Giving thanks for a Spring Break

I work as a bartender downtown, so I usually get home around 2 or 3 a.m. Every night, I give myself some “me time” at the gym to decompress after a long shift. Bordering on masochism or just incredible discipline, I get home carrying both of my backpacks, and the first thing I do is doom-scroll while heating up whatever meal prep I’ve made for the week: usually catering leftovers and random vegetables cooked into some questionable soup.

Usually, I’m holding a wooden spoon in my mouth while using both hands to scroll through my phone, squinting. I’ve got a bit of a summary for you guys of the kinds of notifications I get.

“Hey girlie i see you like the food around San Diego, want to collab for a fee?”

Block* , I check my other messages.

“Can I get an estimate of your catering for about 8 to 100 people? Not sure about the head count yet but wanted to shop around, also, it’s next week!”

I sigh and put my phone down and eat standing up, a habit I’ll never stop since being in the service industry for +10 years. 

I’ve always promised myself that so long as I was a server or a bartender, that I would 

1. Travel to a new place every year

2. Make sure that I am funding a passion project outside of work

3. Never allow myself to become a bitter old bartender with an ego the size of a magnum champagne bottle during a bottomless mimosa brunch, being drained by the Sunday scaries.

Every once in a while, an opportunity comes along that reminds you why you fell in love with your craft in the first place. What made this event special wasn’t just the setting, or even the celebration itself, it was the rare and refreshing gift of being given full creative direction.

Saying “Yes” When I Usually Say “No”

I’ll be honest: I turn down most event inquiries. Not because I don’t love what I do, but because I’m typically boxed into rigid menus, strict expectations that would make the food taste horrible, and requests that don’t allow space for the creativity that makes cooking meaningful to me. Food is my art, and when I’m only asked to follow instructions, the soul of the work begins to fade. Don’t get me wrong either, I have done some serious last minute requests, and I’ve enjoyed pushing myself to the limit of time and technical skill each time. I like being challenged with a menu that someone customizes, but I also want to be proud of what I’m cooking too.

I think the perspective comes from spending 5 days a week, 6-8 hours a day, being talked at. 

“A burger, well done, plain” 

“The burger was okay, it was just dry”

“Can you make me a Bloody Mary but with only tomato juice?”

“It just wasn’t that flavorful”

I don’t mind understanding what people enjoy and what they don’t like, I actually really love watching the patterns as I work. I just think I was craving the connection between two people who truly enjoy food, that want to explore ingredients they’ve never tasted before.

So when the organizers of this reading event reached out, I expected the usual list of must-haves. Instead, they surprised me.

They said the words I didn’t know I wanted to hear: “Just bring your food, no desserts though, we have an ice cream vendor already.”

I’m sure it was a brief and passing moment for them, but for me, it changed everything.

Food Inspired by Moments

Pages in the park is a community read-outside event, where a public gathering of people of all ages come together to celebrate reading in the open air. Imagine a local park filled with blankets, lawn chairs, and small clusters of families, friends, and strangers all quietly immersed in their books. There’s usually a gentle hum of conversation, the sound of pages turning, and the comforting feeling of being surrounded by others who love stories just as much as you do.

These types of events are usually organized by libraries or neighborhood groups, but learning that this one was put together by two genuinely kind people named Sonal and Ace made us even more excited to be part of it. NuMoon Corner is built on humble, hardworking ownership as well, so collaborating with people who share that same spirit felt like the perfect match.

 This event was an outdoor reading party, with the dazzling Waterfront background that allowed people to have their own quiet reflections.

I wanted the food to echo that.

Instead of traditional catering trays and predictable pairings, I built the menu around

moments rather than dishes:

• Bite-sized morsels of the coziest of foods that felt like turning a page

  
  

  Small, intriguing, and meant to spark curiosity, just like the opening chapter of a good story.

  
  
  
  

• Plates inspired by emotional beats

  
  

  Comforting warm dishes that mirrored softness and nostalgia. Brighter, sharper flavors that captured the intensity of a plot twist.

  
  
  
  

• Textures that mimicked the rhythm of storytelling

  
  

  Crunch, melt, contrast, food that asks you to pause the same way a powerful sentence does.

  
  
  
  

Each dish was designed to be an experience rather than simply something to eat, something that aligned with the tone and storytelling of the book itself.

A Creative Reset

This event reminded me why I love culinary work at its core: the ability to create something expressive, intentional, and alive. It gave me room to interpret, imagine, and play: something I’ve learned not to expect in my industry, but deeply appreciate when it comes.

In the warm San Diego afternoon, guests flip through pages, unaware of the work behind it all: the tents set up in the blistering sun, the long nights of planning, the dog shit parking on a Sunday. It felt amazing to be a part of something with like minded people like myself and my sister and with the help of my friends, and community-driven people like Sonal and Ace.

It all felt like a celebration not only of reading, but of creative trust.

And that is something I’ll always say yes to.

Here is my menu for 

Pages in the Park

Hosted by Reading Rhthyms San Diego, on March 20, 2025