Standing on the edge of a precipice

what to cook when you're about to take a leap of faith

Cape Flattery, Washington is the northwesternmost point of the contiguous United States. When you look out on the horizon from one of the many viewing platforms on the trail, which sits on the Makah reservation, you feel the vastness of the unknown. Look carefully and you can see sea lions basking on nearby rocks, sea caves, islands, a lighthouse in the distance. Otters and whales have been spotted in these environs, an old growth forest fringes the trail, and the interplay of the water and the rocks is breathtaking.

Not usually one for symbolism, J wanted to visit Cape Flattery for his birthday. Soon, we are leaving Washington for Portugal, so it felt fitting to stand at the edge of our state and look out at the Great Beyond.

My physiatrist tells me that oncology recovery can be measured in three and six month increments. Three months ago, I was buoyed by newfound energy because the worst of the treatments (chemo and radiation) were behind me. Now, six months post-chemotherapy, though I’m still sometimes tired and achy from the immunotherapy I’m receiving, the chemo brain fog has begun to lift, my hair is growing rapidly, I’m in the home stretch with chemical infusions, and I can imagine and get excited about life beyond cancer treatment.

Preparation for the Portugal move can also be measured in increments and shit has recently gotten very real. We had visa interviews at the end of July and are awaiting the decision. In the meantime, we are making arrangements to rent out our house, downsize, and transport ourselves and three pets (one of whom suffers from congestive heart failure) to our new home by the end of this year, once I have finished treatment.

The move seemed eminently doable when it was far off on the horizon. Now that we’re closer, it sometimes seems daunting, though I’ve made international moves several times before and we have the benefit of the wisdom and resources of the many who have taken this leap before us.

One of my greatest pleasures is to read cookbooks and curate a menu and mood from the recipes I find. So in the can-do spirit I have been trying to embrace as I tick tasks for the move off my to-do list, I decided it was high time I cooked a whole branzino.

I’ve got no business accumulating any more cookbooks (more on that in a minute), but I promised myself I could add three new ones to my collection before we move. How nice for me that my upcoming birthday coincides with new cookbook release season.

I’d had my eye on

Rebekah Peppler

‘s Le Sud, which came out earlier this year, for a while and bought it with my aspirational cool new European, blue stripe-wearing self and a plentitude of local seafood and fresh produce in mind.

Coincidentally, I’d seen branzino for sale somewhere (thanks to residual chemo brain I couldn’t remember exactly where) in the past week. It’s unusual to find it in Seattle and it felt like a sign. I did some sleuthing and retracing of my steps to recently visited fish markets and stores and discovered that the fish department of our local grocery store had recently featured it and that I could order it. While waiting for it to come in, I would have to scratch my Mediterranean itch with Moules in Aïoli and Haricots Verts with Shallots, Capers, and Preserved Lemons.

I’ve been suffering from some aïoli performance problems in recent years and am happy to report that carefully hand-whisking the concoction instead of relying on a blender yielded delicious results, which I smothered in mussels, further confirming that I can do anything if I set my mind to it and take things slow.

I was in less of a Provençal cheffy mood the next day when I picked up my branzino, but sometimes you just have to power through, especially when you have fresh basil from your friend’s farm to make pistou.

Rebekah Peppler

‘s recipe for Whole Roasted Fish calls for it to be stuffed with a tangy concoction of shallots, pistou, and lemon. It looked impressive when it emerged from the oven.

I was proud of myself for stuffing and roasting a whole fish and chose to ignore J’s comment that he was expecting “a Lucy Ricardo” situation.

But if we’re honest, don’t we all prefer the ease of nice fish filets? Here in Seattle, the quintessential summer meal is a thick piece of salmon on the grill. But we’re moving to Europe and in the spirit of adventure, I wanted to embrace the transition, bones and all.

The fish was perfectly cooked and the filling was a delicious complement. It all went so well with the leftover haricots verts and dry, grassy white wine. Until I took my next bite.

A fish bone lodged underneath and between my teeth and it felt like it had dislocated my jaw. Like Lucy Ricardo at the chocolate factory, with her mouth stuffed, I mumbled as I ran upstairs to try to floss the offending bone free. It took some doing and my jaw felt out of alignment for several hours, making me go down the road of “will emergency jaw surgery impact our Portugal move? but I finished my branzino anyway. It was tasty.

As anyone who has made a move or had a major life transition can attest, it can weirdly discombobulating to have one foot in the here and now and another in the future. The grass is greener here, then there, then back again and things never go as smoothly as you plan.

My two favorite stories from previous Big Moves are losing my cat in the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai (she was eventually found) and having the wife of the Secretary of Education, who valued “personal responsibility,” total my car (which I had arranged to sell) in a parking garage a week before I moved from Washington, DC to Seattle.

Like many, I have felt hopeless about American politics and like many, it feels wonderful to feel hopeful, like we are about to leap into a new, more constructive and less divisive era. So I thoroughly enjoyed the Democratic National Convention and made sure to cook food worthy of the occasion.

The first night, I turned on the DVR so I could make Lemony Caulifower over Labaneh and Tahini Glazed Carrots, from

Adeena Sussman

‘s wonderful book Sababa. Night two was this post’s featured recipe by Eric Kim, which you will see below.

For the grand finale I got smart, and made pork chile verde in the crockpot so I could listen to the speeches in real time. The rest, I hope, is history.

We all have things that make home seem like home.

As my Foreign Service class got ready to embark on our first overseas assignments, one guy included corn on the cob holders in his air freight, not even willing to wait for them to arrive a few months later in the shipping container with the rest of his household effects.

For me, the joy I get from my cookbooks is such an essential part of my well-being, I can’t imagine being without them. I’ve known all along that not every book in my extensive collection can make the move to Portugal, but it’s only recently that I’ve had to confront just what that will mean, since our goal is to travel light.

Now, I’m calculating and comparing shipping and excess baggage costs, learning about baggage certificates, and weighing cookbooks. I counted how many I feel must make the move and it came to 50. At roughly three pounds per book, that’s 150 pounds. (Full disclosure - I have 149 150 Kindle cookbooks beyond my print collection).

The other night, I couldn’t sleep, worrying about my books and other even more serious implications of the move. I know from experience, both intellectually and emotionally there will be many such moments, as I grapple with what I should leave behind, the impact of this change, and also feel the tug and excitement of a new life, with new possibilities.

Still, I’m licking my lips at the prospect of the final two cookbooks I hope to add to my collection before we go - Yotam Ottolenghi’s Comfort, and Sunlight and Breadcrumbs — the newest book by Renee Erickson (Seattle chef with several phenomenal restaurants and two great cookbooks, including Getaway, which is one of my favorites).

I recently read this provocative post, Europe Won’t Fix You, by

Elizabeth.Ink

here on Substack and also in an expat Facebook group I belong to. In the ways of the Internet, people shared strong opinions about the piece. My own view is that I’m moving towards something, not running away, and that each of the four previous times I’ve been an expat have broadened my perspective in life-changing ways. One of those experiences is how J and I found each other.

I am well aware of the privilege we have in making this move and in having a place to come back to if we choose. I do not take this for granted.

Readers, how do you process transitions? Do you have any rituals for saying goodbye to the old and welcoming the new? Have you taken a big leap of faith? How did it go? What items (if any) signify home to you? Please tell us about it in the comments.

The Best Thing I Recently Cooked

Gochugaru Shrimp with Roasted Seaweed Grits

Eric Kim’s book Korean American will be joining me in Portugal and here’s why. Not only is this Korean version of Southern shrimp and grits absolutely delicious, it’s also a snap to make. Note - I substituted polenta for grits with no problem.

I only had to pause one DNC speech for the active cooking time (sorry, no time to take a photo). And then we settled in with this delicious meal and some much-needed inspiration.