The Day My Booth Took Flight, And Why I Laughed
Chers rêveurs de goût, (Dear dreamers of taste)
I read the start time wrong. We were the first to arrive—between 7 and 8 a.m.—while the event didn’t begin until 12:30. But being early had its gifts. I watched the festival slowly unfold: the food trucks rumbling in, the specialty Japanese pastry stand arranging their trays of cloudlike buns, the rainbow couple with their cheeky T-shirts—“What’s the most Southern thing you’ve said?” and “Cock of the Walk.” They lent me a phone charger and later helped take down my booth when a gust of wind lifted it into the air and landed it in a nearby tree. (No one hurt, though the booth looked like it was trying to migrate.) Next time—sandbags. Always sandbags.
The first public appearance of my latest novel, The Mistress of Apples and Bécasse!
People loved the scent jars. Especially Wild, the one filled with sumac—its bright, unruly tang caught people’s attention. One woman ran past calling, “I love your tag line—Cook with fire, feast like a goddess! I’ll be back!” A woman named Candy did come back, and lingered. So did a German couple who returned later with their daughter and 10-week-old baby boy to say hello.
Any guesses as to what the aromas of Wild, Fire, and Solace might be?
Two women stopped, reading the sign, the books, the breads. “Wait—you wrote these three books? You made these breads? You dried the levain? And this? And this?” they said, eyes wide. Then came that familiar moment: the one where I step back, almost outside myself, and—with as much grace and confidence as I can summon—say, “Yes. I guess I did.”
By the volunteer booth, I shared apple breads as the day wound down. The police officers who helped rescue the booth politely declined—rubbing their stomachs in mock restraint—only to later accept boxes of cupcakes from another vendor. I laughed. A perfect, forehead-smacking return to the ordinary.
Because that’s what these days are—a dance between the wondrous and the ridiculous. Between windblown chaos and quiet joy. Between the you who shows up at dawn, and the you who realizes, by afternoon, that the world you’ve been building all along has finally stepped out into the light.
Just as I was finishing this note, a bird flew straight into the house. I laughed out loud as I gently shooed it back outside. Some days, you don’t have to look far for signs that the story is still writing itself. Maybe the booth, the book, and the bird are all saying the same thing: keep your windows open—something beautiful might fly in.
P.S. I’m renaming this newsletter The Legacy Letter — a place where stories, recipes, and small miracles meet. I’d love to know what you enjoy most here:
✨ Festival tales?
🍞 Behind-the-scenes kitchen stories?
📚 Glimpses into the worlds of The Mistress of Apples and Bécasse?
Click reply and tell me what lights you up — your words always shape where this journey goes next.
The Mistress of Apples and Bécasse has arrived!
In modern-day France, Miel Nerra, a gifted chef, becomes entangled in the ancient traditions of the Mistresses. Guided by tapestries and haunted by memory, she must follow the elusive Bécasse into a world where story, legacy, and love collide.