Travel opens the portal to many signs you may have missed in your day-to-day back home. On a particularly rainy Toronto day, and after spending way too much money at a chic grocery store (I’m looking at you $7 packet of sweet potato chips), I rode my bike to a cozy Kensington market café just before closing time. My body was tired and wet, but really it was my spirit that needed the most tending to. I felt lost in myself. You may know this feeling – it’s like a gentle heaviness. It seems to be an oxymoron, but it’s not. It’s like nothing is wrong and yet everything is not right. Despite it’s best efforts, even my cardamom spiced almond latte (try it, it’s a thing) could not fill this intermittent emptiness.

As I looked up, a calming green poster caught my eye. A sign – literally, and a much-needed moment of synchronicity. Three days later I was sitting in a circle with thirteen people making an offering at The Aerie Collective’s Embracing Change Urban Retreat in Toronto, Canada.

You can’t beat the magic of apple and chamomile, especially when it tastes like apple pie in a jar.

After the wondrous adventure of finding a giant apple tree in my Toronto neighbourhood, I had to commemorate that day (and the four bags of organic-as-it-gets apples) into a jam. It seemed such a waste to throw out the apple skins so I sliced them and added them halfway through the simmering process, like you would normally do with orange peel. The result is comforting apple-y marmalade compote with a subtle twist from the freshly steeped chamomile flowers.

Toronto’s Gooderham and Worts Distillery has undergone several transformations in its 119-year history starting off as the largest whiskey producer in the world in the early 19^th century and then becoming one of the most popular film locations in Canada. Since 2011, it has taken on a new guise as a shopping and entertainment area know as The Distillery District – a reimagining of a legendary Parisian near downtown Toronto.

Food pioneers, local artisans, entrepreneurs and forward-thinking designers have since populated the 47 restored buildings that make up the Victorian Industrial village. Stepping through the grand gates onto a cobblestone street, there is a buzz in the air and impressive details evident in the craftsmanship of a Toronto icon’s metamorphosis.

Whenever I try a new cuisine I want to immediately jump on a plane to a new place: Iran for Persian eggplant stew, Morocco for harira soup, Venezuela for arepas and Ethiopia for handmade injera. The discovery of a new flavor (salted maple), condiment (green tamatillo salsa verde) or vegetable (squash vine) gives me the same thrill as another traveller might feel when they say, bungee jump into a waterfall or find bottomless $2 mimosas at brunch.

For every new city I visit, I always seek out a local farmers market to see, taste (and squeal) at seasonal produce and ask the growers lots of questions – they are the ultimate tour guide.

A playlist for longing for someone who lives far away. A long distance crush. For what might have been. Songs about an emotionally unavailable love interest. Maybe it’s them, maybe it’s you. For the times when your heart is in it more than theirs. For getting close, but not close enough.

I once heard that ‘true love is matching energies’ and I wrote it down. A holiday fling, instant soul sparks, electric connections – we’ve all had one. Long distance crushes do have their success stories but in reality – they are part ecstatic romance, part the perils of technology and part insanity management. At first you (think) you are falling in love, but then later realise that you are falling into patterns of sustaining whatever this is.

Everyone has a memorable pie story –  the flawless salted maple pie at Sister Pie in Detroit comes to mind when I think about my own When Harry Met Sally ‘yes! yes! yes!’ food orgasm moments in life.

Who else likes to bake in a heatwave? No? Just me then. For Labour Day during my first weekend in Toronto I wanted to celebrate Canada by using my two favourite autumn ingredients: pumpkin and maple syrup.

San Francisco was my port of entry into my great American adventure. I imagined it to be like a West Coast New York – but to be clear, it has little comparison to The Big Apple. Firstly San Francisco is smaller – about 850,000 people call the Bay Area home. The city buzzes with an energy of opportunity, however, due to the rapid progress of tech startups, ridiculous real estate rises and gentrification (the buzz word of America) – newcomers are not well received. There is a feeling that the new wave of inhabitants are driving out ‘real San Franciscans’.

Who is a native San Franciscan? My impression is that ‘locals’ come from all over America to the Bay Area, but because the city is smaller than New York City you feel it more. It is harder to meet a true San Francisco native these days as in the past people used to work to live, not live to work. Nowadays people are not moving to San Francisco as much for the Northern Californian lifestyle and weather, but rather for money and the tech boom.

A next-level salad experience using summers’ abundant green vegetables including a curious farmers market find – squash vine, I have seen the light!

There is so much to love about this meal – crispy string beans, lightly sautéed squash vine (what zucchini grows on), zesty lemon, punchy ginger and garlic that dances well with subtly sweet honey. And sautéing fresh coriander – an exciting kitchen revelation. It releases a heavenly aroma when heated and gives me another way to eat my favourite herb.

A playlist for anyone with an aching void. A deep sadness. The feeling that something is missing. A hunger in your bones. An urge to cry for no reason (like breaking down in the middle Berkley’s busiest street) – we all feel loneliness from time to time.

You are everything you want. You are trying your hardest. Stop having and getting, and start being and becoming. You’re going to have to save yourself.

If we are lucky, loneliness will break our heart open. It hurts because it matters. You are changing, and being honest with yourself is too beautiful for words.

I am seven weeks into my adventure from Australia to Bali to North America – I’m currently traveling along the West Coast (San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite National Park, Portland, Seattle, Eugene and the Oregon woods) before heading to the Mid West. For all my constant movement, I have been eating remarkably well on the road, but find that I am craving Ayurvedic Indian food the most. Enter stage left: Kitchari – a simple, grounding and satisfying bowl of mung daal, brown rice, seasonal greens, coriander and a medley of fragrant spices that makes me feel like I am home (not that I am at home, more on that later).

When I arrive to a new place and my body is aching for a massage, I make kitchari. When I am tired and want a hot bath with candles, I make kitchari. When my heart is bursting with the love for the people I have met, I make kitchari. When my spirit is sad from another goodbye, I make kitchari. When my soul craves delicious comfort food, I make kitchari. When I remember that home is not a place but a state of being, I make kitchari.

I cook this recipe the most – for my family in Perth, a large sharehouse in San Francisco, a small cabin in Oregon – it’s a one pot wonder to feed a group of merry friends or as an easy meal for one lasting several days. I also make Kitchari when I need a gentle digestive cleanse, like after going a little too crazy at Pacific Northwest farmers markets (Peaches! Huckleberries! Purple potatoes! Blackberries!) or when I notice I have slipped backed into a niggling sugar pattern.

Kitchari is to India, what Grandma’s chicken soup is to the West. It is a food-as-medicine remedy for an upset stomach, the first signs of a cold or flu, and a rundown body. Traditionally in Ayurveda, this dish is prepared mindfully and not in a hurry (I like to listen to Iron & Wine). It is deceivingly simple to make and wholesome for the soul. In India, Kitchari is typically prepared fresh and not reheated. On the contrary, I always make a big nourishing pot and leave leftovers for lunch the next day. The flavours really develop overnight and it is the perfect meal to keep me feeling light and bright. My colleagues would often swarm around my lunch, and it’s a nice idea to bring an extra serving for someone in the office who is feeling a little down or for the person who has perfected the coffee-and-cookie lunch.