Smoky Chicken Paprika + Life From Scratch book tour stop

"There are mysteries buried in the recesses of every kitchen—every crumb kicked under the floorboard is a hidden memory. But some kitchens are made of more. Some kitchens are everything."

I've mentioned before that my books of choice are usually fiction. I love getting lost in mysteries (bonus points if they're a culinary mystery), foodie cozies (even though I cringe at the term "cozy"), and the supernatural. My reading time is me time; it's escape time. I want to be sucked into another world. While this is almost always the case, I also love a well-written memoir—again, usually a foodie memoir—but any one that pulls at my insides will suffice. I also read cookbooks like novels, but if you spend any time at all around here...you probably already knew that.

Today I'm sharing a peek at a great foodie memoir called Life from Scratch, written by Sasha Martin. Sasha also blogs at Global Table Adventure, where she introduces food from 195 countries via "table travel". Part of my personal philosophy is that discovering and exploring the foods of different cultures, countries, and people is the best way to become familiar with them, so I immediately knew I'd enjoy my time immersed in a memoir written by somebody who feels much the same way.

This is definitely a memoir that includes food, but it's so much more than that. Tales of her that start before she was even born, lay the foundation for a book filled with emotions that range from hunger to tears to warmth. Martin weaves her story with spice, vulnerability, and strength. And she tells it through food, cooking, and recipes.

Asian-inspired Braised Duck Legs

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Fiji Water, for the Perfection Takes Time campaign. All opinions are my own.

Recently I realized something, and it made me a bit wistful. I realized that I don't take my time in the kitchen anymore. I mean, YES—I'm always in the kitchen. Always testing recipes. Always making dinner. Always moving a stack of cookbooks from the table to the floor. Always fretting over lack of counter space...lack of daylight...lack of clean dishes. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Spending my time instead of taking it.

Sixteen years ago, when I moved into my first real apartment...not a dorm room, not a house or apartment shared with college roommates...just me, I took my time in the kitchen. I was just coming into my own. I was learning cooking processes and techniques. I used to make lists, explore ingredients, and prepare meals that took time. Golden-skinned chicken that was roasted in the new stoneware dish I was so proud of. Chuck roasts so tender and beckoning that burning my fingertips just to get an early taste didn't hurt a bit. Pink hams wrapped in a shiny glaze. Pork loins propped up by a bed of sturdy vegetables. You know, the type of food that envelops the entire house in a sense of calm.

And I did it just because I enjoyed it.