The rantings of a chef's daughter from New York, living in Maine, learning about life and sipping wine the entire way through.
In case you were wondering...
Depending on which day you ask, I could either go on in volumes or give you a few select adjectives about myself. My name is Daniela. My father is a chef. I’m half Italian (northern, from the Friuli region), half Argentinean (outskirts of Buenos Aires), and I studied French for nearly 10 years just to escape being corrected by either parent. I grew up in New York and have since moved to Maine with my husband. I will take the mountains over the beach any day. I am immensely proud of my Italian heritage but, when it comes to soccer, am a true blue (and white!) Albiceleste fan. I’m a driver; I drive everywhere. I love to read and can get, I admit, intensely pulled into a good book. Sometimes too intensely. I love meeting new friends but can be incredibly shy at introducing myself. My mother is my hero; my father is too. I love love and any song written about it. I think slow dancing is one of the romantic things ever. I want to see the world (don't we all?). I have a tough time even thinking about boiling a lobster. I get a kick out of pretty patterns and love vintage designs. I hate bubblegum-flavored things (except for actual bubblegum). I could care less about sweet stuff; cakes, cookies, muffins, pies, very sweet fruit — you can take it all. Give me savory and I’m a happy girl. I’m admittedly horrible at keeping in touch with even the closest of my friends and family. I still working on figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.
I'm a little quiet, very silly, and way too much of a hopeless romantic. My father, the chef, is the reason I have an intense love affair with the art of cooking. The kitchen is a peaceful and happy space for me — the sights, sounds, and smells all have incredible memories attached to them.