Returnist Recs: 25
Stepping back into a forgotten ritual
Yesterday, a neighbor friend and I took our dogs to the park for a playdate. Despite having a core playdate crew and regular gatherings, the last few weeks have been fairly dormant due to rain, busyness, and one pup’s stomach bug. As we drove to the park, we were catching up on the latest in our lives and I felt like I had remarkably little in the small talk column. Life is… good. Quiet. Calm. Boring. In a good way! I’ve been craving uneventful since eventful was all that got thrown my way for a good long stretch. How nice it was to be able to express gratitude for not having much to say. That was an honest revelation that both caught us up on the daily stuff and made way for deeper convos about life, work, vision for the future, and just how insanely cute our dogs are. The important stuff.
So yes, it was a delightfully uneventful week on the home front, and Saturday evening brought BIG plans: finally getting around to making the cabbage rolls that I’d been thinking about tackling for days. My love for cabbage is strong and oh-so-often expressed. Once in recent memory, I roasted a petite snowdrop cabbage, split down the middle, and decided that all a half-a-cabbage needed to turn into dinner was a little melted fenugreek cheddar in the crevices - an unhinged approach to girl dinner, but this girl was, nevertheless, extremely satisfied. But for the rolls, there would be so many steps. The kind of faffing about in the kitchen that is either overwhelming or meditative, depending on the mood. Enter: an immaculate kitchen mood, asap, courtesy of a ritual return…
Maybe that sentence sounds too much like an astrological prediction that you scroll past out of confusion, but hear me out: somewhere in the not too distant past is a ritual you love that has simply fallen out of step with you. Mine is (in part) the kitchen candle. For years, I’d light a candle - unscented of course - and tuck it away in the corner of the counter, just in my line of sight as I chopped and prepped, but out of the way for the main event. It brought a sense of elegant thoughtfulness to what can so often be a task worthy of an eye-roll and a sigh. On a weekend evening, early enough to build momentum as the sun sets, I’d roll up my sleeves and cook something more involved than a weeknight calls for. More steps, perhaps more ingredients, and certainly more time. Sometimes I’d plan ahead and others would be a riff-off based on what needed to get used before the next weekly shop.
With the last handful of months more focused on caregiving and relatively uninterested in food thanks to a GLP-1 journey, my interest in conquering cabbage rolls was a very welcome surprise. One part Coco Larkin genius, one part nostalgic tomato-y baked parcels, a splash of this-is-what-needs-to-get-used-asap, and a pinch of Vogue validation was buoyed on by open window breezes that felt like spring and a flickering of warm light in the corner. Cooking and cooling the rice, blanching the leaves, frizzling some fennel and aromatics, blending the sauce, mixing, stuffing, assembling, waiting. It felt like home - back inside a ritual I love, doing something that makes me feel connected to my body and to the rhythm of the week. This “everlasting candle” lit and gleaming even caught Adam’s eye as he came for a kitchen check-in. I realized he’d never gotten to witness this very specific activity that I love so much.
So this week’s rec is something only you know the answer to: revisit a ritual that you’ve loved and note how it feels to be back in that moment as you are now. Maybe it fits, maybe it doesn’t. There’s no wrong answer. Kitchen candle encouraged, cabbage always.
Flavor of the week: The largest asian pear I’ve ever seen, cold from the fridge, sliced and shared on a Tuesday afternoon.
Habit of the week: Cleaning the kitchen before bed, no sleepy excuses. Waking up to fewer tasks is the gift that keeps on giving.
Soundtrack of the week: The works of Nala Sinephro, first known to me via The Smashing Machine soundtrack, but holy cannoli is this some beautiful spiritual jazz.
