One of my first jobs after high school was working as a chef … in a small café … in a church … a mega-church. You read all that correctly. I usually leave the last two parts out, when telling folks about that time.

Guys, this recipe is so good. Like, can’t-stop-eating-it good! I’m sharing it with my Patreon supporters. Want to see more? Become a supporter.

Tasting new foods with people I love accounts for many of my favorite memories. I think of baking a pie with my dear friend Shannon, after we were inspired by the “Pie-Maker” from a show called Pushing Daisies. It was filled with a white chocolate ganache, orange zest, macadamia nuts, and a drizzle of dark chocolate on top. It was delicious and whimsical.It all begins with an idea.

As I type this, I am confined to the attic of my house. Sitting on the carpet, I can feel the hum of the drill below. Downstairs, there are several nice men sanding, painting, and returning light fixtures to their proper places. Since the day we closed on this house a few months ago, we were ushered into the realities of owning a home.

People have strong feelings about mushrooms — mushrooms and cilantro. One might overhear a conversation about them and mistake the subject for politics or religion. There are words like “hate,” “disgusting,” and “adore.” I happen to love them. The earthy, umami taste of mushrooms is something I crave. Some of my favorite ways to eat them are in in velvety eggs, a salad of leafy greens and pecorino romano, and any sort of vegetable sauté.

I was trying to be productive all day yesterday. I tried to unpack the bag that has been on my guest bedroom floor for the last month. It has been packed and unpacked, only to be packed and unpacked again. This is not an unusual occurrence in Nashville. This town is full musicians and artists who zip in and out all the time. It can make it damn near impossible to have a get together with all my friends. I am not someone who tours often, but the last few months I have been traveling quite a bit.

As I sit here typing I am coming down from the inevitable sugar high that occurs when these bars are in my kitchen. I had two of them fresh out of the oven, because, of course I did. And that was after I had several bites while kneading the butter in the mixture of flour, oats, and nuts. I just can’t help myself. They are damn good.

Summer is my least favorite season. This may stem from growing up near Amarillo, Texas, where the months from June to August perpetually feel like a hair dryer -- windy and dry. As a kid, water needed to be involved to tempt me outside. As an adult, I am learning to like it more. Moving to Tennessee has helped, but heat is still heat. I hate being hot, and I hate how my hair grows three times its size in frizz.