If I’m alone, I don’t sauté—I open a can. This is the no-shame, no-frills recipe I turn to when nobody’s watching (and I’m not using a real spoon).
If I’m alone, I don’t sauté—I open a can. This is the no-shame, no-frills recipe I turn to when nobody’s watching (and I’m not using a real spoon).
Before anyone walks in, before the playlist even starts, I confit garlic—not for the recipe, but for the smell. That slow, warm scent that says: you’re welcome here.
What started as a guilty salad became something real: goat cheese, stale bread, a lemon stripped for martinis—and dinner that asked nothing more of me. Here’s why it mattered.