Magazines, newsletters, cookbooks and apps…there’s so much out there these days to keep dinner fresh and motivate us to cook. Sure, we all have our go to casseroles or “burgers,” but I love to try something new.

We’ve all been there - It’s the recipe that looks so good, you find yourself searching for the car keys to go shopping while visions of the table setting are spinning around in your head.  I was probably hungry when I read it too. 

Yesterday, the New York Times shared a winner. They had me at Grilled Chicken with Charred-Scallion Chimichurri.

There's something special about inheriting a piece of family history, especially when it comes with a story—like a well-loved silver platter or serving dish. You know the one: it’s been passed down, present at holiday meals, weddings, baby showers and the “just because” dinner. But there’s a moment that really tugs at your heartstrings: when you turn it over and find a piece of masking tape with your mother’s name on it. That little strip of tape, now slightly faded and curling at the edges, is more than just a label. It’s a reminder of the women who came before you—women who knew that serving others wasn’t just a duty, but a privilege.

Friends invited us for lunch the other day. The destination was #owensselfserve and like many great Virginia eateries, we had to walk around a gas pump to get to the front door. (It’s a Virginia thing. You'll find some of the best food around in a gas station. Just ask a local.) We ordered at the counter, “fixed” our own sweet tea. The ice was the really good ice and the cups were styrofoam. This is a southern beverage trifecta.

My friend recently shared a story about someone special that made my heart smile. “I just want to come over and put my feet under your dining room table,” he said. Isn’t that beautiful? I think of those words so often and the sentiment that they embrace. The simple act of preparing a meal and the experience of sharing life over dinner in your home creates a much needed moment to exhale.