The oven was already on.The kind of day where you roast something just to feel it—that warm, sighing kind of heat. I wasn’t aiming for …

Recipes Inspired by Martha Stewart, Cooked in Real Life
The oven was already on.The kind of day where you roast something just to feel it—that warm, sighing kind of heat. I wasn’t aiming for …
The wind pushed at the window like it was trying to change my mind. cold light, sea-gray. and I hadn’t eaten anything real in two …
It started because I couldn’t remember if the radiator was broken again or if I just didn’t care. The air in the kitchen felt like …
It was too bright in the kitchen. Cold sun through the window that made everything look cleaner than it was. I hadn’t meant to cook—I’d …
It was raining. not dramatic rain—just that Maine mist that wets your hair and makes the dog smell like laundry left too long in the …
The radiator clicked three times and gave up. again.I had wool socks on, but one was inside out and the other was damp. not wet. …
The flour was already out.I was already frustrated.The butter was too cold to cut and too soft to care, so I smashed it into the …
It started with the bananas.Too ripe. Too many. Piling up like a to-do list I was avoiding. I wasn’t planning to make pudding.But there was …
Mae was home.She walked in while I was halfway through slicing onions, said, “Smells like you’re trying.”I was. Not for perfection. Not for guests. Just …
The fridge light caught it first.That glass dish we never use—wedged behind the oat milk and the jar of peach jam from 2002.Still red. Still …