I’m a chef, not a Chef

I’m not that kind of Chef.

I don’t do organic-only, whole-foods, Trader Joe.

I don’t own saffron and shaved truffles and quail.

I don’t plate my love with tweezers.

I cook the way I live:

butter in the pan,

something sizzling loud enough to drown out the noise in my head,

salt measured with my fingers,

stories spilled like spices.

The culinary guys - they’ve got their place.

Cathedrals of wine and candles,

Michelin stars hung like constellations.

Good for them.

They can keep their deconstructed life and crème fraîche.

Me?

I’m here with my Blackstone,

turning out stir fry and scrambled eggs,

feeding people the way I know how-

messy, satisfying, gone too quick,

but remembered when you need comfort more than theater.

Because I’m not that kind of Chef.

I don’t make you stand in awe.

I make you sit down,

take a bite,

have a drink,

and realize you’re loved.

I’m building a trauma-informed emotional AI that actually gives a damn and writing up the receipts of a life built without instructions for my AuDHD. ❤️ Help me create it (without burning out): https://bit.ly/BettyFund