
I never realized that my tendency to overbuy at the farmers’ market was a hereditary condition. If you open my mother’s refrigerator at any given time, you’ll probably find a bunch of chard, just waiting to be turned into a green soup. But just one bunch. Not three. It wasn’t until I visited my aunt and uncle in Los Angeles that I saw my own habits reflected in someone else’s refrigerator, and on their countertops.
Back in October, after Steph and Rodrigo’s Santa Barbara wedding, I decided to milk my West Coast trip…



















Vegetarian African Peanut Stew