December Newsletter

In the past month, I did a lot of driving, including today, December 30th, from Los Angeles to Joshua Tree. There is something about the road that makes me want to write, that makes me want to linger, that makes me want to keep driving.

When my mom left, after Ben’s procedure, at the beginning of November, I knew that I would have to drive a lot, taking care, on my own, of Catherine’s drop off and pick up daily, as well as of Ben’s visits, birthday parties, playdates, afternoon activities, whilst working on the busiest season of the year.

When my mom left, after Ben’s procedure, I didn’t know that I would want to linger, to keep driving.

 “Buckle up, love of my life,” I’d tell Catherine as we headed to school at 7:40 in the morning. Music always changed, but starting November 24th it was mostly Christmas. “Yes, mama,” she always smiled, beautiful, in her uniform, a few weeks shy of turning 6.

I would then drive back home, to drive somewhere else shortly after. 

A week went by. 

After dropping Catherine off, I would often switch from Christmas music to LAist for the news, or to First Wave on Sirius XM – tired, not showered, in fear, with so many thoughts buzzing in my head, that they all began to no longer matter, suffocating each other with their stories, importance, reasons to be. 

One day, mid-December, traffic was particularly slow on the 134E, so I decided to take the Forrest Lawn Drive exit, and drive through Griffith Park to return home. It was 8:20 in the morning, I took a sip of my collagen coffee and played a random album on Tidal, that I had downloaded a while back. 

I was so distracted then
I didn’t have it straight in my head
I didn’t have my face on yet or the role or the feel
Of where I was going with it all
I was suffering more than I let on
The tropic morning news was on
There’s nothing stopping me now
From saying all the painful parts out loud

Tropic Morning News, from The First Two Pages of Frankestein – The National

How had I overlooked the profound beauty of this album? What else was I overlooking? 

I began to slow down.

I began to take the Forest Lawn exit every day, even when traffic didn’t require it. I began to pay attention to the details of my drive, the imperfection of the road, people getting ready to play golf, the dog walkers, the empty playgrounds.  

Day after day, I found myself being inspired by lyrics, by the people walking on the path, and even by the grey KIA ahead of me who went impossibly slow – a very old man at the wheel – why did it bother me so much? I was surrounded by green in many shades, the window, rolled down just enough, let in the brisk air of a beautiful Californian winter; I wasn’t in a hurry.

***

This month, I came to recognize that I had judged a person only recently met. Not only had I judged, but I had also built an entire (and quite intricate) narrative around them.

“Maybe there’s something you have to learn from them,” Ben laughed one day, after once again hearing me complain. 

“I don’t think so,” I had quickly brushed him off, very secure about what I saw, thought, and felt. I was irritated at the thought that someone who bothered me so much would have something to teach me. 

I am writing all this with a bruised ego. For not only was I wrong about this person, but the entire narrative that I had built around them, for fear, mine, of inadequacy, was so far from the actual story that it forced me to take a serious look at my behavior: “Why did I judge? What was I afraid of?”

I was ashamed.

“I do this all the time,” I told my friend Marthe just a few days ago. I felt a sense of relief as I shared the burden, and began to understand where I hurt. We sat at a café on Sunset Blvd., in Echo Park, eating a delicious fish sandwich. “I do this with everything in life,” I said, enjoying the tingle that the pickle covered in mustard seeds had left on my tongue, cutting through the oil of the fried sea bass.  

I judge everything that happens to me. I judge everything that doesn’t happen when and how I have decided is right; I build narratives around every event that occurs (or that doesn’t). 

I was wrong about that person.

So what if my narrative about everything that doesn’t match my requirement and demands is wrong as well? What if I can be pleasantly surprised when things don’t go my way? What if I can learn something new from them, just like I did from that person? 

I judged the drop off and pick up from school, only to later understand that those long drives had allowed me to continue writing my book in my head and on iPhone notes, to discover new inspiring music, and to carve out that quality time with myself that I so longed for. 

A few days before Christmas, I attended a beautiful party, hosted by one of my best friends. 

“I can’t really knit,” I said to another guest. We were talking about art, and hobbies, “I tried so hard!”

“Maybe it’s because you tried so hard,” she said with a smile on her face. Her beautiful, long, white hair seemed to sparkle, in the magic of the warm room decorated to perfection for the holidays. 

I am not one for resolutions, but there is one thing I know I want to change moving forward: I want to stop trying so hard! I want to keep it simple, judge less, be more open to what comes, what is, what isn’t… I don’t have the energy to build narratives that crumble like shortbread, but that don’t feed me or even taste sweet. 

I want, as my friend Jaclyn says, to stay the course and keep following the breadcrumbs…

I wish I could soar like you, Pegasus,” said Mae Mae D. “How do you do that?”

Sometimes less is more Mae Mae,” said the great horse. “You flap too much. Flying is about catching the wind and moving with it, not beating it to death.

From The Fantastic Adventures of Mae Mae D & The Clownfish by Ian Jack (a book I read to Catherine a few evenings ago, right before writing this newsletter)

***

– I have opened new winter cooking classes, sign up on Venmo

– Thank you for helping me selling out the entire 2023 cookie mix production. I am working on new, improved labels and more and more stores will be carrying them in 2024!

– Happy New Year, my friends! 

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

Forever Young, Bob Dylan

November Newsletter

Hi guys!

I hope you all had a good Thanksgiving. 

I wasn’t sure what I was going to write in this month’s newsletter until I wrote it, deleted it entirely, and started from scratch, after a long hike in Griffith Park. I love when I can see the ocean from the helipad. 

As some of you know, Ben’s recovery has been very slow and challenging. We are all very tired, Catherine had a long break from school, and we thought a brief change of scenery would help; so last week we went to Ojai for a couple of days, with some good new friends we have made.

When I was there, not as relaxed as I thought I could be, yet distant enough from the habitual daily to gain some perspective on how I still hustle for everything in life, I noticed that life was better when simple. I noticed that I was happier when I wasn’t in my head scrambling to fit all the pieces of my own puzzle.

“Easy to say,” you may be thinking “when staying at a luxury resort.” 

I thought about the way I would phrase this, validating the thoughts readers may have, respecting Ben’s privacy, while also honoring my feelings, the weight I have been carrying, and what I am learning from it. 

The day before Thanksgiving, it was just the two of us, Catherine and I.

“Let’s make our crackers,” I suggested when she asked me to watch TV. 

“Yay,” she screamed from the stairs, where she had sat for five minutes, mad at me for denying her another episode of The Octonauts. 

So, I dusted off the pastry board, and realized, from the amount of dust, that Catherine and I had not baked or cooked together in a long time. 

It made me sad. 

I have been so busy, trying to stay afloat, taking care of everyone, worrying, keeping all the pieces together, that I had completely missed out on the simple things, which had brought me enormous amounts of joy during the pandemic, and throughout her pre-school years. 

I couldn’t understand when and how my relationship with time had gone astray. 

We opened my cookbook to page 111: Lemon Crackers.

I poured the ingredients into the mixing bowl, and Catherine mixed them: semolina flour first, then all-purpose, salt, lemon zest, olive oil, water, and white wine. 

As she kneaded the dough, I felt a sense of home, of grounding, of contentment; I remembered a happy time in my childhood. I remembered the mountains, I remembered wearing an apron, and feeling the Foehn winds on my skin, my lips dry, my long hair electric. 

I remembered my father telling me he used to like wind, too, when he was young. 

I remembered my grandparents and how life in the kitchen was everything, when we stayed in Pilaz, in the Aosta Valley. I remembered winter; I have always loved winter. 

Catherine and I were in the moment, and like every time I am in the moment, past and present collide as if they have never been two separate entities. I had completely let go of all my mandatory tasks and daily judgments: work more, produce more, create more, make more money, find more connections, why don’t they like me? Why don’t they want me? I am a fraud!

Catherine had let go of The Octonauts. 

We were happy, just me and her. I, not even showered at 4:00 in the afternoon, and her, with iridescent nail polish, and the new black velvet leggings. 

The crackers came out perfect, so we both enjoyed them with a light spread of honey, like we used to. 

I missed having the time to bake with her. I missed having the time to cook leisurely, to enjoy the process, rather than scrambling something up in a hurry, to eat in a hurry, in order to get over with the day, go to bed.

I have been so overwhelmed, this month, that we did a lot of take out.

So, on Sunday, I went to the farmers market and purposely bought lots of spinach, chard, spigariello, tomatoes, leeks, potatoes, butternut squash, passion fruit, and the last bell peppers of the season. I knew it was a lot, but I also knew that I would want to use all that produce meaningfully, and creatively, like I used to. I knew I needed to make my life simpler. 

In her November 23rd podcast, “A Generous Heart”, Tara Brach talked about the human evolution from grasping in life (for more success, reward, love, money…) to generosity. 

I bring this up because this month I have been overwhelmed not only by the hardship, but also by the generosity of people, of old friends and of new ones I have just gotten to know.

All this gave me an even deeper insight into what that simplicity I talked about in the beginning of this newsletter encompasses: generosity, service, getting myself (and my instinct to grasp) out of the way. 

What I found freeing about baking crackers with Catherine was my conscious choice to set myself aside and do the right thing for my daughter. The act of choosing her over me gave me freedom and serenity, grounding. 

The times ahead will be challenging for a while longer, so for a while longer my search is for balance between selfless generosity and self-care. And maybe, if I find it, this can be a new way of life for me. 

I am no longer interested in changing the happenings life. I want to be changed by them.

What a gift, to have had this shift in perception. 

Now, down to some business:

–       I have officially started writing my new book!

–       Thank you to all those who bought The Italian Cookie at Wine + Eggs this past Saturday, it was an enormous success and we sold out! You can still find the mixes there and at Lost and Found Shop.

–       I will be at the Hollywood Farmers Market on 12/3 so come and grab your mixes for the holidays before they sell out and avoid paying for shipping. I will be on Selma, next to Bao Bao House.

–       I will also be at LA River Farmers Market Holiday Bazar on 12/14 (3pm-7:30pm) at LA Historic State Park (my mom will be there as well).

–       If you are purchasing the mixes online and want them delivered in time for the holidays, please place your orders by 12/15. I do production once a week and work in small batches. I will ship on same day, but we will sell out soon. 

Love, always

Alice

October Newsletter

Hi guys,

How are you? I am genuinely checking in, because I am sure this hasn’t been an easy month for any of you. The weight of the horror unfolding before our eyes is unbearable. This is the first time, in a long time, since I was 9 years old, that I fear for the world, that I fear the horrors of war. As a woman, I have feared what war brings to women since I was a child and didn’t yet know what women had to fear. 

This is a very challenging newsletter to write, one that I am writing the day before publication, Monday October 30th, as a week of migraines has finally ended.

I few months ago, and I promise I will circle back to the opening paragraph, I began to pray my higher power to please remove my obsession with career. More specifically, with the identification I had of my worth with my career. I didn’t want healthy ambition and creativity wiped off, I wanted to stop obsessing over the results to the point of getting sick and placing “success” before anything else. 

While I prayed for that, in my morning meditation, I also prayed for my marriage, that had gone through some trouble, last winter. 

When I pray and meditate, I ask for guidance, I ask for the strength to accept things as they are meant to be, to fulfill not my will, but my purpose in this life, starting with my purpose each day. 

Yet, during those morning meditations and petitions, in a corner of my mind, I hoped that:

– Career obsession would be removed by something so spectacular happening, that I would never have to worry about it again.

– Ben would change all those things I wanted him to change about himself so that marriage would be “fixed”.

I know, I am laughing too. 

When we returned from our beautiful vacation in Parrot Cay, at the end of August, we learned that Ben had to have a procedure, the one he had a couple of weeks ago.

At first, fear was all I felt.

Weeks passed, while we prepared for the procedure, and I noticed how much my perception of him had rapidly, radically changed; I began to see his kindness as strength rather than weakness, as I had interpreted at times, mining our marriage, at least my part of it. I remembered the love, pure love. His courage and acceptance inspired me. 

“I want to be more like him,” I even remember saying to a friend. 

Weeks passed, while we prepared for the procedure, and I noticed I was not thinking about my career as much. Then surgery happened. I became busier and busier. My days became long drives to and from the hospital, no workouts, no time for self-pity and resentment, envy, or childish demands. 405 North, 134 East, 5 South, to finally take care of Catherine and give my mom a break. 

I kept working, doing farmers markets, finding homes for my cookie mixes, but it had stopped being an obsession that defined my worth. 

Nothing miraculous had happened to my business, and yet I felt fulfilled.

Nothing miraculous had apparently happened to our marriage, and yet I found myself watching The Great British Baking Show and Yellowstone in a hospital room knowing I would have to drive an hour to get home and put Catherine to bed yet being the happiest I had been in my marriage in years. 

I am sure Ben will read this and smile because he was the sick one, and likely remembering happier times on his end, but I know for a fact I speak for him, too. 

Maybe something miraculous had happened. 

This morning, as I prepared to get Catherine to school, I saw an empty glass bottle of face oil on my sink, and I tossed it in the trash. 

“Why do I even recycle?” I thought. I had nightmares of war all through the night. “This world is imploding anyway!” I drove her to school in profound sadness. 

When I returned home, I started to write this and remembered the miracles, the answers to my prayers in the most unexpected and undesirable way. 

I have always felt deeply the world around me. One of the reasons I drank and used drugs and hurt myself for many years, when I was younger, was to soothe and protect that 9-year-old me that felt the pain of war, of disaster, of abuse from far away. 

Today I can hold space for her, while feeling all the feelings she felt in 1991. 

Today I know that I never know where answers will come from. I never know where the needed strength will originate from; I never know what will make me happy and fulfilled again, what will give me new hope. I never know what will make me want to toss glass in the blue trashcan again. 

I like that.  

Updates:

– Profound gratitude to all of you who showed up, supported, and keep supporting my family during a challenging time. Your love, time, and help doesn’t go unnoticed.  

– As we approach the holiday season, please consider buying your presents from small businesses, rather than amazon and big corporations. 

I will be at the Hollywood Farmers Market on:

Sunday November 5th,

Sunday December 3rd,

Sunday December 10th

You can always find my cookie mixes at Wine and Eggs, in Atwater, as well as Lost and Found Shop, in Hollywood. 

If you are not local, I ship on the same day freshly made small batches, and if it’s a present, I include bow and a note to the lucky recipient. 

– Because of hospital visits, bee stings, and me being sick, I haven’t been live for three weeks, but I will return next Monday, November 6th at 5pm on Instagram. 

Feel the feelings, reach out to friends, find community and ways to be of service, and remember you are not alone. We are not alone. 

See you next month,

Love,

Alice

September Thoughts, Scattered but Meaningful

In a recent interview, Linda Evangelista commented on the amount of content that, through social media, people create and post every day, “lots and lots of content,” she said, “it gets all blurry, and none of it is memorable. Maybe, all that post-production is not a good thing, because you lose magic. The soul is all gone, there is too much content. It’s noisy, and mind boggling. What we had then was memorable”.

She was mostly referring to fashion and photography (her book with Steven Meisel came out earlier this month) but her reflection made me think a lot about my content, on socials, in this newsletter, in my daily life.

“What do I want to put out in the world?” I asked myself. 

On Saturday night, I watched Farm Aid‘s concert. Benmont performed with Bob Dylan, Mike, Steve, and The Dirty Knobs (I know, pretty magical…). Before them, Neil Young played, and before closing his set with Heart of Gold, he addressed the young audience, in the tone of a plea:

“And now,” he said, “when you walk into a store, you buy into a deal made with factory farms. It’s under their control, so you have to read the label and check things out and support family farms, support family farmers. You are Farm Aid. It’s you. Everything you do, from now on, whether it’s about farms or just the planet we love, it’s you and your friends who want to do it too; like we are all part of a big thing.”

I cried because I care so much.

In his words I did not hear defeat, but I heard the tiredness of a man, now old, whose last request is for the younger generations to carry the torch. 

I worried because I care so much.

“Who do we have left, when these giants die?” I wondered. I fear losing them. 

“Am I up to the task?” 

Because this is what I want to do in this next stage of my life, making sure I am carrying the torch. I want to be the example, the fighter, the uncomfortable voice. That’s all I have, the passion and the fire to make a difference.

The other day, when Ben was out of town, Catherine and I went to the Americana (a shopping mall in Glendale) for some shopping. I don’t know whether I hadn’t been out in the world for a while, or whether I have been blind, but all I saw was shallow: junk food and smell of rancid oil, Kardashians lookalike eating pretzels fried in chemicals, people bumping into each other because they walked while staring at their phones. 

I saw a 1-year-old girl being quieted on her stroller by holding an i-phone that played a loud, psychedelic YouTube video; she screamed when her brother, by accident, pressed the wrong button and paused it. 

I held Catherine tight – my eyes filled with tears because I care so much.

***

Last week, I was invited to an event with Franciacorta, an exquisite Italian wine producer.

12:30pm at Drago Centro, Downtown L.A., with some important Italians living in Los Angeles, among which, the Consul General. 

“What am I going to say?” I had asked a friend a few days earlier, “I don’t belong there, I don’t even drink, what I am going to talk about?”

“Ask questions,” she said, “listen, ask them about themselves.”

I listened to her, and I listened to the Italians over a divine mushroom risotto, and a perfectly cooked chicken breast with truffles and green beans. As I sipped sparkling water, never once even thinking about the wine, I silently curated my content. Only the following day, would I see Linda Evangelista’s interview.

Lunch was a huge success. Not only did I make new friends and connections, without much talking about myself, but I genuinely listened to a very interesting conversation about wine, food, small businesses, ideas, projects. I learned a lot that day.

Whether in my profession or with my friends, co-workers, or the community at large, I find myself increasingly wanting to be part of something positive, constructive, something good, something kind. 

We don’t need to be giants to carry Neil Young’s torch, to carry out a message, to change the world. We can do it in our own field, in our community, even in our neighborhood. We can do it starting with our own children, who will share it with other children, and perhaps their parents. 

This understanding, to which I have come after years of “needing” to be a ‘giant’ to even consider myself worthy of having a voice, is revolutionary for me, and incredibly freeing, incredibly empowering. 

Now, these scattered paragraphs are not my best content, I know, but they have meaning, they hold intention and sincerity.

And that, to me, is memorable.

Updates:

I will be at the Hollywood Farmers Market (right in the center, at the corner of Selma and Ivar) with The Italian Cookie on: 

October 1st, October 29th, and November 5th.

I will be at the Echo Park Farmers Market on:

October 20th, November 3rd, and November 17th.

More dates to come…

Starting now, you can also purchase The Italian Cookie mixes at the beautiful Wine + Eggs, in Atwater. 

More stores to come…

And to all those who purchased the very last Culinary Box, supporting not only my small business, but all those I partnered with, a heartfelt THANK YOU. You are an amazing community that I am proud to have now chaperoned for 4 years. 

Ps. You can purchase the box until the end of Sunday, before a place my orders on Monday.

See you next month,

Love, always

Alice

Liquid Sunshine: The Beauty of End of Summer

On Sunday, August 13th, the day I turned 11 years sober, I looked up at the Caribbean sky, as some heavy dark clouds swiftly passed by the smaller white ones. 

As the clouds moved, a friend, on Zoom, talked about impermanence. A few drops of rain fell on my tanned legs.

I looked up, and tried to create a story, but the feelings were so complex that all I could do was witnessing. 

“It’s only liquid sunshine,” Ellroy smiled as he passed me by, grabbing a wet towel from the chair next to mine. Some guests had left a few minutes earlier when the sky had begun to darken. 

It was 3:30 in the afternoon. The water, on the island of Parrot Cay, in the Turks and Caicos, was a thousand shades of turquoise. 

I was happy. 

Just a few days before, however, in Florida, I had gone through a rough depression. 

This got me thinking about what makes me happy, for real, not in the delivery of a thrill, a self-righteous success that tastes like revenge — because I know those well, I work nonstop for them — I know what I’m doing, when I call them happiness. In fact, they never seem to be enough, they never satisfy my want and need for more.

Happiness, I got to understand as I witnessed the drops of sunshine on my thighs dry up with the breeze, is the feeling of home, of grounding, of anchoring to my center. My center is little me around 13 years of age; I remember that center now. 

You know what’s strange? 

I don’t really connect with that center when the sky (life) is bright blue. I connect with it when I become aware of some kind of ending, the rain coming, the change happening. 

I find it when seasons intersect, at the bordering of summer and fall, or when winter approaches, when I smell the first jasmine in May. I find it when I can remember where I was at the age of 13, when I remember the mountains, the dry Föhn blowing on the Alps, the view from my old bedroom, on Via Gramsci, 17, my maternal grandparents, listening to Enya and Gregorian chants to feel a connection with something higher than myself. 

****

I wrote all that on the plane back from my vacation. 

This part, I am writing the day this newsletter goes out. It’s August 31st

Catherine has started Kindergarten, and we are adapting to all that is new. 

Circumstances also have changed. When we all returned home, some scary unexpected happened to our lives (more on this when time comes). 

I had almost forgotten about all that I had written on the plane. But as I asked myself questions in order to finish this essay, I realized I was actually okay.  

I thought that, from Parrot Cay, I had only brought home their signature Invigorate body lotion, with essential oils of eucalyptus, geranium, and lavender. I use it every morning, to find my center again, to return to that beach on August 13th, now that there are dark clouds on the horizon. 

So, I inhale the essential oil that reminds of the island, and I think: “The clouds will pass, Alice. It’s only liquid sunshine.”  

Then I remember my friend talking about impermanence on Zoom. 

I have a feeling that the trust and serenity I still get to experience, with the clouds darkening again, isn’t the effect of a lotion; rather the work I have done to get here, to my center, and because of the people I am lucky to call friends.

See you in September.

Ps. Starting today, and through September 30th, you can pre-order the Fall Culinary Box on the website HERE.

You can order up to two (2) per person (with two separate transactions.) 

This box is beautiful. I curated it with love, and I selected some of the finest products at the Hollwyood Farmers Market and from small businesses and artisans (that happen to be woman-owned and founded), in Southern California. 

This box (that ships mid-October after pre-ordering) is perfect for your holiday presents, or to treat yourself with the highest quality ingredients. 

It includes:

Full size Cinnamon & Pear infused balsamic vinegar aged in Modena for 18 years by Ojai Olive Oil

Chinner’s Roadie Hot Sauce by the one and only, Chinner

Full size Spiced Cherry Preserve by the legendary Murray’s Family Farms

Full size Cardamom Hill Granola by Bearclaw Kitchen

Herbal Cacao Husk by Vices and Spices

Poppies in a Tin by The Crowd Went Wild

Bûnet (Amaretto & Chocolate) Cookie Mix by The Italian Cookie

Handmade Ceramic bowl by the amazing Alison Kate Diamond

You can pre-order yours until September 30th

Thank you for supporting my endeavor and the small businesses I partner with. I promise this will make the best presents for you and your loved ones.