Words are often not enough to express an idea, a concept, a feeling. Sometimes it must be done with food too. Food writing is a marinade in the world of literary genres. Not an exact science like baking is, but more of a renegade sort of guerrilla style approach to the art of feeding the mind and soul, not just the mouth and belly. Blending parts of life that otherwise might not meet. Sometimes my hands tremble with nerves while I plan the numerous steps involved in the art of spontaneous combustion, and I tell myself to be brave, that cooking takes a courageous heart, same as eating, same as being alive. Those are the moments that make life worth living, if you ask me, and maybe you didn’t ask, but I am offering my two cents anyhow.

Some moments hold more energy than others, moments like we recently were gifted in Sandpoint, to set off the beginning of summer. Cooking for a group of women that came to the mountains and lakes to be together. To celebrate being alive, to celebrate and love their friend, who is still at this very moment, on her way to the altar to marry the man of her dreams.

…Farm to Anywhere was part of that journey. What an honour it is to be a personal Chef, to be brought into a person’s life, helping to create core memories with the food we create and serve. It is hard not to grin ear to ear while cooking food for moments like these, for people that love life like we do.

Finding our ingredients in our immediate community is another way this double-edged sword of a career feeds the soul. Arriving on a bustling farm, meeting the farmers, the animals, being wrapped in the heat of sun and blooms and harvest days. The controlled chaos of herds and flocks and fruits and foliage. These are treats not everyone is permitted by the food gods, and I am never ungrateful for these priceless pieces of perception.

It is hard to find the words to express, as I have already mentioned, the absolute joy it is to take food from the ground, from the worn and dirty hands that tended that ground, to wield wrought iron blades to slice and dice, to use heat from fire and ice to transform those tender ingredients, the sparkle of porcelain and scrubbed fingernails clean enough to serve the whole world, cotton linens found at the thrift store also holding years and years of memories in their faded stains, tables filled with heart and soul and spirit and gratitude, plates clinking the siren song of being scraped clean, words and laughter mixing like a recipe of their own, and the satisfied gleam in the eyes of foodies just like me.

If this resonates with you, then you are my people, and we are yours. Being a locavore is rare and lovely, thank you for your commitment, for passion is a courageous thing. Be brave, be bold, be hungry, be wild and free. Meet us on the mountain for a meal to remember.

Sensing Summer with all five senses

Indigenous stewardship