January Newsletter

I began to ask more questions and soften my edges (I always saw myself as soft because of my unwanted curves, but was I ever soft with myself and others?)

Hi guys! How are you? Happy newsletter day!

Let me start from why this newsletter, that comes out monthly, is now on Substack.

Most of you have been following me for the past 5 years, attending my Live Mondays on Instagram (that keep happening, and that are such a source of joy and comfort), participating in the zoom cooking classes, purchasing my Culinary Boxes (a new one is in the works for the summer), The Italian Cookie mixes (new labels and improved recipe ready for you), and my cookbook Eating Again, The Recipes that Healed Me (a new book is also in the works).

During the break I took after the holidays, also due to Ben’s long recovery, I have thought a lot about where I want my business to go and grow, how I want it to be more independent from Instagram (a platform that is becoming an influencer-dominated reality, that I have to use moderately), and how it can be more profitable, to build upon, long-lasting and always driven by genuine purpose.

I have discovered Substack only recently, through Letters From Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert. And as I looked into it, having already built a beautiful community of like-minded people who want to be a light in the world, both in and out of the kitchen, I thought I’d deepen our relationship and our experience of culinary self-care here.

My monthly newsletter will always be free, but for those interested in something more, for my loyal cooking class friends, for those of you regularly purchasing the mixes and the culinary boxes, this will be a place to take the commitment to each other, to our relationship, and my work to another level; it will also be a place where I can offer more, both in terms of content and of financial flexibility for all of you who so loyally purchase and participate.

This becomes my workplace, an honest and transparent one, where to give and receive.

When you subscribe with a yearly plan you will get:

• Discounted Zoom Cooking Classes;

• Seasonal offers on cookie mixes;

• One exclusive recipe per week with photos, tips and substitutions;

• Exclusive community participation (comments, chat and sharing).

I really hope you’ll join and come along.

Now that we got the business part out of the way: January has been an intense one.

I am writing this, as it’s been the case for the past few months, the day before publication.

I have no idea what I am going to write about

I said on Monday, during the Instagram live, as we made pasta alla puttanesca with a twist (recipe soon).

I knew what the theme would be, however.

On Sunday, I went in for a massage, to close my beautiful birthday week (I turned 42 on January 25th).

As Casey, my massage therapist, went deep into my right scapula, that had been hurting for a few days, I realized I had missed the experience of most of my left side because my mind couldn't stay with my body on that perfectly heated massage table; it had been wandering restlessly.

My mind went from the menu for that evening’s dinner to taxes, from the new flour I bought for the mixes to Benmont’s pain, from the fear of my parents aging and their imminent departure to my sense of self-worth, from Catherine’s upcoming school week to plans for spring break, from the book I’m writing to not having worked out much lately and the rain that is expected to hit Los Angeles on Thursday. Oh, how have I been obsessing over the rain before the rain is even here!

Just reading this paragraph is exhausting.

How much life am I missing,

I asked myself,

If I have missed almost 30 minutes of this massage?

Lately, because of my misuse of Instagram, my therapist and I decided that I would gradually reduce the time I spend on the app, that triggers all sorts of toxic dynamics, mostly in relation to my career, my sense of worth, my sense of legitimacy.

I am about to detour from Instagram for just a few reflections, before I take you back, I promise.

I’ve had an insight into this “legitimacy issue”.

For years, before Ben and I met and started dating, he regularly hosted intimate music nights at his Tarzana house. You can imagine all sort of talented artists and musicians, his best friends casually walking through his door, painted in a deep, matte dark green, to make music together and eat lamb burgers in his living room, a beautifully decorated one that gave out unpretentious “beach house” vibes, and that opened onto a lush garden with an 8-shaped pool in the middle, framed by bird of paradise and roses.

I lived in that house for almost 4 years; Catherine was born in that house (I mean, she was born at Cedar Sinai, but she came to that house as a newborn) and yet I have only been to one of his legendary music nights. It was probably 2016, before we became parents, and I must have been so withdrawn and insecure that I don’t remember who was there, what we ate, or the music I heard.

A few days ago, as we talked to a friend in our Los Feliz living room, I realized not only that Catherine had never witnessed that magic, but that I had not either.

Why did he stop?

My friends asked me on my birthday. We had just finished lunch at Hip Vegan, in Ojai, where we were about to spend the day celebrating.

Because of me.

I said.

I felt a profound sense of understanding and willingness to repair what I had unwillingly broken.

I can tell you now, almost nine years into our marriage, that the reason he stopped having music nights, a great source of joy for all those involved, was my feeling of inadequacy, my fear of not belonging, my trembling and always conditional sense of self-worth.

I felt like an impostor in his famous and talented world. My fear of not being enough, in those years, had such a powerful grip on me that I deprived us all of art, music, conversations, good food, inspiration, fun.

I have changed.

Back in our current living room, as our friend reminisced his musical childhood, I decided that the first thing we are going to do to celebrate Benmont’s recovery would be a music afternoon, just like those he hosted before me, filled with instruments, laughter, kids, food, his friends, my friends.

Dear love,

What would you have me learn today?

I have been doing Elizabeth Gilbert’s Letters From Love lately.

Oh, Alice, you are finally here. You have been coming every day without really listening,

Love said.

You are worthy. Nobody can believe in you, if you don’t believe in yourself.

I know you are scared, but your mistakes from the past don’t have to define who you are today; stop identifying with them.

You are creative and full of resources, but you keep waiting for someone to ‘discover you’, to ‘make you’, to tell you that you are worthy.

So many people have done so, but it’s never enough because you don’t believe you are; if you don’t believe in what you do, why should someone else?

This is just a portion of what love said to me the day before my birthday.

I am allowed, for now, to spend no longer than ten minutes per hour scrolling through Instagram. Oh, how my days have changed since I stuck to that plan!

I wrote ten thousand words of my new book, I had the insights I just shared with you, I have been through a deep depression but also came out of it, allowing my friends to show me what I could not see. Sometimes we need reminders, we need recalibrating, re-centering.

I began to be more present. And when I am not present, I have started to catch myself in my absence from the moment.

I began to soften my edges (I always saw myself as soft because of my unwanted curves, but was I ever soft with myself and others?)

I know the answer. I want the answer to change.

Welcome to the change, my friends.

Share yours with me. Soften with me: comment, participate, be light, let’s talk, cook and eat together, let’s keep changing, here on my new Substack.

Love, always,

Alice

ps. If you live in Los Angeles, I will be at the Hollywood Farmers Market with The Italian Cookie on 02/11 from 8am to 1pm, right at the center of the market. Cookies are pure love for Valentine’s Day!