October: travel. Lots of it. Work, mostly. And connecting with my away kid. I’m glad to be home. Occupying the quiet space of my nest. My kitchen and the record player. I’ve been cooking up a storm since I got back, filling the house with good smells, feeding my people. Roasting and slow cooking rich marrow out of bones to make nutritious broth for Megan’s mom. Salmon miso ramen for Veena. Crisping up the skins of those creamy fleshed Norland spuds I grew this year, for Dean & George. Lebanese comfort food for Peter. And this evening, shared with a friend I haven’t seen in ages, a simple Marinara spaghettini from my precious stash of San Marzano tomatoes - simmered low and slow to that perfect sweetness. Each meal started off with garlicky hummus or smoky charred eggplant, washed down with bottles of musky-funk wine from the Cowichan Valley or Monte Creek that thumb their noses at the much needed rain.

Good food is a powerful thing. It nurtures and heals. It’s a truth serum and a great equalizer. It makes us smile and sigh and laugh. When it’s shared, it invites us to sit a bit closer, and draws kith and kin together as easily as it can connect a room full of strangers. Whether I’m offering a cold glass of water to refresh, or spending the day preparing a big ass meal for folks, it’s always with intention. Never fussy or intimidating, just simple and wholesome, served in bowls you can wrap your hands around to feel the warmth. It’s not just about hospitality - which I do think is the real measure of a person - it’s plain and simple one of the best ways I know how to spread the rich marrow of love around.