05/16/2026
A Table Set by Many Hands✨
There’s a particular kind of richness that only friendship makes possible.
This morning, Cecilia and I sat at my kitchen counter and somehow, the table was fuller than just the two of us.
The sourdough is Noelia’s. That perfect crackling crust, the open crumb, the unmistakable smell of bread made slowly, with patience and time. The tea is from butterfly pea flowers “Clitoria ternatea” that Consuelo grows herself. Those vivid blue blossoms have been steeped in Ayurvedic kitchens for centuries, said to nourish the mind and calm the body. Add a squeeze of lemon and the cup turns violet, as if it wants to show you transformation in real time.
And running beneath all of it, the way I think about food, the reason I plate a slice of bread on a quiet morning like it matters is Chef Dayanny. My sister in the work. The one who reminds me that what we serve is never just food; it’s memory, medicine, culture, and care.
A loaf. A flower. A friend across the counter. A chef whose voice I carry into every kitchen I stand in.
This is what I mean when I talk about the whole kitchen nothing on this table arrived alone. Every bite, every sip, carries the hands of someone who grew it, kneaded it, dried it, packed it carefully, thought of me when they sent it. Friendship is the original supply chain. The most nourishing one.
We underestimate what it means to be fed by the women in our lives. Not metaphorically, literally. The bread on the board. The flowers in the cup. The seat across from you on a Saturday morning. The hands that taught you how to see a table.
To Cecilia, here in the flesh. To Noelia, Consuelo, and Dayanny, here in everything else.
Gracias, mujeres. The table is fuller because of you.✨💜
