Why I’m Choosing Homemade

An Invitation to Slow Down

There’s something sacred about tying on an apron and making something from scratch. No shortcuts. No rush. Just me, my hands, and the rhythm of what’s in front of me.

Lately, I’ve been choosing homemade—not because it’s always easier, or faster, or even picture-perfect—but because it reminds me to slow down. Or rather, it forces me to.

In a world that’s constantly nudging us toward convenience, there’s a quiet rebellion in choosing the longer way. The from-scratch way. The “put on some music, roll up your sleeves, and let it take the time it takes” way.

When I begin a recipe from scratch, there’s almost a ritual to it now. The deep inhale and exhale as I tie my apron. The small moment of presence as I set up my workspace—clearing crumbs, turning on music, maybe lighting a candle nearby. It's not just cooking. It's devotion. It’s presence. It’s a practice.

And it teaches me so much.

I’m learning patience. That everything good doesn’t need to be done in a hurry.
I’m learning gratitude. That having the time, ingredients, and energy to cook is a blessing I never want to take for granted.
I’m learning creativity. That with homemade, I get to adjust to my own taste—season a little more, stir a little longer, make it just right.

I know exactly what’s going into my food—into my body, into my home. There’s comfort in that. And more than anything, there’s magic in creating something with your hands. Like love is pouring out of you and into what you're making.

The sizzle of garlic in the pan. The hum of a summer playlist. The way sunlight hits the counter as dough gets rolled out. It’s all part of the atmosphere. A slower kind of living. A more connected kind of living.

So yes, sometimes the homemade path is messier. It’s flour on your shirt and dishes in the sink. But it’s also laughter in the kitchen. It’s joy in the process. And it’s a reminder that the work of your hands is enough. More than enough.

This season, I’m choosing homemade as a way to return to myself. To cultivate love, nourishment, and intention—one meal at a time.

Here’s to slower days and handmade things,
Ilda