So I graduated the end of March and have been back in Leesburg for a few weeks. I am working on writing a memoir about my time in Paris, as well as starting a culinary school/retail shop. I thought I would share the foreword of my memoir with you. Let me know what you think!
“Brave.”
It’s the word people kept using when I told them I was leaving behind a 27-year, well-paying career to move to Paris and attend culinary school. I understood what they meant, but it never quite landed. It didn’t feel like bravery. It felt inevitable—like something that had been waiting patiently for me to catch up.
I felt the same way when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There was fear, of course. Shock. Tears in the beginning. But once the reality settled in, I did what needed to be done. I moved through treatment the only way I knew how—forward. This isn’t to minimize the weight of cancer or the way it reshapes lives. It’s simply to say that I’ve never been one to sit comfortably in worry. Action, even imperfect action, has always been my way through.
The decision to start over wasn’t born from a single moment, but from a convergence of many. I had just come through cancer. I was turning fifty. I had lost my job. And I was navigating my third divorce—proof, if nothing else, that I have many strengths, but choosing husbands is not among them. Beneath it all was a quiet, persistent truth: I was deeply unhappy in my career, and no amount of financial security was going to fix that.
What finally nudged me forward was something both simple and unexpected—other people’s stories.
Here’s my first confession: I am completely, unapologetically addicted to autobiographies. For years, I have devoured them—books, documentaries, interviews. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s a touch of voyeurism, but what I found in those stories was something far more valuable: permission. Permission to change. Permission to risk. Permission to walk away from what no longer fits.
Some stories stayed with me long after the final page or closing credits. Not because the lives were perfect, but because they weren’t. Because at some point, each of these people made a choice—to pivot, to leap, to surrender comfort in pursuit of something more meaningful. Their courage wasn’t loud or glamorous. It was quiet, persistent, and deeply human. And somewhere along the way, I began to wonder: what if it was my turn?
When I finally made the decision, I wasn’t alone. I was carried, in many ways, by the support of my family and friends. Their encouragement gave me the steadiness I needed to take the first step—and then the next. To all of you, I am endlessly grateful.
Food, as you’ll quickly discover, is the thread that runs through everything in this book. It’s how I remember my life. The laughter around a table. The comfort of a shared meal. The stress and triumph of long days in the kitchen. At the end of each chapter, you’ll find recipes—some my own, others enjoyed at some of my favorite spots in Paris, and some generously shared by people who fed me, taught me, and welcomed me along the way.
For those of you who followed my blog while I was in Paris, thank you for being my digital life raft. Your comments and cheers were often the only things keeping me from hurling a whisk into the Seine during the particularly dark, butter-soaked days of Basic Cuisine.
That said, I’m going to try my hardest not to just copy-paste the “Greatest Hits” from the blog. While that version was all macarons and charming cobblestones, I’m here to give you the unvarnished, deeper insight into the actual journey. Think of the blog as the perfectly plated dish you see in the dining room, and this book as the chaotic kitchen where I’m sweating through my chef’s whites, wondering why I traded a six-figure salary to be humiliated by a nineteen-year-old prodigy who handles a paring knife like a surgeon.
During my ten months in Paris, I met extraordinary people—classmates, chefs, strangers who became something more. To respect their privacy, I’ve changed names where needed and, in some cases, blended personalities into composite characters. But the gratitude is real. Learning from such talented and passionate chefs was an honor I will carry with me always.
I don’t pretend that this story belongs alongside the great memoirs that inspired me. But if it does anything—if it nudges even one person standing at a crossroads to choose differently, to choose themselves—then it has done its job.
If you’re waiting for the right moment, this is it.
Find your “brave.”
