The chocolate chips come first. Mini, always. They live in the freezer, waiting for the kind of day that only a sweet crunch can fix. It was Erin who taught me that detail: the mini chips, the spot saved in the freezer. Nothing fancy, but everything essential. A lunch made for the days that nothing else will cut it.
The hardest part is choosing the bowl. Does it need bright color? Two handles and perfect depth? The well worn and well loved bowl with a crack and a chip? Today, a flaming orange won.
Starting with a plain base, the bowl was filled scoop after scoop with unflavored greek yogurt, all protein and a blank canvas. The mound is flattened with a spoon, then cleaned with a lick and dipped into the peanut butter jar. Crunchy, always. It drizzles in slow ribbons over the yogurt, ensuring every bite carries a little salt, a little savor. Crafted with quick precision.
Various bags of frozen fruit are taken out of the freezer, and placed alongside the mini chocolate chips, a reused cottage cheese container, honey from my time at Frog’s Leap in an old mason jar, Maldon salt like Lulu keeps by the bucketful, and the restaurant-size carton of cinnamon (of course).
The ritual begins as it always does: handfuls of frozen mango, berries, and cherries blanket the peanut butter and yogurt, filling every space. The reused cottage cheese container, now home to air-fried honey granola, comes next. A pinch of Maldon, a dusting of cinnamon, a drizzle of honey, and the bowl is complete.
The chocolate chips! Almost an afterthought, though not everyone is lucky enough to see how romantic it is to add sweetness to an ordinary day. Poured straight from the bag, unmeasured, they finish the bowl. Placed sweetly on the glass table in the sun, every bite tells a stor: of Erin’s advice, Frog’s Leap honey, Lulu’s salt, and every small kindness that fed me along the way. A simple bowl, yes, but also a way back to myself.