where they’ve been or where they are going. (The clip is worth watching. It’s only 29 seconds long.) Here are a few stills from it below.

Next up was Sara Tabbert’s “Black Dog Winter,” created in 2001. This piece of art, created with India ink on birch plywood, was inspired by a huge German Shepherd named Rupert, with whom Tabbert spent a winter. She was gifted a retired sled dog shortly after spending the winter with Rupert, and said, “Adventures and misadventures ensued. I can’t now imagine life without a dog.”

Around the corner from Tabbert’s piece was a phenomenal photo of “Icy.” (I took a picture of the placard for “Icy,” but it didn’t have the artist’s name. I also did research online, but to no avail. If I’m able to find the creator’s name, I will update this entry here.)

This image stole your heart, as it’s intended to do. The little pup also did the same to the artist, as they wrote, “Before I could decide which puppy to pick, she came up to me and her eyes reminded me of the crystalline ice in winter.” Indeed, those eyes are filled with endless pools of deep affection.

This exhibition wouldn’t have been complete without the story of Balto. When Nome, Alaska, had a deadly diphtheria outbreak in 1925, communities across the entire state came together to deliver medicine from Seward to help them fight the bacterial disease. Seward was over 1,000 miles away from Nome. Initially, the medicine was shipped by train, but eventually the last 500 miles were covered by mushers1 and their dogs. Musher Gunner Kaasen and his dog, Balto, completed the last part of the journey. Balto was the lead dog. With his bravery, they made it to Nome, despite encountering a raging blizzard.

We should also recognize Togo. He was also highlighted in the show. He’s not as well-known as Balto, but he is just as badass. Togo led Leonhard Seppala’s team to deliver the serum in 1925, too. Togo encountered moving ice along the Norton Sound and temperatures that dipped below -85° degrees fahrenheit!

As we know, since our dogs are beloved to us, they have become especially beloved to our children, which has led us to replicate them as figurines, toys, and stuffed animals. The show included toys to celebrate these dog-like imitations. Here are a few that I captured:

Then there were the images and paintings of the indigenous peoples with their dogs.

Then there were the gold prospectors in the 1920s, too (gold mining and prospecting began in the 1870s and became more large-scale in the 1920s), like this man with his dog.

The exhibition also included gear that the dogs wore on their treks. The gear included sleds, harnesses, backpacks, booties, and whips. The whips are not used to strike the dogs. Instead, the whip's snapping in the air spurs the dogs on. The dogs that race the Iditarod go through 1,500 to 3,500 booties for the 1,000- mile race. To honor the dogs, blankets are draped over them before or after their arrival in a village or town. The blankets are either embroidered or elaborately beaded, which is yet another indication of how much the Alaskan peoples tend to their dogs.

The exhibition also caught quiet moments of the indigenous people with their dogs. This one captured a young woman, a boy, and a dog together. The woman in this picture, perhaps the boy’s mother, is wiping hair away from her face, likely from a strong breeze from the Bering Sea behind her. She keeps the dog close to her, holding its collar. The boy, who appears to have rosy cheeks from the icy air, smiles for the camera while holding a small boy on his back.

I was also struck by this image, as the dog in the boat, alone, evoked a sense of loneliness.

The rest of the series I captured is simply dog- and human-centric and was not focused on the indigenous peoples of Alaska.

I loved the rich colors of this memorable painting. The beautiful ebony skin of the two dog owners, juxtaposed with their white dogs’ fur, is remarkable. The woman's green hair also stands in stark contrast to her interesting tasseled, rust-colored hoodie and jean jacket, as does the yellow cap that the man wears against his dark grey pants and black sweatshirt.

This different kind of love, as we know, speaks to the young couple’s dedication to their three pups, gathered tightly in their arms. Proud dog owners. Speaking of these three dogs, Cameroonian artist Elangwe says, “We look so different but so alike; you’re my soul’s true counterpart.” The owners’ faces beam with deep love for their furry friends in their arms.

This next one hit me as an intimate, private moment that we, as dog owners, often share with our dogs. The piece is by Brooklyn-based artist Arcmanoro Niles and titled “Tell Me You’ll Never Leave.” The softness of the moment, the hand cupped under the dog’s chin, his eyes turned upward, slightly closed, subtly conveying to his owner to stay—to please stay. Yes, it’s enough to break your heart, as you know how much you’re loved and adored, and yet you still must go to attend to human demands.

The next painting that struck me was by Ghanaian Ametefe Kukubor. Here, you have a symbiosis of colors, with mandarin oranges and deep browns. The two subjects stare at you suspiciously with the same intensity. We have rudely interrupted a moment that they were having together, and we are not invited to this conversation.

Kukubor says growing up in the ’80s in Ghana, people didn’t have much of a relationship with dogs, but that has since changed. Ghanaians, he says, now have a special relationship to dogs. That is clear in this painting between the young woman and her dog.

In the next painting, this breed, the Xoloitzcuintle, is one of my favorites. Referred to as Xolos, they are a hairless breed from Mexico that dates back 5,000 years.

This watercolor by artist Nery Gabriel Lemus depicts Caulli. Lemus chose the colors to memorialize Cualli.

If you are a dog owner, you know that a nap is not a proper one unless you’re joined by your dog(s). Nelson White’s “Afternoon Nap” (2021), oil on canvas, captures this leisurely, joyful activity perfectly with his English bulldog.

Nelson is part of the Mi’Kmaq peoples and a member of the Flat Bay First Nation Band in Flat Bay, Newfoundland. Nelson describes this as a moment of “serenity” with his dog Higgins. The painter only napped for 15 minutes, but Higgins would stay for 2 hours or more.

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Argentine artistic duo Leo Chiachio and Daniel Gianonne created the ingenious Coleccionistas de trapos (Rag Collectors). This beautiful hand-embroidered piece depicts the couple with their dogs, enjoying a relaxing moment in bed, celebrating everyday life as a “multispecies” LGBTQ+ family.

No exhibition would be complete without a photograph by Gordon Parks. Here, we have a lovely moment captured of a beautiful, young Black woman with her dog, both of whom are leaning out a window in Harlem.

In another very private moment, artist Shona McAndrew depicts a brown-haired woman with her dog, after she’s drawn a hot bath for herself. Her head is bent down, resting on her arm, as she languidly runs her finger through sudsy water, her loyal companion next to her side, both of their reflections looking back at them.

Finally, we have Oxford-based artist Annan Affotey, who painted his friend Paul, holding his little dog Norma. Affotey states that Paul is a loving, tender person, especially towards his family. Those sentiments come through in how he’s holding Norma so gently in this painting, who appears to be an aging, black Chihuahua with white scruff on her muzzle.

A deeply moving show, one for dog lovers around the globe, I left feeling replenished, uplifted, and missing my own dogs!

With that said, my dogs wish you a good day, and are glad I’m back from Alaska, although I’m currently just with two of them in Kansas. (Don’t worry, the other one—the Basset—is being well taken care of.)

Here’s a picture of them back in Maine on a walk in misty, cold weather.

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Further Reading

We appreciate all of you who joined us today to discuss fasting, breaking the fast, and other topics related to fasting and food. It was a really lively discussion!

As mentioned during the Substack live, she has many Substack projects here. However, her business is called The Conscientious Emigrant, where she brings her skills as a trained lawyer and policy analyst to help people emigrate from the US in “an intentional approach to their environmental, economic, and cultural impacts abroad.”

The Conscientious Emigrant by Conscientious Emigration™

Emigrating from the US with and intentional approach to environmental, economic, and social impacts abroad.

By Elizabeth Silleck La Rue, Esq.

As I said on Substack Live, I have Cryn’s Substack, which you can click on below to subscribe to, and also “Gather,” where I write about cooking, baking, imbibing, traveling, and Maine, as well as fasting.

The first article on fasting, “Fasting the Right Way,” is on “Gather” and was something we discussed during our conversation today.

We both mentioned that we will be partaking in a 5-day fast together in early May, so stay tuned for Substack Live when we do that (we’ll schedule it when we’re 4.5 days into it, so right around the time we’ll both be ready to break it).

Until then, stay healthy and safe.

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Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, and this should not be taken as medical advice.*

Intro

Let’s dive into it. There is a lot out there about fasting, both good and bad. I’ve curated the incisive, scientifically sound information for you, so you don’t have to look any further. I’m going to guide you through the process of fasting and provide details on what happens to your body when you fast, i.e., the science behind it. This will include the benefits of fasting and the pros and cons of coming off a longer 7-day fast. And when I say fasting, I mean fasting, i.e., no juice, no broth, just water, coffee, and tea.

I know this piece seems to depart from the topic of “Gather,” which generally focuses on abundance, cooking, baking, alcoholic drinks, and so forth, but I also like to hit pause on the consumption of food and alcohol, something I’ve been doing with my fasting buddy

For many who are new to the concept of fasting, it sounds like going into starvation mode. But that isn’t true. Fasting is an ancient concept, dating back thousands of years. Furthermore, consuming three meals a day is a relatively new pattern of eating, a result of the Industrial Revolution. In fact, during the Middle Ages, laborers would eat two solid meals a day, and the Romans believed it was healthiest to eat one meal a day, known as cena, which they typically ate at four in the afternoon.

When it comes to fasting itself, it takes time to build up to a 7-day fast, so I recommend starting with shorter fasts of 14-16 hours over the course of several weeks, then increasing to 18, 20, 21, and 24 hours, and gradually shifting to 48 hours and 72 hours so your body can adjust to these fasted states. Elizabeth and I started fasting together in early January. The longest fast we’ve both done since then is 72 hours. We have also committed to doing a 5-day fast together in early May, so wish us luck! Currently, I’m on a 4-day fast (as of this writing, I’m at around 52 hours.)

Fasting vs. Starvation

Like so many people in our thin-obsessed culture, many of us have struggled, or still perhaps struggle, with disordered eating. Many people have struggled with starvation diets, especially in their early 20s and 30s. However, after a lot of therapeutic work and healing, doing the right type of eating, growing into one’s self, and more, it’s important to understand why this type of behavior is not only bad for the body but also hurtful to the mind. Furthermore, fasting is not the same as starvation. Starvation is a form of denial, punishment, self-abuse of the body and the mind. Fasting, on the other hand, is a form of rejuvenation, a reset, a healing. The whole body is allowed to rest when one fasts.

It’s important to distinguish between starving (restriction of food due to various circumstances, oftentimes psychological, or the withholding of food—not a choice) and fasting (an intentional choice to restrict food for a specific period of time for a purpose).

Pros

It helps us stay motivated to fast when we think about the tangible, medically proven benefits; we’ll delineate those below.

But, given the fact that it’s 2026 and we’re all teetering on the brink of a full-blown sociopolitical global meltdown and the associated economic instability that comes with it, there’s one major benefit that cannot be overstated:

Fasting is free, as in “gratis”. No money is needed. For us, it’s been a rough couple of years in terms of income. Like many of our readers, DOGE cuts earlier this year hit us hard. For Elizabeth, they effectively ended her main business (equitable conservation and environmental justice consulting to nonprofits and government contractors), and she pivoted almost entirely to Conscientious Emigration, supporting clients in leaving the US with intentional approaches to the environmental, economic, and cultural impacts of their emigration abroad. Still, it’s been a tough 5+ years since being laid off in 2020, at the height of COVID.

I know many, many people have stories like this. Money is tight, and grocery bills are steep. Insurance premiums have become inaccessible to many since Republicans allowed the valuable subsidies provided by OBAMACARE (thank you, sincerely, President Barack Obama) to expire.

Given all of this context, perhaps the best part of fasting (for fascist 2026) is that it’s free. No special supplements (besides Himalayan salt, maybe some carbonated mineral water, and apple cider vinegar). No expensive specialty foods. No medication. No cost.

One caveat is that if you’re cutting back on how much you eat, it’s important to make sure you have high-quality proteins and produce. But you can absolutely cut spending on groceries, especially if you cut out the preserved, packaged “snack” foods.

For me, I lost my corporate job in comms, PR, and writing, so it’s been tough on my wallet, too. Now, I’m a freelance writer and also have a Substack where I write about history, philosophy, current events, plus food, drink, recipes, Maine, and travel. The “free” part of fasting is great for me, too.

Now, let’s turn to the science of what’s happening to your body during fasting.

Autophagy

Autophagy is the process whereby your body “eats itself.” When you don’t eat for an extended period of time (beginning around 16 hours and exponentially increasing), your body begins to process your cellular waste. Contrary to old bodybuilding lore, your body does not start by eating muscle; instead, it targets weak, old, diseased, or damaged tissue. This ranges from sagging skin to cancer cells–it’s an entire rabbit hole interested readers should explore. It’s fascinating.

When Elizabeth fasted regularly, she noticed that the skin on her face and neck became tighter, despite her also losing weight. Usually, the opposite happens with weight loss. This is the primary reason she likes to do longer fasts - at age 46, she has a lot of autophagic “clearing” to do.

I, 48, have inflammation that causes my arthritis in my knees and wrist, which I broke when I was 6, to act up. Since I have started doing rolling 48- and 72-hour fasts every other week, I have noticed a significant decline in pain in these areas, which aligns with studies showing that fasting reduces inflammation. In fact, I thought I would never jog again, and a few weeks ago, I began jogging on the treadmill once more.

Ketosis

Ketosis, in simple terms, is when the body uses fat as fuel. Scientifically speaking, it’s a metabolic state where ketones or ketone bodies are produced from fat when glucose (sugar) isn’t available for energy. Ketosis lowers insulin levels and promotes fat burning.

Ketosis generally occurs 16 hours into a fast, but also when someone is on a Keto diet, i.e., when they are following a strict high-fat, high-protein, low-carb meal plan. One of the symptoms of Ketosis is bad breath. One can effectively test the body to determine whether it has entered ketosis using urine strips, breath tests, or a blood ketone meter; the latter is the most effective, as it measures blood levels of beta-hydroxybutyrate (beta-hydroxybutyrate is a ketone your body produces when it’s in ketosis).

Digestive rest

Elizabeth doesn’t know about all of you (!), but her gut has been through some things. At various times, she’s been told she has “leaky gut,” gastritis, GERD, and food sensitivities. She did not have good nutrition by any modern standard as a child or teen, and began eating better only as a young adult. She also drank a lot of alcohol and was overprescribed antibiotics as a teen. All of these things contributed to damaging her gut flora, which is important to fitness and overall wellness.

Fasting gives the digestive system a break and an opportunity to rebalance the gut flora. Elizabeth has noticed the benefits of fasting for her gut flora.

I have also suffered from digestive issues, especially as I got into my 30s and early 40s. In fact, when I was in my early 40s, I developed a debilitating digestive problem and went to the doctor numerous times to seek help. While the problem eventually solved itself, fasting has been key to giving my digestive system a rest and helping it rebalance the gut flora.

Inflammation reduction

As mentioned already, fasting has been proven to reduce inflammation, and Elizabeth can attest to this, too. She got very serious about intermittent fasting for the first time after she experienced a very bad back spasm. Since she couldn’t move—literally—she knew that anything she ate was likely to just get stored in fat cells. She noticed a marked difference in the pain levels during her eating periods versus her fasting periods.

With so many chronic diseases starting as inflammatory responses, this is a really important benefit that folks should know about.

Pitfalls

I came off a fantastic 7-day fast, the longest fast I’ve ever done, many years ago, and made a huge error afterwards.

What I did: First, I was ready to reward myself! Instead of going out and, say, buying myself a book, getting a massage, or enjoying something else, like a nice walk in the park, I went straight to a diner (smart!). I ordered a massive cheeseburger, deviled eggs, French fries, and a Manhattan to top it off (yikes!). I was with my partner and a good friend, and as soon as I took two bites out of my cheeseburger, I felt a massive wave of nausea hit me, like a cannonball had been dumped in my stomach. Since I hadn’t been around much food for the entire week, the entire restaurant’s aromas hit my nostrils like they were liquid missiles–all that grease, those baked desserts, those heavy roasts, every single scent came barreling into my nose simultaneously. I ran to the bathroom, ready to vomit. Luckily, nothing came up. I waited for at least 10 minutes before the nausea subsided, returned to the table, and ate nothing else for the rest of the evening. I know! I know! This meal choice was a terrible mistake. I learned my lesson. Don’t make the same mistake I did (lol).

What you should do (unlike what I did): When you come off a fast that’s 48 hours or longer, you need to be careful about what you eat. First, you should start with bone broth or a small smoothie. After that, steamed vegetables like spinach or broccoli are a good choice. Then you can move on to things like avocado toast, eggs, and simple carbs. Most importantly, you don’t want to make the mistake of eating sugary, high-carb, high-fiber, overly processed foods. (Alcohol should also be avoided for at least 48 hours or longer.)

There is such a thing as fasting too much: Our bodies are adaptable—this is a good thing, but it also means that it’s important to “mix it up” so that your body doesn’t get too used to a particular routine. For example, people who use the “OMAD” (One Meal A Day) method of fasting sometimes report stalled weight loss after long periods of time on the same schedule. (I am an OMADER). “Confusing” the body by mixing up your fasts, doing non-fast days, or switching to longer fasts punctuated by eating days can help. Also see notes above about eating disorders.

Conclusion

While many people fast for weight-loss benefits and to reach the end point (i.e., breaking a fast), there is also the experience itself, which brings clarity of mind, calm, and a sense of centeredness. Once you reach 72 hours on a fast and are in deep ketosis, you no longer feel hunger, as your body is in autophagy and your mind is operating at a different level. I say that, as a writer, I can focus deeply on my essays for hours at a time, in ways I am not able to when I am eating food. In addition, when I read or research, I find myself entirely hooked on the content I’m exploring.

Indeed, nothing compares to the peace of mind it brings, to the presence of mind I have, to being in the now that I feel while I’m fasting. My productivity, which I describe as being deliberate, calm, and intentional, is incredible. I look forward to my fasts now.

If you’ve fasted, what has your experience been like? Was it positive or negative?

Further Reading

https://www.doctorjasonfung.com/

https://www.drmindypelz.com/

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC12112746/

https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMra1905136

*Note: Fasting is not recommended for children or pregnant women. Medical professionals urge caution around eating disorders, especially in younger people.

I just got back from Anchorage, Alaska, yesterday afternoon, and I have a lot of notes to share about my visit there. One Thursday afternoon, I visited the Anchorage Museum, an astonishingly beautiful and architecturally sophisticated building, made of glass and wood, situated in downtown Anchorage.

The Anchorage Museum sits on the traditional homeland of the Eklutna Dena'ina, and is located at 625 C Street. The museum boasts collections of art, history, ethnography, ecology, and science. It is predominantly committed to studying and exploring the land, peoples, art, and history of Alaska. It also has exhibitions on a regular basis. It was first built in 1968 by architect Kenneth Maynard, with Schultz and Maynard. In 2003, the glass-façade, 26,000-square-foot expansion, designed by David Chipperfield Architects with Kumin Associates of Anchorage as the architect-of-record and Alcan General leading construction, opened to the public. The institution’s name was also changed to Anchorage Museum. For more details on the timeline of its architectural changes from 1968 through 2003 and beyond, go here. (The museum is now 247,000 square feet, all of which is open to the public.)

We went to three exhibitions that the museum offered on Thursday. Those were the following: “Dog Show,” “Tricksters & Sourdoughs: Humor and Identity in Alaska,” and “Cold War to the Cosmos: Distant Early Warning Systems & the Arctic.”

“Dog Show” and “Cold War to the Cosmos” were in-depth, fascinating, and examined how each topic related to the Indigenous peoples of Alaska. I had high hopes for the exhibition on humor, having worked extensively on the topic as a graduate student (not specifically on Alaska, of course), but it wasn’t nearly as thorough or as extensive as the other two I just mentioned.

The other parts of the museum, the permanent collections, were incredible, though. There is so much to take in about the Native Alaskans there. Here is one piece in the entry area: an Indigenous person, apparently being blown by the Arctic winds (he’s actually dancing) by Tony Weyiouanna. When you first step into the gallery, you’re also welcomed by two large geometric-style sculptures of a polar bear and a walrus. (I tried finding the name of the artist of these two sculptures, but I couldn’t seem to locate it. I also looked online, but to no avail.)

And, as I said, the architecture was stunning. The stairwells alone were remarkable, encased in black, a stark contrast to the dramatically high, sweeping, warm cherry-wood-colored walls.

Before heading to the “Dog Show” exhibit, I discovered another stunning piece by artist Susie Qimmiqsaq Bevins-Ericsen (1941 - ), titled “Dancing Spirit,” which was made with laminated birch, walrus ivory, pine, walnut, and cherry. (Qimmiqsaq is her Iñupiat name, and she is now an Anchorage, Alaska-based artist. Bevins-Ericsen was born in Beechey Point, Alaska, a trading post, and had a traditional way of life—hunting, fishing, and gathering—so when she first went to Anchorage, it was a shock for the family and her.)

As for “Dancing Spirit,” on the laminated birch, you see a spirit dancing in the wind, successively becoming freer from left to right, unfurling from a tight ball to an open being, flying away in the sky. In the center, the spirit becomes an explosive light, with flames radiating from it. Below are separate images that I took, depicting the spirit's metamorphosis. The final image is that of the entire piece itself.

Tomorrow, I’ll write about the “Dog Show” exhibition, as I spent a long time examining the pieces of art in that show. Then I’ll share my notes on “Tricksters and Sourdoughs,” along with “From Cold War to the Cosmos,” which turned out to also be a terribly sad exhibition about Project Chariot in Alaska that few Americans are even aware of. These write-ups will also feature the beautiful, deeply complex artifacts that were created by Indigenous peoples in the museum’s collection. The museum, as you can see, was a highlight of my trip.

After those pieces about the museum, I will share details on my dinner at Kincaid Grill, my trip to Alyeska Resort in the Chugach Mountains (we just went for breakfast, but we did see two moose!), spotting No Kings in Girwood (pop. 1,800), attending No Kings in Anchorage (it was a great turnout for the size of the city), thinking about the weird taxidermy at the Anchorage airport on my way out of the state (spoiler: giant, dead majestic animals make me sad), and finally heading home.

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Further Reading

Deets:

Name: Rustic Goat

Location: 2800 Turnagain Street, Anchorage, Alaska 99517

Contact:

Tel: 907.334.8100 | Email: info@rusticgoatak.com

Insta

FB

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After a day of recuperation, I was ready to get out of the room and eat a full meal in Anchorage, so we headed a few blocks west of Midtown to the Rustic Goat. As I mentioned in my first post about my visit to Alaska, the Rustic Goat is run by Executive Chef Frazer Buchanan, whose 17-year culinary career was spent in the lower 48, mostly in Utah, California, and Oregon. 4 years ago, he moved up to Anchorage and has invested all of his time in the Rustic Goat since then. Jamilab “Jam” Sturm Stigall is the front-of-the-house manager, who started as a host for the restaurant and never left. She was our lovely server, too, as we sat at the bar to watch all the action at in the kitchen, plus we arrived 2 hours earlier, since we had made a reservation for 7:45 pm, but both of us were hungy and decided to try our luck and see if there might be room at the bar, and it just so happened that we were able to grab two seats there.

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The restaurant's exterior is a modern, boxy wooden structure. The wood gives it a warm, inviting look and complements the surrounding fir trees and mountains. As you can see in the picture below, there are a multitude of windows that let in a lot of natural light and allow patrons to enjoy the nearby Chugach mountain range.

As mentioned, we sat at the bar and were immediately greeted by a warm and kind Jam. The interior was wood-filled and industrial, which gave it an interesting feel. I first ordered a bright, crisp rosé Cava from Spain. Once I was through with my aperitif, we ordered a bottle of Benton-Lane Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley. I am a huge fan of pinots from Willamette Valley in Oregon, and this one was no different. It had a soft, berry-like taste and lacked tannins, which I prefer. While we had our first sips of wine, we ordered Parmesan-encrusted fries with aioli sauce. (The fries were so delicious that I forgot to take pictures of them!)

After eating our French fries, we had our second course: a split salad of arugula, red and green apples, toasted maple pecans, balsamic vinaigrette, and Stilton blue cheese. I enjoyed watching the woman meticulously make our salads. When they arrived, and I took the first bite, I was amazed by the perfect balance of all the ingredients, and I looked forward to our main courses after this experience, knowing this kitchen had the know-how to use the right amounts of spices, herbs, and other ingredients.

After savoring the salad, Jam served us our main courses. My partner ordered the scallops and pork belly, served with parsnip puree and flat-top Brussels sprouts. The pork belly was braised in cider, and the Weathervane scallops, in a maple reduction sauce, were from Kodiak Island, an archipelago with about 10,000 residents.

Here’s what his dish looked like, and yes, folks, I did take a bite. The pork belly melted in your mouth like butter, and the scallops were sweet, soft, and delectable.

I ordered the American Wagyu stroganoff. It was served in an Oyster mushroom stroganoff sauce, with Dijon braising liquid and topped off with a large heaping of sour cream. The pasta was pappardelle, one of my favorite Italian pastas, made by the AK Pasta Company, a local Anchorage business. The plate, of course, was garnished with chives.

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As much as I liked my partner’s dish, this hearty, generous dish was the pièce de résistance. Every ingredient came together blissfully, and the Wagyu meat was the tenderest red meat I’d ever eaten, plus the mushrooms were a beautiful compliment. The creamy sauce was beyond delightful, and the sour cream just enhanced its creaminess that much more. They have taken stroganoff and made it soar to new heights when it comes to one’s taste buds. This type of dish is one for fantasies: cream, meat, and mushrooms. It has it all.

Once we were finished with our main courses, miraculously, we still had room for dessert. I wanted to order all four of the desserts they had to offer, and, yes, they make them all in-house, except, as Jam told me, the ice creams.

Although Jam said the matcha panna cotta was her favorite (it did sound incredibly enticing), I was yearning for chocolate, so I went with the flourless Mayan chocolate cake, with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream, and Graham’s Ruby Port as my nightcap. It did not disappoint, especially with the hint of cayenne pepper and the warm, rich cherry chocolate sauce.

Once again, like the French fries, I was so taken by the dish that I began eating it before realizing I needed to take a picture of it!

As you can imagine, the experience—the food, the ambience, the services—was fantastic. This place is the type of restaurant where, when you learn that someone is going to Anchorage, you immediately tell them, “You have got to make a reservation immediately at the Rustic Goat.” So, on that note, if you find yourself in Anchorage, hit this place up. You won’t regret it. It will be a highlight of your trip. When I return here, I will be returning there, wearing my Rustic Goat beanie, too.

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Further Reading

I’ve traveled up to Alaska this week, as my partner is on a business trip here, so he bought me a ticket to visit him for a few days. Since the Trump regime has created chaos at the airports, and it isn’t clear which airports are being affected by moronic ICE thugs overseeing the machines and check-ins, I got up at 0430 in the morning for a 0830 flight to Chicago on Wednesday from Baltimore. I arrived at the airport’s long-term parking around 0510 and got transportation to the terminal. Much to my relief, there were no ICE thugs in sight, so I got through TSA security easily.

While in Chicago, I broke my 62-hour fast on a delicious fennel sausage pizza and met a great young Black man, a native Chicagoan, who told me that ICE was all over the airport there. (I didn’t see them, since I was already checked through.) He told me he was in line with an ICE agent and that for every 4 passengers the TSA agent checked in, the ICE agent would check in 1 person. He found this actually “sus” because of how long the ICE agent took to check each person’s passport, which I think was a decent theory to have. Anyway, my new friend eventually headed off to his destination after I finished my meal for the day, and then I made my way to my own gate to depart for Anchorage. The flight was long and uneventful, 7 hours in total. On the flight, though, which was packed, I wondered what was bringing each person to this far flung place. While in Chicago, I did run across a couple from Northern Virginia (one of my many old haunts) who told me that their good friend had moved up to Fairbanks). But that only explained two people and their visit here. The rest of them remained a mystery to me. Obviously, many were visiting for pleasure, but what about all the others? It reminded me of when I would come to and from Maine, as it’s another place that is not an easy location to reach. Alaska is a helluva lot harder to get to than Maine though!

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As the plain approached Anchorage, and with very sore derièrres from sitting in one position for so long, everyone opened their window shades, we got our first glimpses of Alaska. Forgetting about our sore behinds, most of us immediately whipped out our cameras to take photos of the sublime, snow-capped mountain ranges, covered in pink and lavender hues of light below us.

When I first landed in Alaska, I had to have a smoke after the long flight (you know how we smokers are), so I quickly ventured to one of the smoking areas outside of Anchorage’s airport. There, I met three nice indigenous men who smiled widely with nearly tootheless grins. They were smoking pot, and the small covered booth where the three of them sat smelled strongly of it. One of them told me he’d like to bounce me on his knee like a baby, and I told him I was too old for that. We all laughed. Eventually, they told me they were waiting for a bus to return to their small village, explained how they enjoyed ice fishing, and how they dried the fish on the beams along their porches of their homes. I told them this visit was my first time to Alaska, so they welcomed me heartily. Eventually, my partner picked me up, so I bid them farewell and told them to stay warm. They all laughed and said that I was the one who needed to stay warm.

Since I got in late, and had eaten my one meal of the day, there weren’t a lot of options for eating since most restaurants were already closed, but we still wanted to grab a libation and my partner was still hungry, so we headed to an Irish pub called Blarney Stone in downtown Anchorage and had a few drinks before turning in for the evening at our downtown hotel. My partner also got the wings, which looked pretty effing good, and I got an old fashioned. The banter with the other patrons was jovial and the bartender was kind and made good drinks, so it was a satsifying experience.

This morning when I went out for my morning coffee and cigarette, I noticed a beautiful totem pole carved on the side of a building near our hotel. Most of today has been spent recuperating from my long flight, so I got up late (0745), looked for jobs in my room, and am now looking forward to going to an interesting restaurant, the Rustic Goat, that looks out onto the Chugach Mountains. The Rustic Goat is run by Executive Chef Frazer Buchanan. Buchanan’s culinary career for most of his 17 years was spent in the lower 48 in Utah, California, and Oregon. About 4 years ago, however, he moved to Anchorage. The Rustic Goat is a mixture of French and Italian cuisine. Once I’ve visited it, I’ll provide a review of what I thought of the restaurant, the food, and the ambience.

As many of you know, Alaska was purchased by the United States from the Russian Empire in 1867 for $7.2 million, which was roughly 2 cents per acre The treaty was signed on March 30, 1867. At the time there were approximately 30,000 indigenous people living in the area, plus a small number of Russians. For more details about Alaska and its relationship to the U.S., PBS created highlights to read here.

Since the United States was still recovering from the destruction of the Civil War, the new state was neglected after its initial acquisition. Furthermore, when Alaska was purchased, all the land went to “public domain.” This period of time was also fraught with difficulties for all indigenous peoples across the U.S. as assimilation was so-calleld policy for them, meaning that children were required to go to boarding schools and indigenous land was given to individuals. As we know now, these boarding schools were rife with sexual and physical abuse, along with murder.

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Since Congress terminated treaty making with native Americans in 1871, there were no treaties made with the Alaskan peoples. So, while there was next to no interaction bewteen the federal government and indigenous groups early on, things would change in later years. Even worse, when the transaction took place between Russia and the U.S., the indigenous people in Alaska were not consulted about it. So, like other cases in the United States, this becomes a land back matter. On this front, in June of 2025, House Resolution 43: Alaska Native Village Municipal Lands Restoration Act of 2025 (H.R. 43), and House Resolution 42: Amend Alaska Native Claims Act (H.R. 42) by the United States Senate were passed.

As the Native Federation.org’s press release states about these achievements on June 25, 2025:

H.R. 43 aims to restore Alaska Native village municipal lands that were lost or diminished due to previous legislation and policies. This act recognizes the importance of these lands in preserving cultural identity and promotes self-determination for Indigenous communities. By allowing for the restoration and management of these lands, the legislation empowers local governance and protects vital resources, facilitating community development in alignment with traditional values and practices.

H.R. 42 focuses on amending the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA), which was originally enacted in 1971. These amendments are designed to address long-standing concerns regarding land ownership, economic opportunities, and the benefits of resource development for Alaska Native people. The updates will streamline processes and improve access to education, health care, and infrastructure by ensuring that Alaska Natives can fully participate in the economic development of their regions.

That’s great news to learn for the indigenous people of Alaska.

More updates to come.

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[ANNOUNCEMENT: I have shut off my paid subscriptions because Substack allows literal Nazis to exist on this platform; I do not want any money from paid subscribers going to the founders. If you do wish to chip in and help me out, you can buy me a coffee here. Also, half the money still goes to my Palestinian family.]

Estimated prep time: 2 hours 20 minutes (20 minutes to make, 2 hours to bake and cool cookies)

Serves: 40 people (2 cookies per person)

Ingredients (5):

• 4 large whites, room temperature

• 1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar

• 1/8 teaspoon salt

• 1 (200 g) cup granulated sugar

• 1 teaspoon almond extract1

Tool That You’ll Need (3):

• Large piping bag

• Piping tip

• Stand mixer (or hand mixer—using a hand mixer will make it take a little longer)

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 225°F (105°C) and line a large cookie sheet with parchment paper or tin foil. Set aside.

2. Combine egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt in a large, grease-free bowl.

3. Pour the ingredients into the stand mixer bowl. Using the stand mixer, with the whisk attachment, stir on low speed until the mixture becomes foamy.

4. Once foamy, increase speed to high.

5. With the mixer still on high, slowly add the granulated sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time.

6. Beaut until mixture is thick, has a sheen, and has nearly tripled in size. The mixture should have stiff peaks, and the sugar should be totally dissolved. Test the mixture between your fingers. If it is gritty, the sugar is still not dissolved, and the mixture still needs to be run on high to smooth it out.

7. Once it’s smooth and the sugar is dissolved, add the 1 teaspoon of almond extract. If you are also using food coloring, add it now, too.

8. Next, fit a large disposable piping bag with a tip. Transfer the meringue to the piping bag and pipe onto the prepared cookie sheet. There doesn’t need to be much space between the meringue cookies, as they will not spread while baking.

9. Bake at 225°F (104°C) for 1 hour. After an hour, turn off the oven. Leave the oven door shut, and let the cookies cool completely inside it for another 1-2 hours before removing them.

10. The cookies should be crisp and can be stored in an airtight container away from heat and moisture. Enjoy!

An interesting fact about meringue, it was most likely not invented by the French! It’s attributed to a Swiss pastry chef named Gasparini in the 18th century. While there are many theories about the invention of meringue and meringue cookies, that doesn’t stop people from enjoying it in the different ways it is served (on top of cakes, served with pudding, offered as a solo cookie, etc.). So, when or if you find yourself baking these delectable treats, I hope you, your friends, and family will enjoy them thoroughly.

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Further Reading

[ANNOUNCEMENT: I have shut off my paid subscriptions because Substack allows literal Nazis to exist on this platform; I do not want any money from paid subscribers going to the founders. If you do wish to chip in and help me out, you can buy me a coffee here. Also, half the money still goes to my Palestinian family.]

No one has to tell anyone else that things are amiss. While some have been warning for years about why things are so off, correctly so, and many did not heed their warnings, everyone now agrees that things are not right. (And I’m not going to concern myself with those we’ve deemed on the MAGA right as conspiracy theorists or QAnoners here, as if they are ever accurate about anything when they claim to have premonitions or make warnings.) No, when I speak of those who have warned us, I’m referring to the Cassandras, the actual truth-tellers in society who were overlooked for years, and what they were able to foretell has now come bearing down on all of us. There are too many of them to list here; many of them were at #BlackLiveMatters protests, warning white people about what was around the corner for us if we did not listen to their words of wisdom, and most of us did not. They were the climatologists who warned us of impending doom, who were invalidated by the elite for obvious reasons and mocked by the ignorant. They came from the LGBTQ+ community and told us what was in store for all of us if we did not defend their most vulnerable, and many simply thought that it was “their problem” alone and nobody else’s. A few of them were actually on Capitol Hill fighting other political battles, but lacked the power and cooperation to make a difference. Women, including trans women, also spoke up about what was at stake for them, but of course, they were being “hysterical” and “overreacting.” Many, if not most, of these folks researched and wrote books on our behalf as a public service, and while they did book tours, pleading with all of us, only a few of their listeners took what they had to say to heart, at least back then. (Things, I am heartened to say, have since changed, and more and more people have been hitting the streets, like in Los Angeles and Chicago, Portland and Minneapolis, among other locations, and folks are doing more than just that.) However, that doesn’t change where we’re at now: we’re living in one of the worst, cruelest of times, in the most precarious of societal global places, with things only worsening with each passing day.1 Autocrats are on top from East to West, and we have one, as we all know, in the White House. (By the way, don’t shoot me for saying these things. I’m just the messenger, okay?)

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With all that in mind, knowing all these things to be true, is it ethical to live a charmed life in a morally collapsing world? The answer is a resounding yes.

First, it took me a long time to find this place and a lot of hard work, but at this point, I live a pretty charmed life. That said, the overwhelming negativity, rage, and sadness haunted me in my own private world, keeping me from truly appreciating my charmed life and yet also being present and engaged in the world we all find ourselves in, this broken, corrupted, immoral, collapsing one. But my shift towards a definitive yes of embracing a charmed life happened while I lived in the cottage in Maine, and some of that came at a small bar in Bar Harbor, while sipping a beer with lobstermen who were off for the season. Water smashing up against rock, in part, also helped me embrace the charmed life I have. Here’s a moment I captured on video at Schoodic Point, near Winter Harbor, when the water crashes against the rocks on a cold spring morning. I captured it; it was a few months before tourism season would ramp up again, so the place was solitary, just for us. It’s my understanding that these are called Basalt Dikes, and there are traces in the basalt that tell us the story of how they formed from molten lava, fire, and ice exchanging blows with one another; they date back to close to 500 million years. As I listened to the roar of the ocean and was hit by saltwater smashing against it, unfurling in small bursts against my cold cheeks, I thought of the interplay between the profound mystery of life, its incandescent beauty, and our manufactured, exploitative violence. While understanding that this imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy isn’t disappearing any time soon (if it did, what a wonderful surprise that would be), creating a charmed life and seeing the sublime beauty of this world behind and beyond this horrific system of social relations allows us to know that we can achieve so much more.

So, as I lived in Maine during the winter months, after some of the drunken tourists sought Blueberry beer, or Blueberry martinis, or the ones who had made their way on sightseeing boats around Bar Harbor to see whales, or the adventurous ones went on soul-finding trips in Acadia National Park, or the artists who found beauty in the place created various forms of artwork, all those folks had left, and I further embraced the charmed life. Naturally, villages like Bar Harbor and, further afield, Winter Harbor (as I mentioned above) and Prospect Harbor (near Gouldsboro) had all shut down for the season by the time I’d gotten up there. During the day, before the sun would set early in a cloud-blanketed sky, we would make a point of venturing off to these villages and their seashores, embracing the solitude there, observing the birds' migratory movements, the roaming turkeys on the roads, and the deer's delicate tracks in the fields.

After a night out on snowy, country roads, we’d return from Barncastle Hotel, Restaurant, and Pub,2 and we’d settle into our cottage with a red, orange fire glowing in front of us, with the corgis and basset hound in tow.

With a nightcap in hand, I’d settle into either writing my second manuscript, a historical novel, or reading a book, my partner nearby, reading the latest news, or skimming one of his favorite architecture sites.

Little did I realize that I was also bracing myself back then for what I knew was to come—what I mulled over late at night, contemplated during the day, and feared would become a reality again, warning others that it would very well happen—Trump seizing power once again. In the confines of the safety and warmth of my cottage, in the charmed life that I continued to cultivate, darkness, exploitativeness, and impending doom licked around the edges. Yet, it never left, even when he slithered out of office. Keeping all of that at bay was a challenge then, but the mornings always brought back a sense of renewed spirit and fortitude, especially as I sprinted out with my dogs into the snowy fields for their morning walk.

We’d pile into the fire-warmed cottage afterwards, my cheeks ablaze and hot, huffing and puffing, ready for a sizzling hot breakfast and hot coffee, the flavorful, chocolate, nutty steam rising to entice the follicles in your nose. Then, sitting down at the small, black sailor’s table, with its spindled, black matching chairs, I’d peer out at the winter silence, gazing at Union River Bay, while listening to all three dogs relish their meals.

Holding onto the quiet breathing of the dogs, the crunching of the kibble between their knashing teeth, while smelling the aroma of the coffee, with the frying of eggs wafting through the air, all of it intermingling with the smell of cooked bacon, these were moments that began to add up more, reminding me of how it felt when I’d venture into town to the “Y” to go swimming, relishing the entire experience from beginning to end, i.e., suiting up, slipping my slick hat on my hair, tossing on my goggles, sinking into a lukewarm, crystalized-aqua-colored pool, surrounded by a sea of white outside of me, to begin doing rhythmic breastroke, intentionally listening to each breath I’d let in and out, losing all thoughts, just existing as a beautiful, living body in perfect motion with water surrounding it, as if encased in a womb.

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A charmed life for most of us is not a given one; it is a seized one that is carefully cultivated, guarded, and nurtured. It is carefully and meticulously balanced by one’s own rhythmic incantations grounded in love, gratitude, and service, so it is not an entire escape from people. It is people building and people conscious. The charmed life is inviting, warm, generous. It is based upon giving, nurturing, and bonds. It is about building communal strength and resistance, especially once long, harsh, dark winters arrive.

And as I fretted, worried, feared, and anticipated, he did come back. And I did sell the cottage, my refuge, and where I fully cultivated my charmed life. But I refuse to let go of that charmed life that I have so far managed to create for myself and others, despite this immoral, collapsing, fragile, violent world. It is a privilege to have a charmed life, but one that we must hold on to, so that others, when they are able, can join us here. They shall not destroy our small pleasures, our little joys, our little cottages, even if those places live only within our hearts. We must shield and protect them, and open them up when they are safe to do so, even when that means danger lurks nearby. It’s always the right time to open your charmed life to those who need to step in with you. Those deserving are always welcome. Always.

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The cottage will still be a place here where we can gather together, make good food, have good laughs, and prepare for freedom for everyone. It’s not outside of the realm of possibility—it’s more than possible!—and that’s why protecting a charmed life is imperative.

Further Reading:

Estimated time: 30 minutes

Serves: 4-6 people1

Ingredients (18):

Salad

• 3-4 slices of thick-cut bacon, evenly cooked and crispy

• 1 green sour apple, washed and chopped into small cubes

• 10-12 green grapes, washed and sliced in halves

• 5 washed endive leaves for each guest (i.e., 20 for 4 guests, 30 for 6 guests)

• Frisée salad for 4-6 guests, washed and torn into bite-sized bits

• Romaine lettuce for 4-6 guests, washed and torn into bite-sized bits

• Butterhead lettuce for 4-6 guests, washed and torn into bite-sized bits

• Radicchio lettuce for 4-6 guests, washed and torn into bite-sized bits

• Roquefort Blue cheese 1-1.5 oz. for each guest (30 - 45 grams)

• 1/2 cup Pine nuts (optional)

• French Sea Salt (Fleur de Sel), Ground Sarawak Black Pepper2

• Croutons3

Dressing

• 1 Lemon, halved and squeezed by juicer or pressed into the glass salad bottle

• 1 teaspoon French Dijon mustard

• 2 tablespoons Prosecco Vinegar or White Wine Vinegar

• 8-9 tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

• 1 shallot, finely chopped

• 1 1/2 teaspoons French Sea Salt, and a large pinch of Ground Sarawak Black Pepper

Tools that You’ll Need (19)

• Large Skillet

• Small skillet

• Tongs

• Scissors

• Metal spoon

• Plate

• Paper towels

• Large metal mixing bowl

• Small metal or ceramic mixing bowl

• Measuring spoons

• Measuring cup

• Whisk

• Juicer or press

• Glass salad bottle

• Knife (As I said in my previous piece, and I’ll say over and over again, I invested in two Japanese knives made by Imarku, one of which is the 7” cleaver knife that is currently on sale for $47—it’s the one linked to Imarku’s name. It’s usually $129. I use it for everything. Kyoku is another great option.)

• Wooden cutting board

• Wooden salad tongs

• Chilled plates (place in freezer ahead of time)

• Salad spinner (optional)

Directions

1. First, finely chop the shallot and place it in either a metal or ceramic bowl, then add 1 1/2 teaspoons of sea salt. Set aside.4

2. Next, over medium heat in a large frying pan, cook the bacon slices, turning them from side to side until crispy. Once done, place on a plate with a paper towel. Set aside, too.

3. Now, in a large mixing bowl, toss in the washed frisée, romaine, butterhead, and radicchio. Then add the chopped green apples, sliced grapes, and croutons. Add salt and ground pepper to the salad.

4. With scissors, cut the slices of bacon in half, then cut them into small 1/2-inch squares and place them over the salad. Mix with wooden salad tongs.

5. Return to the salted shallots. With a spoon, scrape them out into the glass salad bottle. Then, add the juice from 1 halved lemon, 1 teaspoon French Dijon mustard, 1 1/2 teaspoons White Prosecco Vinegar, and fresh-ground pepper. Whisk together briskly. Place aside.

6. In a small frying pan, over medium heat, place 1/2 cup of pine nuts on the stovetop. Brown them evenly, but do not burn them. This process should take only about 3-4 minutes. The kitchen will begin to have a rich, sweet, nutty smell. Remove from heat. Let cool. Once cool, add to the salad.

7. Add the 8-9 tablespoons of olive oil to the glass salad bottle. Whisk quickly to emulsify the liquid, then pour immediately over the salad and toss all ingredients.

8. Pull the plates out of the freezer. Arrange the washed endive into a star pattern on the plate, then dish out the remaining salad from the large bowl. Cut 1 - 1.5 oz of Roquefort blue cheese and either add it to the side of the dish or serve it as a garnish right on top of the salad. Serve immediately.

This recipe is almost entirely Julia Child’s recipe from her classic book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I’ve made a few modifications that make the crust flakier and crispier. Otherwise, almost all of it sticks (no pun intended) to her ingredients, aside from the quantities.

I’m going to break this recipe into three parts, just as Child does in her book. The first is for the dough, the second is for the apple tart, and the third is for the fruit glaze topping.

Estimated time: 2 hours1

Serves: 8-10 people

Pastry Shell

Ingredients (6):

• 2-cups European flour (scooped and leveled) — I buy Italian or French flour because the wheat is lighter than American wheat, so it makes the crust more airy and delicate.

• 1 tsp salt

• 1/4 tsp sugar

• 2 sticks chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch bits

• 4 TB chilled shortening

• A scant half cup of iced water, plus a tablespoon of droplets more as needed

Tools that You’ll Need

• Large metal mixing bowl

• Measuring spoons

• Measuring cups

• Knife (As I said in my previous piece, and I’ll say over and over again, I invested in two Japanese knives made by Imarku, one of which is the 7” cleaver knife that is currently on sale for $47—it’s the one linked to Imarku’s name. It’s usually $129. I use it for everything. Kyoku is another great option.)

• Plastic wrap or wax paper

• Pie tart

• Bag of lentil beans

Directions

1. Place leveled flour, salt, sugar, bits of butter, and vegetable shortening in a large mixing bowl.

2. Rub the flour and fat together quickly between the tips of your fingers until the fat is broken into pieces about the size of oatmeal flakes. It’s important to break down the fat with the flour. However, do not overdo this step as the fat will be blended more thoroughly later.

3. Add the water and blend quickly with one hand. I keep my fingers together and cup the dough as I gather it into a ball, picking up any smaller pieces that stick to the sides. I go from right to left, but that’s my preference. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of water on top of the dough, then quickly shape it into a ball if you haven’t already. At this point, it should hold together on its own. Now it’s time for the fraisage, which means final blending.

4. After washing and drying your hands, lightly flour your countertop or pastry board. Place the ball of dough on the lightly floured area. With the heel of your one hand, shove half of it across the floured area. You want to use the heel of your hand as it isn’t too warm. This smeared area of dough should be about 6 inches long. This is what is the final blending of fat and flour, or, as stated above, fraisage.

5. Using either a cake scraper or a spatula, gather the dough again, then knead it briefly to form a smooth ball. Sprinkle it with a little flour, then wrap it in wax paper or plastic wrap.

6. Place in the refrigerator for 1 hour. (Uncooked pastry dough will stay in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 days. It can also be frozen for several weeks. Just make sure when it’s wrapped, that it is airtight.)

7. Rolling out the dough in a pie tart. I don’t really “roll” out the dough; instead, I put the dough ball in the center of the tart plate and begin by smashing it down, rather crudely, with my hands, working it out to the edges and evening it out, to make sure that it’s even across the bottom. I create a nice crust along the edges, ensuring that it’s both even and presentable.

8. Once you have molded the dough into your pie tart, place a sheet of wax paper in the center of the tart plate. Open your bag of lentils and pour all of them onto the wax paper. This step is important as it prevents the pastry shell from collapsing and puffing up. (Note: mine always puffs up a bit, but it will go down when you puncture it with a fork in another step.)

9. For a partially cooked shell, which is what we want, bake in the middle of a preheated 400-degree oven for 9 minutes, until the pastry is set.

10. After the shell has cooked for 9 minutes, remove from the oven and take out the mold with the lentils. Discard them and the wax paper. Next, prick the bottom of the pastry shell several times with the fork. Also, the shell will look very buttery, but that’s a good thing! That will dissipate when it bakes for 30 more minutes with the contents of the applesauce, apples, and then the glaze!

11. Return to the oven for 2-3 minutes more. When the shell begins to brown and is just starting to shrink from the mold, remove it from the oven. Set aside.

Apple Tart

Now that you have baked your pastry shell, you are ready to make the apple tart filling. Let’s get started!

Ingredients (9):

• 2 1/2 lbs firm cooking apples (Golden Delicious) — Child’s recipe calls for 4 lbs, but I had over half of that left over, which was fine. I made two tarts this week, so that’s why I’m calling for less

• 1 tsp lemon juice

• 2 Tb granulated sugar

• 1/2 cup apricot preserves, blended up

• 1/4 cup Calvados (apple brandy), rum, or cognac; or 1 Tb vanilla extract — I used Calvados; you can also substitute another type of apple brandy

• 2/3 cup granulated sugar

• 3 Tb butter

• 1/2 tsp cinnamon

• Grated rind of orange

Tools that You’ll Need

• Apple corer (mine is not nearly as nice as this one!)

• Blender

• Peeler

• Large colander for washing apples

• 2-quart mixing bowl

• Smaller mixing bowl

• Wooden spoon

• Large, preferably enameled 10-inch saucepan, skillet, or casserole dish

Directions

1. Quarter, core, and peel the apples.

2. Cut about 1/2 cup into even 1/8-inch-long, lengthwise slices, then toss them in a bowl with the lemon juice and sugar. These will be ornamental and for the top of the tart.

3. Cut the rest of the apples. Place them in the pan and cook, covered over low heat for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender.

4. Next, beat in the ingredients listed above: 1/2 cup of blended apricots, 1/4 cup Calvados, 2/3 cup granulated sugar, 3 Tb butter, 1/2 tsp cinnamon, and the grated rind of an orange.

5. Raise the heat and boil, stirring, until the applesauce thickens.

6. Spread the applesauce evenly in the pastry shell. Cover with a neat, closely overlapping layer of sliced apples arranged in a spiral.

7. Bake in the middle of a 375-degree oven for 30 minutes, or until the apples are lightly browned and tender.

8. Once finished, pull out of the oven, and prepare the apricot glaze.

Apricot Glaze

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup marmalade

• 1/2 cup apricot preserves

• 1 small bottle of cognac (a “nip,” i.e., 1.7 ounces)

Tools You’ll Need

• Saucepan

• Wooden spoon

Directions:

1. Stir the mixture in a saucepan over moderate heat until melted.

2. Simmer for a moment with the liqueur. I usually cook it for about 10 minutes to make sure most of the liqueur is cooked out of it. Do not bring to a boil.

3. Once done, pour evenly onto the apple tart tatin.

Cut into equal pieces for guests and place on dessert plates. Et voilà! Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche or vanilla ice cream!

***I will be making this dish on March 11th at 6 P.M. EST with !***

Estimated time: 1 hour

Serves: 4

Ingredients (12 total):

• 8-12 thighs (bone-in, so 2 per person)

• 2 cups of flour

• 6 large tablespoons of ground sage

• 10-12 tablespoons of olive oil

• 3-4 tablespoons of butter

• 12 cloves of garlic, finely minced

• 2 packets of fresh sage, chopped

• 2 cups of white wine (again, as a reminder, do not use wine that you would not enjoy drinking!)

• 3 1/2 cups of chicken broth

• 2 jars of Kalamata (or Italian Black Olives)1, pitted

• salt, fresh ground pepper (I use Sarawak peppercorns from Malaysia)

Tools that You’ll Need

• Large frying pan or cast-iron skillet

• Lid for pan or skillet

• 1-cup measuring cup

• Tablespoon

• Plate

• fork

• Tongs

• Ladle (for sauce)

• Scissors

• Knife (As I said in my previous piece, and I’ll say over and over again, I invested in two Japanese knives made by Imarku, one of which is the 7” cleaver knife that is currently on sale for $47—it’s the one linked to Imarku’s name. It’s usually $129. I use it for everything. Kyoku is another great option.)

• Baking dish (9 x 13)

Directions

1. In a 9x13 baking dish, pour in 2 cups of flour. Add 6 tablespoons of ground sage. Mix together with a fork.

2. Season the chicken thighs with salt and ground pepper. Put the chicken thighs in the baking dish and coat them evenly with flour and ground sage. Place the thighs on the plate.

3. Finely mince 12 cloves of garlic. Put aside.

4. Heat the 10 tablespoons of oil and the 4 tablespoons of butter in the large pan or cast-iron skillet, and brown the chicken thighs on all sides (you want both sides nice and crispy; this usually takes about 6 minutes on both sides over medium-high heat—be careful not to burn the skin, so keep a constant eye on it).

5. Once the thigh meat is nicely browned and crispy, add the garlic and sage leaves, and fry with the meat for just a few minutes, no more than 3 minutes.

6. Pour the 2 cups of white wine sauce over first; it will make a nice sizzling sound when you do.

7. Drain the 2 jars of olives and add to the pan.

8. Next, add the 2 1/2 cups of chicken stock, then add more salt and pepper to taste. You don’t want the stock to cover the chicken thighs entirely. You want the tops of the chicken thighs to be exposed. Cover and simmer for another 25-30 minutes.

9. Once done, the internal temperature of the chicken should be 165° (F)/75 ° (C).

10. Take the chicken thighs out with a tong and place them on a plate or in a bowl. Ladle the sauce with sage, garlic, and olives onto a plate or into a bowl. Serve with either risotto alla Milanese, white rice, potatoes, or fresh bread.

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This recipe is not available anywhere online but here, and in the coveted, at least to me, cookbook I own. I have modified the dish a bit to my liking. It pairs well with Tuscan white wine or a very light red wine from Italy. (If you’d like recommendations for wines, I’m happy to make some suggestions!)

Don’t be intimidated by the name or by risotto. I’ve provided step-by-step instructions below, which I hope will help you become an immediate expert in making these fantastic meals.

Estimated time: 1 hour

Serves: 6 (You can save it for up to 3-4 weeks in the freeze. It thaws well and tastes just as delicious when reheated. I leave it out on the countertop during the day and then warm it up in the microwave to eat as leftovers!)

Ingredients (11 total):

• 4 cups chicken broth

• ¹⁄₂ cup shallots, finely chopped

• ¹⁄₄cup unsalted butter (although it’s pricier, I prefer to use either French or Italian butter)

• 4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (I always make sure to buy olive oil that originates from one country. If you read a lot of the labels on bottles, you will find that they come from a multitude of countries. My preference is when they originate from Tunisia, Italy, Spain, etc.)1

• 2 cups arborio rice or carnaroli, the latter is considered the “king of risotti,” and chefs prefer it over any other risotto

• 1 cup dry white wine (Only cook with wine that you would be willing to drink and enjoy. Bad wine also affects the way a dish tastes.)

• 2 cups frozen or fresh peas

• 3-6 ounces prosciutto (Do not buy American-made prosciutto. It does not have the same taste, nor the same cut. It’s generally too thick. Plus, the cured meat traditionally uses only coarse sea salt, often sourced from Mediterranean regions like Sicily.)

• 1¹⁄₂ cup Parmesan cheese, grated (Again, do not buy American-made Parmesan cheese. Make sure to purchase Parmigiano Reggiano. Trust me. It will not be the same if you use American-made cheese. From the Emilia-Romagna region in northern Italy, the cheese is granular in texture and made from cow’s milk.)

• A generous amount of cracked black pepper for garnish

• 4 tablespoons parsley, finely chopped for garnish

Tools That You’ll Need

• 5- to 7-quart Enameled Dutch Oven (I invested in a Le Creuset, but here are alternatives)

• 2- to 3-quart saucepan for stock

• Wooden Spoon

• Ladle

• Medium to large-sized frying pan for toasting risotto

• Small to medium-sized frying pan for frying prosciutto

• Tongs for frying the prosciutto

• Knife (I invested in two Japanese knives made by Imarku, one of which is the 7” cleaver knife that is currently on sale for $47—it’s the one linked to Imarku’s name. It’s usually $129. I use it for everything. Kyoku is another great option.)

• Cutting Board (for environmental and health reasons, and to avoid microplastic consumption, I use all wood boards)

Directions

1. In the saucepan, on the back of the stovetop, bring the 5 cups of chicken broth to a low simmer. (The liquid should never be at a “roaring simmer,” as the broth shouldn’t evaporate, since all of it is needed for the rice.)

2. While the broth warms up, pour the 2 cups of risotto into the large frying pan. Do not skip this step. Toasting the risotto, which is called la tostatura in Italian, helps make the grains compact, prevents them from breaking, and keeps them from becoming “globby” in the end. It also contributes to its nuttier flavor. In addition, we want our risotto the way we want our pasta: al dente. Since we are dry-cooking the risotto over medium heat, the process doesn’t take long, no more than 4 minutes. The risotto should be hot to the touch, but make sure not to brown any of it! Once the rice is hot to the touch, immediately remove it from the stovetop and place it in a cool place. (You’ll also know it’s ready by the nutty flavor it will give off, which will waft throughout your entire kitchen and home!)

3. Next, wash 1/2 cup of shallots and finely chop them up. Do the same with 4 tablespoons of parsley.

4. Grate 1 1/2 cups of Parmesan cheese. Set aside.

5. Open the package (s) containing 3-6 ounces of prosciutto. Warm the stovetop to medium. Place prosciutto in a small- to medium-sized frying pan. Fry until crispy. Once fried, place on a paper towel to drain excess fat. After the prosciutto has cooled, break it up into small square pieces. Set aside.

6. If you have 2 cups of fresh peas, pull them out of the refrigerator and wash them. If you have 2 cups of frozen peas, pull them out of the freezer now. Set aside.

7. Now, warm the stovetop to either medium or medium-high, then place the enameled Dutch Oven on top. Add 4 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil to the Dutch Oven. Next, add the 1/4 cup of butter. Once melted, stir the olive oil and butter together. After it becomes foamy and begins to bubble, toss in the shallots until they are translucent. After the shallots are translucent, add the rice. Gently coat the rice and stir continuously for 3-4 minutes.

8. Once the rice begins to look translucent, add 1 cup of white wine and stir until fully absorbed. (A trick to determine if the liquid is absorbed is to push the rice aside from the center of the oven. When it’s fully absorbed, the spoon will leave a chasm in the middle of the oven.)

9. Continue simmering the risotto, adding broth, about 1/2 cup at a time, stirring constantly and letting each addition absorb before adding the next cup, until the rice is tender and creamy but still al dente. This technique takes between 18 and 20 minutes. It is crucial that you add the broth methodically and continue stirring for the full time required. Slow absorption to perfect, al dente risotto is key!

10. Once the risotto is al dente, which means it will taste creamy on the outside but slightly firm on the inside, stir in the 1 1/2 cups of Parmesan cheese. Stir well until fully melted. Next, stir in 2 cups of peas and the 4 ounces of crispy prosciutto.

11. Divide into bowls or on plates. Garnish each bowl or plate with the finely chopped parsley and fresh cracked pepper. Serve immediately.

Gather with me here to resist fascism, rejuvenate, love yourself, and protect your friends and family. I am carving out this space to share my cooking and baking recipes, techniques, and tips, and to tell stories about worldwide travel, living abroad, and my time in Maine. However, above all, the kitchen will be our central gathering location. Unlike many other recipe sites, I will always include the recipe and instructions first, and then share my stories later if there is a story about the recipe. There is nothing that irritates me more than having to scroll through someone’s book-length post, especially when there isn’t the option to skip to the recipe, when all I want is to read the recipe!

I also want to give a special shoutout to for inspiring me to launch this new, special, and revolutionary blog! Thanks so much, Your Weirdo Friend. You’re the best.

But first, about Maine. Glorious, wondrous, wild Maine. I once had a safe and welcoming, little, green cottage in the far reaches of that magical place, not far from the Canadian border. Within the confines of the cottage’s sturdy walls, underneath its low-hanging ceiling made of solid, exposed, planked wood, I would sit, along with my three dogs, two corgis, and a basset hound, all of whom would be lying down sleeping, in front of a roaring, bright fire, awash in crimson reds, vermilion oranges, and hints of flickering sapphire blues—I think we’re all instinctively drawn to fires because they are a reminder of the impermanence of life, of our sacred ties to humans and those who came even before humans; they represent rich, tapestried histories of how we once survived before civilization was even named such a thing.

I designed the hearth myself to enclose those ancient flames that once roared in open, primeval forests, the ones that surrounded me in Maine. I painted the fireplace black, and then I ordered five tiles with two jackrabbits on them, animals our ancient ancestors hunted in the open and took to those open flames to cook and later devoured. The tile design was created by William De Morgan (1839 - 1917), an English potter, tile designer, and novelist, inspired by Islamic and Persian artwork and design. As you can see in the picture below, the wide wood floors were painted flat white to offset the black, perhaps my own unconscious playing between the yin and yang; the colors counterbalancing one another inside the home, while all the other objects, including ourselves, and the multitude of other colors were a reminder that binaries or dualisms don’t exist.

In front of the fire, with its rabbit motif surrounding it, curled up with a heavy blanket, a glass of Barbera or Barolo in hand, in the little living room, as it snowed outside, I often found myself reading about #cottagecore and its origins, learning that its ideas and its vibes emerged mostly from internet culture. To my delight, I discovered that it has ties to the LGBTQ+ community, as it intertwines pastoral imagery with freedom to be whoever and whatever you want in both private and public spaces, in idyllic spots, much like my cottage and the surrounding areas.

As darkness cast its black net across the sky, and the last hints of daylight sun would dip below the horizon, which at the cottage was a salty bay that eventually dumped out into the Atlantic Ocean, and was not far from Acadia National Park, I would enter my kitchen to begin making a meal for a person I love more than anything in this world. The kitchen had originally been a ramshackle mess, like the rest of the cottage. But after over 6 months of gutting, wallpapering, painting, and making major changes, the cottage had been totally revamped, including the kitchen. That space had been turned into a combination of country-French and New England styles, evident throughout the entire place.

And, as I said, it is here where I delved into my beloved cookbooks for my beloved person to cook delectable recipes or make mouth-watering baked goods, a man who was also born on the shores of a distant land, one that I had recently gotten to know and immediately fallen in love with. But here we were, on the opposite end of the world, in a kitchen that we had both envisioned, and it was time to make dinner. In my memory, I recall making a delicious Italian risotto with fresh peas and prosciutto one evening.1 (I make a lot of different types of risotto dishes, so if you’re a fan of Italian rice dishes, you’ll get your fair share of recipe ideas here!)

Of course, when it comes to cooking meals in our household, we are always careful to pair them with the right wines. After living in Europe several times and with wines so reasonably priced there, it is easy to have wine regularly. (I acknowledge that if you’re on a budget, and we’re certainly on one now, it’s a bit more challenging to drink a glass or two of wine every night with a meal.)2 It’s also part of the fun, too, when deciding which meal to eat and what bottle of wine to choose to go with it. Sometimes, if we have received a bottle of wine as a gift, for example, we will build a meal around it, which is also enjoyable. So, on the evening we sat down for our risotto with fresh peas and prosciutto, we set the table as we usually do, with napkins, appropriate tableware, and a great bottle of red wine. The fire was going, and we had three interested parties—our lower rider dogs—surrounding us as we enjoyed our meal. (Walwynn, our large, 50-pound corgi, is an enormous fan of my risottos.)

As the evenings got colder and darker earlier (it was wild, since you are quite far north, you can tell the sun is beginning to set around 2:45 p.m. during the shortest days of the year!), I often turned to making rich meat roasts or one of my partner’s favorites lomo saltado.3 And once we were through with dinner, I would return to the kitchen to attend to an apple tart or cake. Often, I had already pre-made the crust in the late afternoon. I am, for lack of a better term, old-fashioned when it comes to my pie crusts, i.e., I use Julia Child’s classic recipe. (You’ll see quite a few of her recipes popping up here, so be prepared.) Back in the kitchen, with the crust done, I’d pull it from the refrigerator, roll it out, shape it into a nice dough in the pie dish, fill the dish with the contents, then make a lattice-style design on top of it, and pop it in the warmed-up oven to bake.

Now it was late in the evening, once dinner had long been eaten. The snow might have stopped, the dogs needed walking once more before bedtime, the pie had been baked and eaten with some coffee, and it was time to turn in.

But my friends, we’ll gather again. While the soft orange embers of the fire still glow at the moment, it’s time for me to call it a day. I’ll first share a recipe and perhaps a few anecdotes about my travels or time in Maine, the next time I’m back. In the meantime, we’ll disband for now, get some much-needed rest, and commune again soon.

What to expect next? Stay tuned for a recipe of risotto with fresh peas and crispy risotto.