And Just Like That...

Goodbye, Bronx, New York. Hello, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania!

I couldn’t help myself. After living in New York for a year, it feels like a rite of passage to quote Sex and the City at least once in a newsletter.

For the past year, Garrett and I have been living in Riverdale, a quiet corner of the Bronx, while he completed his clinical psychology internship at Montefiore Hospital. It was the perfect spot, close to the hospital for him and just a short walk to the 1 train for me. We’ve truly loved our time here and are sad to be saying goodbye so soon.

This week’s Food for Thought is a reflection on the love, kindness, and community we’ve experienced over the past year. That said, I want to acknowledge that my experience of the Bronx has been shaped by living in Riverdale, an area that differs in many ways from other parts of the borough. I recognize that I’ve seen this year through a lens of considerable privilege, and my experience is not universal.

I’ll be taking a short two-week break from Substack because, honestly, there just aren’t enough hours in the day right now. But I’ll be back in your inbox on July 12 with plenty of delicious things to share.

This week’s watermelon salad comes with a bit of an eye roll. Sure, it’s festive, but I’m not exactly in the mood for fireworks (for obvious reasons). I am, however, always in the mood for something delicious. So don’t think of this as a holiday recipe. Think of it as a celebration of summer itself, fresh, simple, and perfect for any hot, hungry day.

Watermelon is naturally sweet and hydrating, but when you add something salty, like feta cheese, the flavor becomes more vibrant. Salt enhances sweetness and reduces bitterness, waking up your taste buds.

Now add mint, and you’ve got a flavor trifecta. Fresh herbs brings a cool, earthy, refreshing contrast that cuts through the sweetness and salt. Together, the sweet watermelon, savory salty feta, and aromatic mint create a layered sensory experience that’s hard to beat.

Watermelon Salad

Servings: 4–6
Prep Time: 15 minutes

Equipment Needed: cutting board, sharp knife, large mixing bowl, measuring cups (optional), citrus juicer (optional), serving spoon.

Ingredients

• 1 small 5-pound watermelon (or ~7 cups, medium diced)

• 1 cup fresh blueberries (optional, if you want to make this red, white, and blueberry for the 4th)

• 1 medium English cucumber

• 1 small red onion (optional, if you want a little bite)

• 1 small bunch fresh mint (or basil, parsley, or dill)

• 1 small lime

• 1 cup crumbled feta cheese or salted chopped almonds

Directions

1. Wash all the fresh produce thoroughly.

2. Cut the watermelon into quarters. Slice off the rind, then dice the flesh into bite-sized pieces (smaller pieces will resemble a salsa, while larger chunks create a more traditional salad). Remove any black seeds. Transfer about 7 cups to a large bowl. Add the blueberries (if using).

3. Chop the cucumber into half-moons or small chunks, based on your texture preference, and add to the bowl.

4. If using, finely chop the red onion and add it to the mixture.

5. Roughly chop the fresh mint (or your preferred herb) and add to the bowl.

6. Squeeze the juice of one lime over the salad.

7. Add crumbled feta or chopped almonds, then gently toss everything together until well combined. This salad is best served cold and fresh. You can prep the watermelon, cucumber, and herbs ahead of time, but wait to add the lime juice and cheese/nuts until just before eating.

*Quick Math

1 pound of watermelon = about 1.5 cups of diced fruit

Pretending to blend in with our New York hats at a Yankees game.

This year has been challenging for me. When we first moved to New York, I had a clear vision for the future. I’d be closer to my family in Massachusetts, and I had plans to start a part-time job in the city that I hoped would lead to my next career pivot. I was determined to make up for the past five years, during which I had often felt like a detached friend, daughter, sister, and partner. I wanted to invest in my relationships while also putting down roots and focusing my career on a more defined path.

However, within a month of moving, the job I had been counting on fell through. Then, just two months later, my husband was offered a post-doc fellowship at his dream clinic in Pittsburgh, working at UPMC and with professional athletes. We spent a lot of time talking it through, not just thinking about what would be best for him, but also for me, my career, and our future family. I’m fortunate that my current job is both remote and something I truly enjoy, which gives me the flexibility to work from anywhere. Still, deciding to move meant letting go of a version of the future I had pictured for myself. Ultimately, though, we agreed that moving was the right next step.

At first, I was angry. Then I was sad. Eventually, I came to acceptance. I moved through the stages of grief, turning disappointment into opportunity, something I’ve unfortunately become very good at. And, in my usual coping style, I fell back into my old habits, overcommitting myself in an attempt to keep every possible door open, creating backup plans for my backup plans, all to drown out the buzzing anxiety of the unknown.

But I took things a little too far. I signed up for twelve in-person conferences, started a PhD program, spent a month in Colorado conducting research, wrote and published a cookbook, and somehow managed to keep up with my full-time job. Altogether, I’ve been clocking around 90 hours a week—and that’s no exaggeration.

My coping mechanisms, though once helpful, have become maladaptive. I made choices that kept me from investing in relationships, even though that was what I was most excited about when we moved to New York. I spent much of the past year feeling frustrated with myself for sabotaging opportunities for connection and stability, and for saying yes to things out of fear rather than intention.

Still, despite spending more days on the road than at home, I managed to find joy, most of it thanks to new friends and kind neighbors. We built a strong network through Garrett’s internship cohort, made a few wonderful new couple friends, and got to live in the same city as my best friend from kindergarten. I also had the privilege of finally meeting colleagues I’d only known online and even got to have tea at Marion Nestle’s home. These people, along with the warm and welcoming Bronx community, are what made this year possible.

The Cheesecake

One particular story represents my entire experience in New York. I was heading home from a conference, desperately trying to get back so I could celebrate Garrett’s birthday with him. I had left a few days earlier, weighed down with guilt for not being there to wake him up and wish him a happy birthday. Naturally, I spent most of the conference fixating on that guilt and obsessing over ways I could punish myself. In the end, I rescheduled my train to depart at 5 a.m., with three transfers, as an act of penance.

As I rode the Amtrak home, I started Googling restaurants and bakeries, hoping to bring back a few peace offerings to make up for my absence. I found a bakery a little off my route and thought, I’ll grab a small cake, then walk the mile home with my backpack and rolling suitcases. Easy.

By the time I arrived, I was drenched in sweat and completely exhausted. But, to my excitement, in the display case sat a cheesecake topped with cherry sauce, Garrett’s favorite. I couldn’t believe my luck. What were the odds I’d stumble into a random bakery and find his favorite dessert? Maybe I wasn’t the worst wife in the world after all. Maybe the universe was giving me a shot at redemption.

I ordered the cheesecake proudly, walked to the register, pulled out my wallet, and that’s when I found out—it was cash only.

I froze. What should have been a minor hiccup suddenly felt like a 5,000-pound wrecking ball to my chest. I had no cash, no backup plan, and no idea what to do. Guilt rose in my throat like a wave I couldn’t swallow.

So, I did the only thing I could. I started crying.

The kind bakery clerk came out from behind the counter, wrapped me in a hug, and sat me down. I apologized through tears, explaining that I was just overtired. She handed me a glass of water and hurried to the back of the bakery. A few moments later, she returned with the owner. He sat beside me, gently held my hand, and said, “We’ll give you the cake. You can pay us later. No problem at all.” Then he asked where I was heading and immediately offered me a ride.

Before I knew it, I was in his car, my suitcase in the trunk and the cheesecake on my lap, climbing the hills of the Bronx toward home. I sat there in silence, feeling like a child who had just thrown a tantrum. When we arrived at my apartment, I ran inside, grabbed a handful of cash, and paid him for the cake (plus a little extra for his kindness).

When Garrett got home, I recounted the whole story. He laughed and said, “You are your own worst enemy. No one was mad at you for not being here for my birthday, except you.” Then he paused and added, “But what I am concerned about is that you got in a car with a stranger.” Whoops.

And he was right. He wasn’t upset. All that worry, frantic behavior, and unnecessary cheesecake buying—that was all me. I am my own harshest critic.

This wasn’t the New York City experience I had imagined. It was nothing like the one I grew up watching on TV or the version I knew as a tourist in Manhattan. Beyond the piles of garbage bags on the curb, the hurried strangers, and the steel-framed skyline, there is a softer side to the city. A side full of kindness, acceptance, and open arms for people from all walks of life.

I’ve also discovered just how green New York can be. Weekly farmers markets pop up across neighborhoods, and tucked-away garden coves offer a quiet escape that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into nature.

So, in closing, I want to thank New York for protecting me from myself and for taking such good care of Garrett while I was away. And as I walk into this next chapter in Pittsburgh, I’m carrying this lesson with me: to commit only to the things I want to do, not the ones driven by the fear and judgment I create in my head.

See you all in July!

An unsolicited photo Farah took—and I’m so glad she did. Garrett’s graduation at the Botanical Gardens.