The Kitchen Sink Approach (or maybe, The Kitchen Witch Approach)
There was a time when I threw everything at my healing — everything but what my body was actually asking for. I did the therapy. The shadow work. The journaling, the detoxes, the meditations. I was strong enough to face my trauma, to stare my pain in the eye, and to do what every doctor said. But I wasn’t strong enough to listen to my own body.
Food had become a battlefield.
Each meal was a gamble — a question of which ingredient might set my body on fire this time. Seafood smelt foul, coriander tasted like soap, cheese turned rancid in my mouth, and bread… bread became betrayal. Even my safe foods stopped being safe. I avoided the kitchen like a crime scene, surviving on convenience and willpower instead of intuition and nourishment.
My body begged for attention — whispered at first, then screamed.
She said, “Feed me what I need, not what’s easy.”
But I was too busy surviving, too busy pleasing everyone at the table except myself.
You see, I stopped cooking intuitively when I started living reactively. Every meal became a performance — catering to everyone’s dislikes, dietary quirks, allergies, and aversions. The grocery list grew longer as my energy grew shorter. Food, once my love language, became a negotiation.
Maybe it’s a Taurus thing, or maybe it’s because I grew up never knowing when the next meal would come — or whether it would arrive in peace. My mother tried her best, but hunger has a sound. It echoes. It cries through generations. I remember that sound in the air, heavy and sharp, as she slammed cupboards in frustration, trying to stretch ingredients that simply weren’t enough. I learnt young that hunger makes emotions louder — that even a chocolate bar can market that truth. You’re not you when you’re hungry.
Now, as I stand barefoot in my own kitchen, I hear another sound — softer, older. The whisper of my ancestors. The ones who knew the way.
They were the ones called upon when someone fell ill, when a woman was ready to give birth, or when a soul was leaving this world. They made broths for bruises, tinctures for swelling, teas to soothe grief, and tonics to stir the spirit back to life. They were the original chemists, healers, and midwives — the women who listened to plants and trusted what their hands knew before science could name it.
And though their recipe books may be lost, their knowledge lingers.
You can feel it when you add salt to taste.
When you stir love into the pot without measuring.
When you garnish, not for presentation, but for beauty and gratitude.
Every meal becomes a spell again.
Every ingredient a prayer.
So if you don’t have a family recipe book handed down through generations, don’t worry — you’re still writing one. Every time you trust your hands, your senses, your body’s wisdom, you are channeling them. You are the continuation of their story.
Welcome home, kitchen witch.
This is where healing begins — not in the doing of everything, but in the remembering of what already lives within you.
Ancestral Healing Salt & Vinegar Chips
for grounding, hydration, and remembering what your body truly needs
The Story
This recipe was born from a craving I used to judge — hot, crispy salt and vinegar chips.
They were the only thing that sounded good on days my body flared with exhaustion, my stomach churned at the thought of food, and my spirit just wanted comfort. I used to think it was a bad habit. But what I’ve learnt is this: sometimes cravings are coded messages from the body.
Salt is grounding. It replenishes minerals.
Vinegar wakes the digestion. It cuts through stagnation.
Together, they balance the sweet and the sour — just like life.
So I stopped fighting the craving, and started honouring it.
I made a version my ancestors would approve of — simple, alchemical, and made with love.
Ingredients
3 medium potatoes (skin on for authenticity and minerals)
2 tbsp lard (or beef dripping — use oil only if you must)
1 tsp sea salt
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar (or malt vinegar if your body says yes)
Optional: sprinkle of rosemary or thyme for memory and protection
Method/Spell
Set your intention.
Whisper: “I call in strength, simplicity, and sustenance.”
Parboil the potatoes for 5 minutes. Drain and dry well.
The key is removing surface moisture — magic prefers balance, not chaos.
Heat the lard in a heavy pan or air fryer until shimmering (about 180°C).
You’ll know it’s ready when it smells like your grandmother’s kitchen on a Sunday.
Fry the chips in batches until golden and crisp — about 8–10 minutes.
Let them rest on paper or parchment for a breath before seasoning.
Toss with salt and vinegar while they’re still warm, whispering:
“As this chip sizzles, so too does my spirit come alive.”
Kitchen Witch Notes
Lard carries earth energy — grounding, nourishing, and protective.
It reconnects us with the ancestral rhythm of food made to last.
Salt purifies. Vinegar wakes the senses. Together they remind the body what aliveness feels like.
Hear the hiss, smell the tang, and remember: even the sharp things can awaken your senses.
Kitchen Witch Notes;
Salt grounds the body and clears emotional residue.
Vinegar cuts energetic stagnation and supports liver detox.
Potato connects to Earth — it absorbs, nourishes, and stabilizes.
Rosemary wards off low energy and invites clarity.
Ritual Reflection
As you eat, thank your body for communicating.
She’s always been talking — you just needed to remember her language.
Write in your journal:
“When I crave ________, it might mean I need ________.”
Let your body finish the sentence.
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