I didn’t set out to write a food blog. I set out to solve a problem: how to feed a genuinely picky kid without turning every dinner into a negotiation, and without pretending my own cooking is more effortless or more elevated than it is.
I have a university background, I raise my kid in two languages, and I don’t fit neatly into the categories most parenting content assumes you do — so I stopped trying to write for an imagined “mom” or “dad” audience and started writing for whoever’s actually standing at the stove at 5:45pm wondering what’s for dinner.
This is a bilingual space, in English and français, because that’s how our household actually operates — not as a translation exercise, but as two ways of talking about the same meal. Expect weeknight recipes that survive real schedules, honest grocery math, restaurant reviews that account for both flavour and whether a nine-year-old will eat it, and the occasional essay on raising a kid outside a gender binary in a culture that assumes one.
No wellness branding, no performance of ease. Just what worked, what didn’t, and why.
Pour bien cuisiner il faut de bons ingrédients, un palais, du coeur et des amis