Barefoot and frolicking in the fields of Andrew’s Scenic Farm, I found the one. — She was exquisite — the star pupil that never made it into my basket of berries and I refused to interrupt her finish by indulging in another. “Pick me,” she called from beneath a canopy of vibrant green leaves. I brushed them back to reveal a small, glistening ruby gem…

So, how do you cook an octopus? Hot and fast? Low and slow? Cork, no cork? Whatever you do, remove the beak and curl the legs. Watch them coil and curl — retreating into themselves as if touching the scalding hot water breathes life and colour back into their body one more time. — Have you ever hovered near an octopus den and seen one glowing eye stare you down? The mound of clean, picked-over seashells was your first clue that you are not alone on the reef. Have you seen her wobble across the ocean floor, like a waddling old lady dressed in…

Embracing my #bluemind and finding connection deep within myself, my community and aligning my path to my purpose The cold is a teacher. Your breath is your anchor. Learn to separate your wants from your needs — you want to quit, but you don’t need to. The cold connects You want me to…

The complexities of tokenism, Black excellence, and how they make me squirm in my chocolate-coloured skin — “You’re going to love our wine — the winemaker is Black.” My stomach drops. I smile awkwardly to stop the look of annoyance, frustration and confusion from spreading across my face. …

his fingers were caught in the sticky aftermath from gnawing on my baked, sugar-coated skin. he teased me, his sinful confection, like taffy — biting me, playfully pulling and stretching my softened peel with his teeth. Reduce your oranges and clementines to this sweet, sticky taffy to be enjoyed as a garnish for your favourite cocktails, desserts or as candies. Simple Syrup WHISK TOGETHER 2:1 ratio of white sugar and water in a small saucepan. ADD…

|afəˈgɑːtəʊ| Drown me in a warm bath of coffee and cream liqueur, for I am an icy scoop of gelato longing to be an affogato. — She pours herself over me — a scalding flood of espresso; shockingly soothing as I take the shape of my cup — my skin softens and slowly slips away. Drown me in a warm bath of coffee and cream liqueur. I am an icy scoop of gelato longing to be an affogato. SCOOP your gelato or ice cream flavour of choice into a shallow mug. POUR in two ounces of Amarula Cream Liqueur. ADD one shot of espresso over the contents and watch it melt. DIG in with a spoon and enjoy.

Hey chefs, I’ve got one simple question for you. — I thought that it was a simple question and expected simple answers. What is your favourite sound in the kitchen? I should not have been surprised, given you chefs are a self-reflective, introspective bunch that can translate memories, emotions and experiences into deliciousness. With each Instagram DM I sent, I…

Move over Tchaikovsky, this wine writes itself — …anticipating the feeling of breaking through the surface. I waltzed lazily in 3/4 time, dancing towards the rim as the others darted past me. They chased one another racing to reach the opening of the glass. …

It was my first time knowingly poaching something. I boiled a two-to-one ratio of sugar to water and toasted cinnamon sticks, allspice and cloves in the cast iron brasier to release their aromas before cascading the bubbling syrup over them. Slowly stripping each of the fruits of their skin, I floated them on the surface of the warming, glossy lake of cinnamon-infused syrup. The pears stood upright, bobbing like buoys under a sunset glow, while the colour from the plums’ skin seeped into the liquid sugar, colouring it a pale candy apple red.