It started, as most things do, with a tiny pair of googly eyes.
The world is loud and sharp and heavy. Your dinner doesn’t have to be.
Make it soft. Make it sweet. Make it look you in the eye and say, “Hey. It’s going to be okay. Now eat me.”
Is it also the most peaceful I’ve felt all week? Also absolutely. My Food Seems To Be Very Cute
It’s looking at a chaotic Tuesday and saying, “No. Today, my broccoli will have rosy cheeks.”
I was making onigiri for a sad desk lunch on a Tuesday. The rice was too sticky, the nori was wilting, and my general mood was hovering somewhere between “meh” and “why am I like this.” On a whim, I cut a tiny strip of seaweed into a smile. I pressed a leftover edamame bean into the center of the rice ball.
But here’s the secret the grown-ups don’t tell you: Bills are relentless. The news is loud. Some days, just getting a vegetable onto a plate feels like a victory. It started, as most things do, with a
My food, in short, seems to be very cute.
My Food Seems To Be Very Cute (And I’m Not Sorry About It)
As I write this, I’m eating a bowl of ramen. The soft-boiled egg, cut in half, looks like a little sun. The narutomaki (that white fish cake with the pink swirl) is winking at me. The noodles are tangled like a cozy nest. Make it soft
If you had told my 18-year-old self—who believed that “real chefs” don’t play with their food—that I would be packing bento boxes shaped like sleeping bears, she would have rolled her eyes so hard she’d have sprained something.
Is it silly? Absolutely.
Give your smoothie bowl a face. Arrange your grapes into a smile. Let your sandwich have hair made of carrot shavings.