I turned an excerpt from my diary into a dish

Eating healthy is so much more than just the sum of nutritional values—it’s a story you tell. I made a dish inspired by a diary entry from April. It’s about enjoying the silence in a world that constantly wants to know your opinion. I hope it can be a ray of light in your day ❤️

Explanation of the painting & recipe

Painting & Diary Excerpt

The painting captures the feeling of words flowing freely when a story is told with genuine passion. Unlike everyday conversations, it’s about the art of telling compelling stories and, in doing so, briefly transporting someone into your own world of thoughts. 

Painting & Dish

The painting consists of a background of various curved pastel lines that converge in the center of the canvas. From there, one sees brightly colored floral structures in the foreground that grow progressively larger. 

The dish that goes with it is the summer berry smoothie from my cooking show *The Summer Menu*. Just like the painting, the smoothie has many layers—but in its flavor. The mango provides a sweet and creamy base upon which the other flavors build. The blueberries add a fresh, floral layer to the flavor. Here and there, the spicy and slightly bitter aroma of the parsley stands out. Together, these elements create a surprising and rich interplay of fresh, summery flavors. 

Diary Excerpt

I have 1,001 tasks on my to-do list, but they can wait until after my walk.

I'm walking down a narrow street in Bruges and can catch snippets here and there of conversations about the weather and how busy things are at work.

My thoughts wander to the unique shades of color of the slightly drooping petunias in the planter I’m passing by. Could plants be aware of each other’s presence? Do they enjoy the attention they receive?

Not really, but in a way, yes.

I don't need attention to be happy.

I don't get any joy out of shoving my opinion about the weather down someone's throat.

I don't feel the need to shout my thoughts as loudly as possible to save others from the silence.

I'd rather puzzle over what comes to the surface when we drown together in that silence.

I write plays in my head about the existential questions that are sidestepped in small talk. What story lies behind the “ça va wel” when someone asks how you’re doing?

Still, I like to get up on stage, 

with my self-written theater show. 

Not out of a desire for attention, but out of a passion for a story that simply needs to be told.

As captivating as the opening notes of Beethoven’s famous violin concertos, and with a refined depth like the grains of fleur de sel on a salad of fresh field vegetables.

I actually like that—it makes me happy.

And until then, I want to count the clouds,

painting the sunset,

and the butterflies have many questions about the scents of the lavender bushes this year.

And then to make plans again, drawing inspiration from the vitality of the non-winter-hardy petunias I saw on my walk, 

which, for the first and only time in history, are now in bloom.

Plans for stories that need to be told and spotlights converging on the spot on stage where I stand.

And all the time in between, I want to lose myself in a whirlwind of flowers,

that takes me to a place where the sun is shining and my schedule is clear.

Where there is room to appreciate the sounds of silence, and you don't have to make small talk about the weather just to say something.

In silence, mulling over a story,

until I reach the point where I have no choice but to get up on stage and tell the story.

That's where I want to be. 

Take me to the place where those two worlds meet and merge in a whirlwind of flowers.

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