I love to cook.
And I love everything that comes with it: Tiffany-blue baking dishes, polka-dot aprons, exotic spices, homemade pasta, exploring and experimenting.
I love fresh herbs, gardens, farmer’s markets, French markets and bakeries.
One might think I lived in some countryside town where village markets bustle with patisseries, and cheesemongers advertise specials of the day with organic farms just driving distance.
The truth is- I’m about as far from that village as I am to Paris.
I currently reside in sunny Las Vegas. Otherwise known (insert my cringe) as “Sin City”.
Although I am from Southern California, originally, my husband is a born-and-raised fourth-generation Las Vegan, and fourth-generation Las Vegas business owner.
Like it or not, Las Vegas is home. For now.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the up-sides of living in Las Vegas- entertainment… shopping… gourmet dining. In fact, I’ve heard that Las Vegas now is home to more Master sommeliers than Manhattan. Of course, I haven’t been able to verify this, so that’s just rumor for now.
To give you an example of what I’m talking about, when I was a busy corporate girl, a small bakery opened near my office. It was the cutest place with homemade soups, bread and DIY waffle tables. I went there nearly every day for lunch and got the same thing- roasted red bell pepper soup with a slice of fresh sourdough bread. Heaven.
That little bakery didn’t last long. In fact, I think I was their only regular patron. Too soon, the Subway next door won out and my little bakery closed down.
So how do I find authenticity in “Sin City”?
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