It was December, and my New Year calendar was already booked with cooking classes and workshops I was going to teach. Fruitful meetings with local artists and purveyors were leading to exciting collaborations, and a trip to Georgia was even in the works for February. I was feeling validated in all the work I had put into Chesnok, and the momentum had me eager to get back to it once the hustle and bustle of the holidays died down.

One's personal history often colors one's worldview, but... what about when that history spans multiple worlds? .

My mother is Russian, my father Armenian. She was born in the Republic of Georgia, he in Azerbaijan. Nonetheless, they were both raised in the beautiful ancient city of Tbilisi, Georgia where they eventually connected and married. Fast-forward to the collapse of the Soviet Union and an economically ruined Georgia, and it was a good time to high tail it out of there. Not, however, before I was born in southern Ukraine (where my mother’s father and brothers still live today). Soon after, we made the journey over to America and settled in the quaint little ol’ state of Rhode Island. Joined by four of my mother’s sisters and their families, they all settled here with the hope of achieving, at least for their children, the American Dream.