Ingredients, Improvisation, and Intimate Mentorship (last chance this year)
...be jazz...
Some meals don’t just fill the body—they mark a moment, enrich a bond, and become a quiet kind of creative devotion.
Cooking, at its core, is rarely just about the food. It's a quiet, alchemical act—a bridge between the self and the world, between creating for the sake of expression and providing for the sake of love.
When cooking feels aligned, it offers both a sense of rhythm and restoration. For me, it becomes a meditative practice, an artistry that roots me in the present moment. The simple motions—chopping, stirring, seasoning, arranging—can feel like a small rebellion against the chaos of the day, a declaration that beauty and care still have a place.
In this space, cooking is not about meeting some external standard. It's about being—present, adaptable, creative, capable, and in service of Love.
This summer, in Eric’s family home along the Maine coast, we’re living inside a spontaneous symphony—parents meeting for the first time, his siblings visiting from New Zealand, and many teens wildly flurrying about the landscape—a playful convergence that feels both monumental and completely natural.
There were no nerves as our parents met—just teary eyes and warm anticipation of moments we’ve imagined for years. What Eric and I have slowly built between us feels sturdy, extending like roots, inclusive of our families, creating a feeling of home that made the meeting feel more like a reunion than an introduction. The weather held, the airlines cooperated, and everyone’s health stayed steady—a choreography of logistics conspiring in service of love.
For me, growing up in a restaurant family, feeding over a dozen people is less a grind and more a second language. Food has always been a way I speak love, tend space, and offer beauty. So even after long workdays, I look forward to gathering and plating and letting my meal hug bodies from within, saying: I’m glad you’re here.
The anticipation of our first big, blended family meal hummed through me as I considered what to cook, especially here, where the ocean gives so freely and shellfish don’t carry Missouri’s price tag.
The moan-worthy menu revealed itself organically as I went shopping: a bright and verdant sugar snap pea, asparagus, mint, and feta salad to begin. Then herb-crusted halibut crowned with lemon beurre blanc, nestled atop fresh crab orzo with a rich, roasted tomato confit garnish. Garlic-drenched toasts for the simple pleasure of that crunchy-punchy yum to sop up the goodie, and Maine blueberry pie with chantilly cream to close—a final thanks to the rocky landscape holding us all.
I take my time when I cook, allowing myself hours of prep that feel more like play than task. I take joy in the dawdling, meandering nature of kitchen flow—the mise en place, the reorganizing, the minor distractions, the spontaneous snacks, the sips of wine that punctuate the rhythm. And always, the dancing.
Eric calls me a "solo jazz quartet" in the kitchen, improvising with my instruments, holding only a loose inkling of what I'm creating, constantly surprised by what emerges on our plates. There's something sacred about the quiet, contemplative nature of the way ingredients whisper their possibilities, the way timing becomes intuitive, the way the whole process becomes an octopus-armed meditation of mess-making.
I have grown to love plating with intention (making each portion thoughtful and lovely, a small canvas of care) and cleaning as I go, restoring order at the end—the whole arc of creation and resolution.
Eric has taught me something new about hospitality that I didn't know I’d enjoy as much as I do. I used to operate from a "you cook, I'll clean" model, the one I was raised within, a shared labor agreement born from fairness.
But Eric offered, what if one of us got to fully serve and the other got to fully receive? No more keeping score, but a nod to deepening polarity and playing with presence. In our dynamic, no one is half in. One gets to give fully. One gets to open completely. And both get to feel the beauty of devotion.
Since my parents left their heartwarming visit to Maine, I've continued cooking for the dwindling party of members—from 15 down to 4—each departure a small recalibration, each meal an adaptation to the changing geometry of connection, craving, and creativity.
To come back to center, cooking can be reframed as both an act of self-care and a gift to others. It's a practice of generosity and grounding, of artistry and intention.
When cooking for oneself, it becomes a space to listen inward: What am I craving? What will feel good to my body, to my spirit? It's a way of tending to the self, weaving care into something tangible, edible, and hopefully memorable.
When cooking for others, it becomes a form of intimacy. More than offering sustenance, it's about saying quietly but clearly: I thought of you. I touched this. I tended this. I timed it to meet you warm.
The dishes become a reflection of attention, of time, of quiet generosity—a kind of prayer with gravy on top.
This oscillation between self and other is what makes all art-making unique. It doesn't demand that one choose between the two. Instead, it invites both to coexist. You can nurture yourself through the act of creating, and in doing so, you nurture those you share it with. It's not about sacrificing one for the other; it's about finding a way to reorient, to find the harmony of giving and receiving, between task and vision, between the tangible and the Divine.
Thank you, my friends, for being part of my art-making in receiving these personal musings and Aeroshan offerings.
In love,
*Rae
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Work With Me: Intimate Engagement Mentorship
I’ll be pausing my private client work from mid-December til Spring (working on a special project this winter, can’t wait to share more)! Consider this your private invitation to nestle into a personalized engagement with me during the last half of this transformative year.
Choose from:
100 days of Private Intimacy Guidance (2 spots open until 8/29; save $500 if booked this week)
6-Mo Deep Dive (1 spot open, save $1k if booked this week)
Solo Session options (available anytime, great for specific focus)
Stop contorting in the name of connection and begin living from embodied truth.
Intimacy Engagement is a highly personalized experience, crafted for the one who knows: everything is ready to shift, but it must begin within—a cellular transformation grounded in real-time support, attuned reflection, and regenerative practice.
100 Days—What’s Included:
Explore what happens when your presence becomes the source of your power—when you attune to your true erotic rhythm and begin to live from your inner YES. Together, we’ll dissolve outdated scripts, restore your relationship to desire, and rewire your nervous system toward more profound receptivity that ripples into every relationship.
Two Sessions to begin and complete your arc (90-min each); 6 live 1:1 Sessions (60-min each)
Unlimited voice message sharing, Mon-Fri replies; Personalized rituals, reflections, and tools to integrate into daily life
Lifetime access to The Mudroom self-intimacy foundational course, including 6+ (anonymous) Q&A Zoom Sessions, LIVE on video with Rachael
Valued at nearly $8K, this full experience is available for two payments of $2,200 through July 18 at midnight PT (save $500). Open to both new and returning clients.
6-Month—What’s Included:
For those called to go beyond a single season of transformation, this longer container allows for more inclusive alchemy. Together, we enter the mystery. We let things die, compost, and reorient. We practice staying in the dark long enough for light to return on its own terms.
Two Sessions to begin and complete your arc (90-min each); 20 live 1:1 Sessions (60 minutes each)
Personalized rituals, reflections, and tools to integrate into daily life; Occasional Voxer Support (as needed)
Lifetime access to The Mudroom self-intimacy foundational course, including 12+ (anonymous) Q&A Zoom Sessions, LIVE on video with Rachael
Valued at nearly $10K, this full experience is available for $1,475 per month through July 18 at midnight PT (save $1,100). Open to both new and returning clients.
Single-Session—What’s Included:
Whether you’re navigating a crossroads, craving emotional clarity, or needing precise guidance on a moment that matters, these sessions are designed to meet you where you are and offer tools for clear momentum forward.
Choose between a single 60-minute private session or extend your experience with 10 days of post-session Voice Memo support for deeper integration and ongoing transformation.
Both options begin with a 15-minute pre-call Memo catch-up, allowing the live session to go deep, fast. You’ll be held in a spacious, non-judgmental field where even the unspoken gets honored. Open to both new and returning clients.
I’d be honored to walk this stretch together, whatever shape feels best for you.
Feel welcome to book a free Initial Session phone call to discuss MORE together!
A favorite painting by Sue Charles, discovered during our recent return to Acadia National Park. While the hikes and views left their mark, it’s this piece that lingers. As a no-exceptions portrait artist, I never imagined myself daydreaming about landscapes (!?), but here I am. It’s now my screensaver and quiet companion this week, helping me see light in a new way among the soft moss, jagged rock, and deeply spirited Maine woods.
If you’ve ever wanted to bottle up golden hour—the kind that smells like slow pleasure, where breeze grazes your nape, and the moment feels both ancient and brand new—Fernweh is that feeling in song form.
Eight minutes of instrumental balm, a sonic sigh that aches in the opposite direction of homesickness. Mood medicine for slow summer nights dappled with chilling, cooking, longing.
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