Love That Nourishes

It was one of those winter evenings when the light fades early.
Grey outside. Candlelight inside. Paco resting at our feet.

I stood in the kitchen, fingers stained red from beetroot, cumin in the air, a hint of harissa warming the tip of my tongue.

On the plate:
a deep crimson hummus base,
a golden roasted cauliflower steak,
fresh herbs, chili, warmth.

A little bit of the Orient.
A little courage for color.
A quiet I thought of you.

When I placed the plate in front of him, he looked at me — longer than usual.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me. It’s a gift. Every day.”

And there it was.
That soft moment of recognition.

This is my language.

And it took me years to see the beauty in it.

We often talk about the five love languages.
Words. Time. Gifts. Touch. Acts of service.

But maybe we don’t fit neatly into categories.
Maybe we are more nuanced.
Maybe we are allowed to create our own language.

Mine sizzles in a pan.
It chops coriander.
It sets the table.

Not from duty.
Not from expectation.
But from fullness.

There was a time when I wondered:
Am I giving too much?
Am I caring too deeply?

Today I know:
It’s not too much when it comes from abundance.

Self-love doesn’t mean giving less.
It means not abandoning yourself while you give.

When I love by nourishing,
I nourish myself, too.

Somewhere between beetroot and cauliflower,
something deeper happens.
Connection.
Presence.
Gratitude.

Maybe love isn’t fireworks.
Maybe it’s a warm plate.
A set table.
A dog sighing contentedly nearby.

And maybe the most important person we’re meant to nourish today
is ourselves.

If you’d like to cook your own Valentine’s dinner — for two or just for you — I’m happy to share the recipe.

Love doesn’t have to be spectacular.
It simply has to nourish.