“And like a grieving spouse who sleeps in the shirt of a lost loved one, I thought that by cooking – handling ingredients again, breathing in their aroma as they bubbled – I could somehow be reunited with my mother again.” — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“There are mysteries buried in the recesses of every kitchen – every crumb kicked under the floorboard is a hidden memory. But some kitchens… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“As I stand there, staring absently at the stirring pot on the wall, I remember Greg’s words all those years ago: No one could… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“Everything depends on the moment the spice hits the pan: whether it sizzles with mouthwatering fragrance or turns to ash. Once, I thought happiness… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“I don’t think the homesickness of a perpetual wanderer can ever be quenched.” — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“But I wanted to cook. I needed to cook. Mom had raised me with the implicit understanding that cooking is the answer to all… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“Most people who have had a rough background will admit there’s something unsettling about finding happiness after difficulty – that even after we unwrap… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“There are many dreams in a lifetime – dreams that flourish or flounder for reasons much more complex than can be pinned down to… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“Over the years, the kitchens I grew up in and around continued to draw me in, like a moth to a flame, as though… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“And like a grieving spouse who sleeps in the shirt of a lost loved one, I thought that by cooking – handling ingredients again,… — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
“In those days food was never just sustenance; the very act of cooking knit our disparate lives together.” — Sasha Martin Copy Share Image
