Notes on books, travel, and everyday life
I've been trying an experiment this month: limiting myself to twenty pages a day, no matter how gripping the book. The idea came from a conversation with a friend who said she re-reads sentences the way people revisit favourite songs. At first it felt like punishment, but by the second week something shifted. I started noticing the rhythm of sentences, the white space between paragraphs, the way a good writer leaves room for the reader to think.
Continue reading →Tbilisi is the kind of city that doesn't try to impress you. The charm is in the crumbling balconies, the sulphur baths tucked behind unmarked doors, and the old men playing backgammon in courtyards that haven't changed in fifty years. I went expecting wine country and came back thinking mostly about bread. The tone-baked shotis puri from a corner bakery on Leselidze Street might be the best thing I've ever eaten.
Continue reading →For years my routine was: wake up, reach for the phone, scroll through headlines for fifteen minutes, then feel vaguely anxious for the rest of the morning. In January I replaced that with ten minutes of just sitting with coffee and looking out the window. It sounds absurdly simple, and it is. But two months in, the mornings feel different. The day starts on my terms instead of the world's.
Continue reading →The starter is still alive, which I consider a personal achievement. Six months ago I couldn't tell the difference between proofing and bulk fermentation. Now I have opinions about hydration percentages and flour brands. The bread is getting better. Not bakery-level, but good enough that I've stopped buying store loaves. There's something deeply satisfying about the whole process — the waiting, the shaping, the moment you pull it out and hear the crust crackle.
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