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One chilly November afternoon, I found myself at the bustling farmers’ market, chatting with a retired chef who had become a regular fixture at the

Back when my kids had just moved out and the house had fallen into that unfamiliar silence, I started spending more time at the stove.

Last fall, my neighbor Susan brought over a hot casserole wrapped in a tea towel, straight from her oven. We were catching up over coffee,

When I was newly retired and adjusting to quieter mornings and slower days, I started digging through the old recipe cards tucked inside my mother’s