
A new recipe.
A new flavor.
A new trick to impress the algorithm, or your in-laws.
A new flavor.
A new trick to impress the algorithm, or your in-laws.
But what if the best meal is the one you’ve already made?
The roast chicken that worked.
The one where everyone stopped talking for a second.
Where the skin crisped just right and the smell filled the house before anyone walked in.
The one where everyone stopped talking for a second.
Where the skin crisped just right and the smell filled the house before anyone walked in.
That meal deserves to come back.
Not because it’s safe—but because it’s yours.
Not because it’s safe—but because it’s yours.
Repetition isn’t laziness. It’s mastery.
The jazz musician plays the same scale every day.
The baker kneads the same dough again and again—not to repeat, but to understand.
The jazz musician plays the same scale every day.
The baker kneads the same dough again and again—not to repeat, but to understand.
So roast it again.
Learn where to place the pan.
Notice when the sizzle shifts.
Remember what you didn’t last time.
Learn where to place the pan.
Notice when the sizzle shifts.
Remember what you didn’t last time.
Great meals aren’t about novelty.
They’re about presence.
They’re about presence.
And presence takes practice.
So repeat the roast.