In my ancient (nascent?) days, when I was 18-22, I studied fine art and creative writing at university. For my photo projects I often shoved various foodstuffs in front of the camera — typically cookies, cakes, or candies, but one time pizza — as the subject of some sophomoric feminist commentary, and I often paired text with image. When I painted, I’d paint doughnuts on raw canvas, adding rainbow sprinkles in the place of linseed oil. It was hit or miss — sometimes my instructors/peers loved my projects, other times my work was “indulgent, literal, juvenile”.

So it comes as no surprise that now, having labored in some of the top-rated kitchens in Los Angeles, including a tragic stint at Spago, having worked with anglaise instead of titanium white, berries instead of metaphors, and ice baths instead of stop baths, I am merging my love of photography, sugar, and writing.

I also belly dance and am a third generation native Angelino of Armenian and Hungarian descent. Don’t bash my homeland.



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