AT THE table
On
galettes and gratitude COMMON MEAL
Brigid Washington, left, serves a savory butternut squash and sage galette, and a sweet pear and cardamom galette to her friends from The Summit Church.
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by BRIGID WASHINGTON
AST YEAR, WHEN MY HUSBAND JOSEPH AND I WELCOMED OUR second child, I dreaded going back to the office. “The office” for me was our home kitchen. As the former editor of the Culinary Institute of America’s monthly magazine and a longtime food writer, work for me meant cooking. Just three weeks prior to our daughter’s birth, I had submitted the final pass to my Manhattan publisher for my first cookbook. When Noelle Grace arrived, not only was I exhausted, as you might expect, but I was also experiencing a mash-up of emotions. Angst and accomplishment topped the list. So for weeks, our new family of four
survived off my visiting mother’s cooking, the generosity of a few friends who brought over meals, and a mortgage-payment’s-worth of prepared food from the Whole Foods hot bar. When our small group of friends from The Summit Church hosted a potluck, the thought of attending seemed impossible to imagine. Then, bright glimpses of my former self began to shine through my postpartum cloud. I decided that I had to allow my once-heady love for community and the kitchen to overpower my growing reclusivity. Also, I needed to face my fear: that my nourishing relationship with food had begun to curdle.
Back in the kitchen
It was a potluck, so I had to contribphotographs by MADELINE GRAY
94 | WALTER
