Dear March,

a mouthful of poetry, in every single bite; an entire anthology of stories within the clever composition of a multi-course meal; a tale of rivalry and companionship written in fine sauces and extravagant crèmes – that’s what food is to me. It’s what I think about when looking at a beautifully garnished plate, tasting a perfectly cooked meal or even just reading through the gems hiding away in an old cookbook. For me, it all comes down to the stories the chefs would want to tell with their dishes; the stories – in turn – oneself could write about them, implementing own feelings and ideas, inspired by a job well done, which – quite frankly – has come to be what I would love to spend the rest of my days doing.

Throughout my entire life my inspiration and fascination were closely linked to very few, very specific things; cooking – and ballet – having been among them from the start. Both combine the innate possibilities of telling stories outside of the realm of words, of using movement or flavour to say more than a sentence ever could. Now, don’t get me wrong, dear March, I am a writer first and foremost, believing in the power and magic of words more than in hardly anything else. Nonetheless, I cannot even begin to count the times I had immersed myself in documentaries, books and tales about either of these topics, ultimately trying my hand in both of them at least to a certain extent. And while I will never be a prima ballerina – trust me, I am still feeling slightly sour at my parents for not putting me up for ballet lessons at the age of two – I have experienced my ins and outs with cooking. I have been lucky enough to be on the receiving end of very fine haute cuisine, have held brunch and dinner parties for my friends and have experimented with both delicious and disastrous results. More than dancing or cooking myself, however, I have always loved surrounding myself with people truly passionate and talented in their fields, experiencing their stories first hand or at least through a television screen. Unashamedly, I have to admit that I have not seen a single season of Top Chef or episode of Chef’s Table without crying my eyes out at least once, marvelling tearfully at the stories and backgrounds that have made the cooks become who they are today, as that is simply the best part. Likewise, I have recently realized how much happiness can be gained by eating a simple bread stick, wrapped tightly with a slice of prosciutto, maybe a silky ball of burrata at the side. It’s crazy what food can give to us, which feelings and emotions can be unearthed by simply eating something good. Like dancing through a field of flowers it will never get old; will always be giving you a surge of pure delight when you need it the most.

If you ask me how I came to be doing what I am doing today – attending classes on quality food products and tasting olive oil as part of a curriculum – dear March, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. But what I do know is that there are still so many more tales to be told, on the plate as well as on paper, for nothing can be combined so effortlessly as food and writing. Creating edible stories; words to be eaten; happiness.


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