About Me:
I have been called a “foodie” by many and I despise the term. Why? I'm not really sure, but I’m processing it in therapy. I’ll let you know when I figure it out. I much prefer “food enthusiast”, or as my niece has recently titled me “the best cooker ever” and I couldn’t be more honored. Cooking has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My fondest childhood memories include spinning around on a kitchen chair while my grandmother slow simmered bolognese sauce for hours, letting me stir the pot every so often. Smells from the kitchen wafting through the house summoned me from any room. Other memories include finally being entrusted to use her heavy wooden rolling pin, hand chiseled with images of forest animals to roll out dough for Swiss Christmas cookies, or my grandmother microwaving eggs, opening the door to a loud explosion, eggs clinging to her perm, her eyelashes and face. Oh memories! The kitchen has always been the heart of all my homes and its where I feel most comfortable. It was the first place I would go when I got home from school as a child, scrounging around for fruit snacks and root beer. It's the place I would end up when sneaking in after curfew, snacking on whatever made the least amount of noise, and it's the first place I go today when I visit my Mom's home in Chicago, opening the fridge, not surprised to find a container or bolognese sauce and penne pasta she happened to make the night before or some left over Chinese chicken- it never fails that no matter how full I am when i arrive, I immediately have room for some home cooked food.
I have been called a “foodie” by many and I despise the term. Why? I'm not really sure, but I’m processing it in therapy. I’ll let you know when I figure it out. I much prefer “food enthusiast”, or as my niece has recently titled me “the best cooker ever” and I couldn’t be more honored. Cooking has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My fondest childhood memories include spinning around on a kitchen chair while my grandmother slow simmered bolognese sauce for hours, letting me stir the pot every so often. Smells from the kitchen wafting through the house summoned me from any room. Other memories include finally being entrusted to use her heavy wooden rolling pin, hand chiseled with images of forest animals to roll out dough for Swiss Christmas cookies, or my grandmother microwaving eggs, opening the door to a loud explosion, eggs clinging to her perm, her eyelashes and face. Oh memories! The kitchen has always been the heart of all my homes and its where I feel most comfortable. It was the first place I would go when I got home from school as a child, scrounging around for fruit snacks and root beer. It's the place I would end up when sneaking in after curfew, snacking on whatever made the least amount of noise, and it's the first place I go today when I visit my Mom's home in Chicago, opening the fridge, not surprised to find a container or bolognese sauce and penne pasta she happened to make the night before or some left over Chinese chicken- it never fails that no matter how full I am when i arrive, I immediately have room for some home cooked food.
"Every meal is an experience, every kitchen a classroom, ripe with knowledge, opportunities for acquiring new recipes and sharpening my skills."
Having been the first generation of my family born in America I was exposed to cuisine from many different backgrounds, European, Filipino and Mexican dishes poured out of the kitchen of my home. Tongue, duck necks, landjäger and chicharron weren't uncommonly found on the dinner table.
I have also been fortunate enough to do a great deal of traveling and as a result exposed to many different cultures and have been deeply inspired by their cuisine, amongst other things. Fresh homemade fettuccini on the patio of family friend's countryside villa in Vicenza, Italy. Warm, soft beignets at Cafe du Monde, fingers and face white with powdered sugar in the scorching New Orleans sun, fresh caught conch meat on the beach in Eluthra, flaky chocolate croissants dipped in hot cappuccino at Cafe du Flore on the sidewalks of Paris, crusty sourdough bread soaking in kirsch, then dipped in steaming gruyere cheese fondue from Le Dézaley in Zurich, Switzerland. These were experiences that inspired me and I was not only impacted by the food itself but the process, the execution and the presentation.
At the age of 9 I asked my waiter at if I could see the kitchen of Harry's Bar in Venice, Italy and my fate was sealed; hissing oil swirling around in a hot pan, meat searing in a skillet, stock pots filled with pasta boiled over, spilling between the grates of the stove around an open flame, tiramisu was plated and garnished with a sprig of fresh mint and dusted with cinnamon, the plate wiped neatly along the edges for prefect presentation. I was amazed, and I was home.
Now one might guess the next part of this story involves me going to culinary school and working along side master chefs in the kitchens of Michelin star restaurants, working my way up through the ranks, eventually creating culinary masterpieces and going on to open my first restaurant. Well, you would be wrong.
I, instead was not so classically trained by my grandmother, father and my mother, in the kitchen of my childhood home, coocoo clocks adorning the wood paneled walls, lucite kitchen table complete with orange tweed chairs and framed paintings of the Swiss countryside painted in that very basement, by my grandfather and in the 20 sq. ft kitchen in my first apartment, complete with a two burner electric stove, no microwave or dishwasher (It is where I learned to love hand washing dishes, which I still do today, using my dishwasher only as a drying rack.) and am still learning today, at family holidays and dinner parties, always heading straight for the kitchen, observing and picking up new skills. I recently acquired a traditional Mexican rice recipe from my mother-in-law, that I will surely make for years to come, and a shortcut for pie crust from my aunt. Every meal is an experience, every kitchen a classroom, ripe with knowledge, opportunities for acquiring new recipes and sharpening my skills.
Learning to cook isn't just about technical skills and mastering the basics, it is about perception. The bold smell of a fresh bundle of mint leaves, or the bright color of a whole branzino chilling on ice at the farmer's market, the slick feeling of cornstarch between your fingers as you mix ingredients for banana bread. These are the experiences that are so easily missed when you are not looking for them in every day life.
While I would be honored to have cooked alongside the likes of Julia Child, and the late Anthony Bourdain, or Samin Norsat, the skills I know were taught through love, learned through trial and error and eaten by my loving family and friends with smiles on their faces no matter how horrible the dish had turned out, some remember the brown cheesecake of Christmas 2016, or the great mashed potato debacle of Thanksgiving 2014, resulting in 8 pounds of over salted mashed potatoes (Pro tip: Always taste as you go along!) or the exploding pan top of Easter 2017, shattered and splintered glass not only filling a pan with 6 pounds of morel mushrooms sauteed to perfection, but all over the kitchen floor, my holiday dress, in my cousin's hair and all over the dog, yet they still show up for the holidays and on Sundays, hoping for brown butter turkey or shrimp tacos and a strong margarita and that's exactly what they get, fresh made tortilla chips and pico de gallo to boot.
I could not do this at the rate in which I do if I did not believe in messing things up and starting over again. I have thrown away entire pies (while my husband screams "Wait, I'll eat that!" from the couch) because they did not set the way I wanted them to, scraped out the filling of stuffed chicken because the flavor isn't quite right. For me, it's not a point of frustration (unless of course I'm cooking for a crowd) it's an opportunity for practice and perfecting.
Throughout the years I have hosted and attended a multitude of dinner parties and food related gatherings, holidays and parties for large groups and an intimate few. One thing I heard most commonly from the ladies in attendance was “I can't cook" Or “I wish I knew how to cook“ or "I never learned to cook" and let me tell you having just taught my 22 year old sister how to ride a bicycle for the first time (true story) you are never too old to learn a new trick.
However, of all the excuses to not cook, my favorite quote has to be; “Ugh. I don’t cook, I have a career!” judgmentally proclaimed by a wife of my husband's friend, to which I most likely, passive aggressively replied "I have a career too, I just do both" while actually thinking "WTF!!! You think you're better than me, bitch?!" That is the mentality that I so passionately fight against. That close minded, boxed in, woman empowerment, can't be caught dead in the kitchen or their weak mentality. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for that-- I just cant help but stress that it's simply not black or white, either/or!
"My hands are as checkered as my past, with burn marks, knife accident scars, and frequent calluses from zesting and grating, whisking and chopping and I wouldn’t have it any other way."
It got me thinking about the numerous and various roles women play in our ever-changing society. Why can’t you have a career and also be a “domestic goddess" or at least know how to hook up a steak or make a dinner casserole that is actually edible. I think ideally, everyone should know a few key things, once you master those the rest is creativity.
Thankfully, I have a partner that agrees and appreciates my domestic qualities but would also be content ordering Chinese food 4 nights a week. He passionately explained to his friend's wife, that being able to provide a meal for friends and family is not only a skill but a strength and a sexy one at that. He refers to himself as a bear in Yosemite. He explains often, that they tell you not to feed the bears because they will get lazy and forget how to provide for themselves, which is exactly what happened to him. Single until 43, he managed to fend for himself for decades but now wanders around the kitchen opening drawers and checking the fridge multiple times without ever actually consuming anything, which is why when I leave town I cook a huge plate of chicken parmesan or bake a tray of enchiladas to last the week, leave snacks in the refrigerator, drawers and pantry, on the counters and sometimes the coffee table, clearly displayed... because bear...While I do hope he won't starve to death should anything ever happen to me, I appreciate the role of providing in that sense and see it as a valuable asset.
Having spent the better part of the last decade obtaining two master's degrees, planning my wedding, counseling in prisons, jails, police departments, rehab centers and emergency rooms, directing multiple non-profit agencies, beginning and (almost) completing many creative projects and opening a private practice, all while managing to make dinner most nights (even if it did consist of ground beef and boxed mac and cheese with a side of cabernet sauvignon) I can tell you first hand, cooking a meal and having a career (or two!) can be done. I cooked through it all. It was therapeutic. It was my time to decompress. To turn on the oven, pour a glass of wine, put Amy Winehouse on the Gramavox, begin chopping, sautéing and searing and get in the zone. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always so picture prefect, sometimes it was swearing at the oven while the chicken took 20 minutes longer than expected to reach 160 degrees, and burning the couscous to the bottom on the pot, and ultimately ordering pizza, but let's be honest, I'm a survivalist, and cooking is just that-- a means to survive so if I am ever snowed in, I can guarantee you I'm using half of the things in my pantry and creating a playful but most likely delicious meal and cracking a bottle of Bordeau while the lights flicker on and off.
While I love to cook and bake, I am also a writer, therapist and artist but that’s a whole ‘nother website, (vanessasegovia.com, thugchina.com, prescriptionbydesign.com) and my hands are as checkered as my past, with burn marks, knife accident scars, and frequent calluses from zesting and grating, whisking and chopping and I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Take my hands, just leave my face alone! ...am-I-right?)
On this site you will find recipes for dishes I commonly make and some I make only once a year while swearing, burning myself and yelling about how I’ll never make it again. I hope you find something here that speaks to you, or at minimum seems easy enough to add to your repertoire.
Thankfully, I have a partner that agrees and appreciates my domestic qualities but would also be content ordering Chinese food 4 nights a week. He passionately explained to his friend's wife, that being able to provide a meal for friends and family is not only a skill but a strength and a sexy one at that. He refers to himself as a bear in Yosemite. He explains often, that they tell you not to feed the bears because they will get lazy and forget how to provide for themselves, which is exactly what happened to him. Single until 43, he managed to fend for himself for decades but now wanders around the kitchen opening drawers and checking the fridge multiple times without ever actually consuming anything, which is why when I leave town I cook a huge plate of chicken parmesan or bake a tray of enchiladas to last the week, leave snacks in the refrigerator, drawers and pantry, on the counters and sometimes the coffee table, clearly displayed... because bear...While I do hope he won't starve to death should anything ever happen to me, I appreciate the role of providing in that sense and see it as a valuable asset.
Having spent the better part of the last decade obtaining two master's degrees, planning my wedding, counseling in prisons, jails, police departments, rehab centers and emergency rooms, directing multiple non-profit agencies, beginning and (almost) completing many creative projects and opening a private practice, all while managing to make dinner most nights (even if it did consist of ground beef and boxed mac and cheese with a side of cabernet sauvignon) I can tell you first hand, cooking a meal and having a career (or two!) can be done. I cooked through it all. It was therapeutic. It was my time to decompress. To turn on the oven, pour a glass of wine, put Amy Winehouse on the Gramavox, begin chopping, sautéing and searing and get in the zone. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always so picture prefect, sometimes it was swearing at the oven while the chicken took 20 minutes longer than expected to reach 160 degrees, and burning the couscous to the bottom on the pot, and ultimately ordering pizza, but let's be honest, I'm a survivalist, and cooking is just that-- a means to survive so if I am ever snowed in, I can guarantee you I'm using half of the things in my pantry and creating a playful but most likely delicious meal and cracking a bottle of Bordeau while the lights flicker on and off.
While I love to cook and bake, I am also a writer, therapist and artist but that’s a whole ‘nother website, (vanessasegovia.com, thugchina.com, prescriptionbydesign.com) and my hands are as checkered as my past, with burn marks, knife accident scars, and frequent calluses from zesting and grating, whisking and chopping and I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Take my hands, just leave my face alone! ...am-I-right?)
On this site you will find recipes for dishes I commonly make and some I make only once a year while swearing, burning myself and yelling about how I’ll never make it again. I hope you find something here that speaks to you, or at minimum seems easy enough to add to your repertoire.
