When I first made gluten-free blueberry muffins, I was so happy to see them come out lovely that I photographed them and wrote them up as a recipe on this site immediately. I’m pretty sure the post was live before Danny and I had eaten all the muffins from that batch.
2007 feels like an extraordinarily long time ago now.
When I first fell in love with Danny, almost a decade ago, I adored how much he loved food. Food for Danny is like words are to me: play, a chance to learn, a stutter step becoming graceful dance into something tangible, a letting go. He has never been bored by food, not one moment of one day since I met him. He will always be jazzed and meditative in front of the stove, connected and concentrating. And then we eat.
So, you know, I still dig him. 10 years later, I’m still watching him in awe.
In our first cookbook, I wrote about our first moments together every morning. I woke up slowly, the sunlight coming through the windows a gentle awakening. I looked over at him, smiling. And Danny? He was thinking, “What should I do with that leftover fish at the restaurant? Maybe a new special with artichokes and fava beans?” First thought? Food.
As much as I loved him, I thought that was a little weird.
Imagine my surprise when, 10 years later, I wake up in a dark room, alone in the bed. Danny has early-morning shift that morning, playing with Desmond downstairs before 6 am. Lucy is playing in her room, singing. There is no restaurant rhythm to our lives anymore. It’s all driven by children now and the wish for just a bit more sleep. And my first thought, upon waking?
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