I write about life, about memories, flavours, and flavour memories. My parents are often woven in. How could they not be? They were there, they set the stage. Sometimes I ask their permission, sometimes I just run with it. It’s a selfish endeavour, harvesting memories...

On this day, three years ago: I’m at Stagecoach Festival in Palm Springs on a stagette with a bunch of old friends. As the sun sets we take a walk away from the stage toward the food trucks and stop to eat under the twinkling...

I wasn't sure how I felt about finding one of my cookbooks at Dollarama. Dollarama is like any other dollar store. Florescent lights shine down on crammed aisles filled with everything from cheap coloured pencils, wrapping paper, glass vases and gardening gloves. Sometimes useful things. Often soulless...

Last week we hosted a dinner party to celebrate friends who recently got married. My twin aunts came early to set the table and fill my house with foraged branches and twinkling lights. It felt like Cinderella's pets were in the house, with bird song flowing and ribbons...

A big tangled pile of dulse sits in my food processor. I add chopped garlic, tamari, olive oil, dijon and a splash of vinegar and pulse it all together. I'm making caesar salad for dinner tonight. I have lots of romaine in the fridge, the...

I was making pastry when I heard the smack. My hands were deep in the shaggy stage, when the butter has combined with the flour and is dampened just enough by the icy water to hang raggedly from my fingers. I know from my mother and her mother...

"I feed off the event for months." My words last week before heading to New York for Cherry Bombe Jubilee, an annual women in food conference. I was referring to the wisdom from the speakers and the conversations I have throughout the day, from the bathroom to...

I'm on my way to Cherry Bombe Jubilee, a one day women in food conference in Brooklyn that I consider mandatory continuing education. Last year my recap included a heated #METOO panel discussion with Toronto restauranteur Jen Agg, one that artist Jessie Kanelos Weiner captured perfectly...

A photographer I once worked with told me that his first kiss was behind the Maldon Sea Salt factory in Essex, England. Maldon sea salt is worthy of such a memory; it’s also a food stylist’s dream. Each crystal is textured with just the right...

The south sun streams through our kitchen windows mid-morning and casts long strips of sharp light across the counter, the cupboards and the floorboards. Yesterday it shone through the tulips, turning the dark purple leaves an iridescent mauve. The beams of light are architectural, with...

I worked at a frozen yogurt shop the summer I was sixteen. I remember bicycling to work, the wind lifting my pony-tail as I coasted straight down steep Sackville Street all the way to the waterfront. We served soft serve yogurt milkshakes, yogurt sundaes covered in...

This morning I stepped outside the back door into a glazed wonderland. It was as if everything  - the steps, the frozen ground, the tiniest branches - had been candied in sugar syrup. My car even looked like a giant marron glacé; I had to crack it...

I’ve been collecting mentors my whole life. Friendship mentors, dating mentors, cooking mentors, writing mentors and parenting mentors. Cathy is my 'mother of boys' mentor. The other day she was in town and we visited over coffee, I hung on her every word. Cathy and her family...

“Dad," I asked over the phone the other night, “did you like Jell-O as a kid?” I know we didn’t eat it when I was young, neither the proper English, homemade kind, or the industrial Jell-O from a package. I had a vague memory of...