January 26th, 2024

Hi friends,

Great to be back in y’all’s inbox after some much needed respite. This last week of Portland’s wild ice storm challenged my improvisational cooking skills in a new way—pulling freezer finds forward and putting my pantry stocks to the test. My sourdough was in heavy rotation, bulk seaweed thawed, and dried beans came out of hibernation. It was a practice in resilience and I found renewed appreciation for my curiosity in the kitchen.

This new year comes with many changes. Holding on unironically to my astrological divinity (Libras are finally getting off this emotional roller coaster 🤞), I’m channeling my anxious excitement into focused food endeavors. A Closed Loop Cooking practice is more vital than ever and I can’t wait to share an abundance of inspiration.

Maybe it’s my obsession with The Bear, maybe I’ve been stunned by Jeremy Allen White’s Calvin sauce, maybe I should keep that to myself, whatever the momentum, I’m digging into ‘24 with fervor. And hope you’re here for it.

as always and onward–

Stay hungry,Hawnuh Lee | Founder, Closed Loop Cooking

Admiring new growth.

The dish >>

• Reminder, you’re not rotting…

• The Rewilding the World podcast just relaunched.

• More effort driven reward cycles this year.

• Has anyone tried cooked.wiki? I for one, love a long-winded intro.

• New fav recipe vid from @bonringfriends.

• Always rotating a classic leek + potato soup this winter.

• How to eat less plastic. That’s a painful sentence.

On intention, in my kitchen.

An essay Hawnuh Lee

I have lived a life contingent on other people’s moods. It’s been an act of self preservation to navigate external entities and render myself a foil to their tumult. I have found validation in serving abundant meals with regularity, making myself indispensable to someone else’s routine. Pairing my dinner times with a partner or friend or sibling because if you make a delicious plate alone in your kitchen, does taste even mean anything?

Finding myself on the other side of an unexpected break-up at the end of 2023, I lost my appetite entirely. Literally née, Hannah COOK, the plant-based chef and hyper-focused foodie, I just wasn’t hungry. We’ve all been through the romantic ringer, known the grips of visceral nausea (I promise it’s not an essay only on dismay), heck I’d been here a year previous. But this time, in this unconscious uncoupling from food, I felt a different kind of devastation.

Who am I without someone to feed?

It’s widely known in the restaurant industry chefs will sustain themselves on the absolute bare minimum at the end of the day–too spent having served others all day to give the same care to their own person. A habit I’ve repeated many a pop-up, claiming only scraps at the end of an event, once everyone else has eaten. Conditioned survivalism, from years in the kitchen, from early family life, and relationships. Feeding solely myself has been a rote act, out of necessity.

But in this immense wave of grief, I noticed people feeding me. Offering wine, then mocktails. Full vegan pizzas, pho, rice bowls, non-dairy Ben & Jerry’s by the spoonful. Things I couldn’t stomach in the beginning, intense cramping and trips to the toilet taking precedent. But over time I found comfort in the plates offered to me, the mindful friends checking in and asking what I’d had today. It felt beyond description to be taken care of, to let go control and allow support. In my limited capacity I had no other choice than to accept. And, in what I’d eschewed for so long, believing my worth is tied only to meals served, I realized I’d disconnected from reciprocity. 

In some moment alone in the last few weeks, I felt hungry. Like actual, full body hunger and I made myself dinner. A proper dinner, with all the accouterment. Whole wheat pasta with pepita seaweed pesto and quick pickled red onions, fancy olives, shaved carrot, and loads of lemon. It was a kiss spicy, perfectly acidic, and comforting. Most importantly, it was fucking delicious–just me, alone in my kitchen.

I’m adjusting to this new reality and relationship with nourishment. Cooking less for other people and more for myself. Intentionally making favorite dishes, trying new ingredients, and being patient in the process. A perfected salad lunch routine is an actual moment of inter-tenderness. A kindness I can build habit around and reinforce through special snacks and calming hot bevs.It is a total revelation–feeding my animal body with the same elevated food I love to share. That is healing. One recipe at a time, and using the nice bowls. 

Are crocs finally aspirational?

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