The feeling of the evening was possibility.

The possibility of meeting someone you resonate with (or don’t!). The possibility of new tastes and textures coming together – this isn’t a restaurant you’ve been to before. Our dinner party hosts at Makers Central were generous in their offerings, and wove their personalities and storytelling into the evening. My favorite part was dessert: Guests were called to leave the long table and gather in the entryway space that had been used for cocktails. Ceramics artist and former line cook Connor McGinn had laid out 31 different bowls, one for each guest, each with a different assembly of the chef’s dessert ingredients (goat cheesecake, berry compote, lemon curd, pistachios) that fit the shape of each canvas. He explained his process of experimentation, including making “mistakes” that weren’t functional enough to sell to restaurants (his main customers), like bowls that were hard to pick up from the table or didn’t stack. The result: Many bowls in fantastic shapes (a donut, an inside-out bowl, a flying saucer, a tulip…) that never get used. Tonight, all the possibilities came out to play.

The night felt like possibility for personal reasons as well. I’ve been in a transformative process, reexamining who I am as all the forms around me (home, work, community) change. I’ve written a new bio (quite different from my corporate one; both are true and different facets of myself) and launched this website and newsletter. The Makers Central dinner party tickets came to me by way of a winning raffle ticket at a party I attended at my coworking space, so it seemed like an offering from the universe to go and try on this new skin. When you meet strangers, they ask you who you are and what you do. It was an opportunity to try out a new response. “I write recipes as feelings,” I said.

Everything was sensuous and textured, woven from the threads of the universe I’d been weaving too. And yet, I felt inexplicably horrible. Nauseous – so much so, I could barely eat or drink my wine (unheard of!). I felt exactly like I was pregnant (I’m not) with morning sickness. I had the absurd thought that I was pregnant with myself. So much possibility felt overwhelming. I am here, everything is beautiful, and I wanted to go home and crawl into bed.

The next day, and the next, I only wanted toast. With butter. With jam. With cheese and honey, or marmalade and tapenade (did you know you can even get these in the same jar?!), or mustard. With tuna. Etc. Tartines. Possibility constrained by form, in manageable bites.

A recipe for existing within all of the possibilities, and choosing one (ok, a few) to make and taste and eat. You can make a different choice tomorrow as new possibilities arise.