I am a homely intuitive, someone who is introverted and most at home at home. I would like to think I’m thoughtful about the spirits, what they say, and I how respond. I resist describing myself as psychic because even though I am, it denotes something flashy, spectacular, and extraordinary. I feel intuition is actually quite ordinary (which is exactly what makes it wondrous), and is accessible if we seek it and learn how (I discuss a lot of the how in my Mystery Mentorship series). In my spirit communication practice, I prefer remaining more understated, so the spirits can be centered. As an animist, everything is alive and conscious; and when one experiences that everything is alive, one is in a state of constant awe and gratitude.
Similarly, I am a homely cook, someone who (I also like to think) is thoughtful about what I eat and what / how I feed others. I don’t use fancy gadgets, avoid fussy dishes, and lean heavily towards simple, timeless, and traditional foods that speak for themselves. Nourishment is important to me, as well as pleasure. Though I do cook from recipes from time to time, I rarely follow them to exact precision, because for me, it’s an exercise in being present and receptive. It’s not interesting for food to be mechanical and predictable; I much prefer to be intuitive, inspired, and intrigued. The unexpected licking of spoons, plates and fingers is sexy. Sometimes the outcome to experimentation is underwhelming, but more often than not, something brilliant is made by my hands with the collaboration of the spirit allies hanging in my kitchen.
When friends text me the next morning after a dinner at my place the night before, they ask for a recipe (or two or three), and I’m always like, just come over earlier next time and I’ll teach you because if it can’t be written down into measurements. It’s more of a feeling, a muscle memory, a sensual knowing from the spirits. They say surely you used a cookbook, and I say, I may have started there, but then decided to break away half way through, and just made up the rest… Put it another way, how does one write these into a recipe, “Whisk in one tablespoon of ancestral memory”, “If Rosemary whispers to add more of her, do so”, or “Best done when sipping Oolong so you can channel her softness.” Or put it another way, how do I credit my most familiar wooden spoon, an intimate friend who knows the feel of my hand and their handle in mine, or how the old cast iron pan’s heft can prompt an anchoring safety as I deglaze with it bok choi? My kitchen is alive.
The women and men in both my mother’s and father’s lines learned to cook by watching, feeling in the body, tasting their laughter, tears, and lust as they stir, with mental jots of what they need to do after the rice started. When we had much, we added more meat, veggies and gratitude. When we had little, we diluted with water and prayers. Food worked with what we had in our pockets, hearts, hands, and memories. So much of the Unseen guided what made it on the table. Children grew up to birth their own children, and the food, intuition, and ancestral connection endured. The memory of the flavours informed everything, particularly what home feels and tastes like.
My kids are 13 and 7. It’s never too early to weave lessons through food and home cooking. The value of knowing how to roast a chicken, as it’s one of the most economical animal proteins that can yield meals for a whole week, where every inch and every dripping is reserved to make fall off the bone meat, sandwiches, salads, pastas, soups, congees that are punctuated by exclamation marks. We talk about math and how to best cook efficiently so they can minimize ordering Door Dash when feeling lazy when they are living on their own one day. They know the scent of the kitchen when I’ve foraged for dandelion, elderflower, and nettle. They know when to add a dash of cordial to a dessert, what to look for in a quality jiang yo (soy sauce), when is the optimal time to add miso, and how to make leftovers taste like new. They know who and where the traditional dishes come from, the politics that surrounded them, the humans that came before them, what dishes are suitable for the altar, and what to cook when you’re feeling nervous. They come from family lines that know food is not just physical fuel, but also soul sustenance.
It’s impossible to put these into a recipe, where replication is expected and consistency is prized.
That’s great, you say… you then ask, so what now?
The now is this… I’m inviting you to spend a day with me, in my home, where we can cook, eat, and share as animists.
When you spend time in my home as a Day Retreat (a spirit described it as a “field trip” for adults), you enter into a space to safely anchor, receive nourishment, and hold special moments. It’s not only a physical location, but also a synthesis of energies that are deeply comforting, loving, and restorative.
Whether you need to embrace some alone time, or connect with a friend(s), At Home with Mimi: Spirit-Connection Day Retreat provides you with the opportunity to step away from the bustle and heal on both cellular and soul levels. Located <15 km outside central Vancouver in Steveston (Richmond), immerse yourself in an aesthetically-inspired and energetically-intimate space that is conducive to feeling seen, deep relaxation, full-being nourishment, and a renewed consciousness. You will be listened to and cared for. You will easefully return to the Sacred, and play with seasonal and intuitive cooking. Be embraced by books in my library, or spend time with flowers and trees in my private garden. You’ll also have the option to add an in-person Shamanic Reading, Dream Interpretation, or Neurofeedback. A field trip indeed!
Spots are limited. Books open for June and September. Introductory pricing for a limited time, so get in while you can!
See you at home.
BOOK YOUR DAY RETREAT