Someone once told me that after you spend hours tweaking and worrying over a new thing—building it up from scratch, loving and hating it in equal measure, chalking up full evenings of starry-eyed brainstorming—you wake up one morning and it suddenly exists, fully-fledged and rarin’ to go, like it’s been there the whole time. All you had to do was dig it up, drag it toward the light, and brush it off a little.

      Well, hot damn. Here we are.

      I love kitchens. I love how loud they are, how joyously rascally and hospitable they are, how ceremonious. I’d also much rather squelch around in waders digging for clams and shootin’ the shit than read (or write) an anonymous review on the latest burger joint in town. This little publication is a shot at promoting the kind of content I dream about: visceral, feel-good reading on people who blow you away with their talent and nonstop love for the game. It's been one year since we sat down at the kitchen table and decided to do this, and I needed every last minute to decide what that meant. 

      I wanted a magazine that would do right by those who have dedicated themselves to this industry. Something that felt immediate, but not like an aggregator. Something that would feel at home among its fellow indie mags taking the food mediasphere by storm. Something not unlike a solid mise en place: crucial, personal, and never more than arm’s distance away.

      Whatever shape it might take, whether it winds up being a knock-your-socks-off-long-lost Monet wedged between two wall panels, or just some weirdly-shaped rock that you kinda like the look of so you stick it on your desk, this is our love letter to The Mise en Place. And yes, we’ve been here all along.

      Whether you’re just discovering us, or have been onboard since the very beginning, my gratitude for your support knows no bounds.

     Let's have some fun, shall we?

                                Cheers,