Join Suzy Spoon and Tracy Smith in Australia for their show The Iron Deficient Chef. It’s a little bit cooking and a little bit learning and a lot bit awesome.

In the latest episode, Not Chickens, we see how to make a curry with Sri Lankan “cooking guru” Kanaga and we learn about the life of “broiler” hens.

Check out more episodes at their website! And for more info about chickens and why we shouldn’t eat them, visit United Poultry Concerns.

Let’s just get the rain out of the way. The weather here is like a three year old tap dancing; completely spastic, rain falls in jerks and starts, the temperature drops ten degrees, you pull down your hoodie, then five minutes later you need to take it off completely, it dries out wrapped around your waist. Then comes the hail. And my feet have been consistently freezing since I arrived. But there’s a reason everyone lies to you and tells you it’s not that bad, something that makes Portland worth it. And that reason, dear reader, is unicorns. The unicorns here in Portland are phenomenal. And everyone gets one.

I don’t know if it’s the unicorn magic (we’re not supposed to talk about it) or the chilly weather, but my cooking has gotten a new lease on life. In Brooklyn I was feeling cramped physically and mentally, unable to roll out a dough or a new recipe. I was relying on my stand-bys, which often included Chinese food from the number on my kitchen calendar. But since I’ve arrived in Portland I’ve cooked every night, and not just to blog about it (which is why you’ll find no recipes or overly staged photos) but to cook. Just to cook! That was something I had lost in the mix. And the last thing I need is for this thing I love to become a source of stress, or worse yet, a chore.

Everything changes when you are cooking to make a recipe, and since I started with this cookbook business I realize how naive I was to not see the difference immediately. There’s an art to recipe writing that isn’t necessarily apparent when you are merely cooking. When you cook you can rely wholly on your senses. A steamy inhale, blowing down a spoon for a taste. A little of this, a splash, a sprinkle, a shake. The music’s on, the window is open, the cats are at your feet and you can smell the garlic two flights down when you walk into the building. “What’s in it?” My friends used to make fun of me when I would answer, “Spices and things.” But that’s how it was, who knows? Why talk about it? Why ruin things with the mundane drabbery of this earthly plane? Just eat. Who wants to break the magic by bringing in modern technology like teaspoons, blenders and google searches? No, just eat.

Enter Amazon stats and kiss it all goodbye. A scrapped piece of printer paper taped to the fridge, a sharpie that seems to never hold enough ink, and an ever watchful eye on the kitchen timer: that’s recipe writing. Gone is “a little of this” and in comes “how the hell many tablespoons was that?” Forget plopping everything onto a plate with a serving spoon and a come and get it. Now it’s straight to the photo set up, pastel backdrop in place. Then to the computer to type it all out, lest you forget just how long you left the lid on and a recipe is lost. And there is fun in that, there is satisfaction and of course, it’s a small price to pay for, god, all your dreams coming true. But.

It hurts your cooking. It changes everything. It tames you. It makes your already tiny kitchen tinier still. And (I’ll switch from second person narration into first now) I need to be free. I guess that’s what I’m saying. Mel Gibson didn’t completely kill freedom, did he?

A completely unstaged photo of a white lasagna I made, with gingered lime sweet potatoes and a cashew cream sauce. Garnished in a completely realistic manner with cilantro.

An inside shot and a side of garlicky kale, it’s easy to eat local in Portland.