Jul 14 2017

Pickled Peach Summer Salad

by Kathryn Budig


Pickled Peaches for the Win!


Summer is in full effect and this blaring heat calls for refreshing salads. I whipped up yesterday after scoring a bounty of ripe peaches. What’s better than straight up peaches — pickled peaches! It adds the perfect tang and acidity to a crunchy, salty, and sweet salad. Enjoy!




1 small head red lettuce, washed and torn

1 large peach, pitted and sliced

1 lime, juiced

1 red chile pepper, diced (jalapeño or fresno)

1 cup assorted grape tomatoes, sliced

1/4 cup roasted pepitas

1/4 cup grated sheep’s milk romano cheese

1 t sea salt




2 T extra virgin olive oil

2 T champagne vineager

1 T dijon mustard

1 large shallot, minced

large dash hot sauce (pick your favorite)

sea salt and fresh black pepper to taste


Place your sliced peaches and chili pepper into a bowl and cover with salt and lime juice (you can substitute vinegar if you don’t have lime). Mix well and let pickle for 5-10 minutes.

Whisk your salad dressing and set aside. Place your lettuce, tomatoes, and pepitas into a large salad bowl. Drain the excess lime juice from you chili and peaches, and add to the large bowl. Toss with salad dressing and sprinkle with cheese. Boom!


May 9 2017

My Story is Worth Telling

by Kathryn Budig


I made a new friend yesterday.

Kate and I grabbed drinks with Jamie Tworkowski, founder of the amazing organization, To Write Love on Her Arms. This soft spirit has dedicated his life to reminding others that theirs matter.
After a few hours of talk about love, heartbreak, work, and of course –basketball and sneakers — we said our goodbyes and I decided to dive into his memoir.
I climbed into bed next to my Tetris-crazed girlfriend. She made a welcoming space for me without losing a beat.
“Do you think I’ll ever actually write my third book?” I mused.
“Yes. Absolutely. Of course you will. Why?”
I strategically dodged over her chest to grab Jamie’s book without sabotaging her swift-thumbed game.
“I dunno. It sometimes just feels like I won’t.”
It feels like I won’t because it’s too much. I look at Jamie’s book title. Exactly. Because I feel too much. Or maybe I’m an imposter … do I really have a story worth sharing or the chops to even pull it off?
I sigh, kiss Kate on the cheek — she responds with a warm purr — and open up my book. A mere three pages in and I already know what I need to do.
Here’s a man completely opening his heart to the world. To write love on her arms — offering a daily dose of hope and inspiration by baring his soul, story, and words.
I immediately know: it’s time to pick up where I left off. This is my duty — when I feel brilliant, when I feel scared, even when I feel like it will never, ever make sense or matter to anyone.
My story is worth telling. I matter. We all do. ⠀

Thank you, Jamie.


May 1 2017

Schooled by Birds

by Kathryn Budig


I was feeling particularly melancholy as I stared out the car door window, the urban New York City landscape whisking by.


I had a few absolutes I was grateful for: the affirming squeeze of my love’s hand as she artfully wove in and out of traffic; the comfort of the passenger seat in my own car, the lack of impending car sickness accompanied by the stress of passive cab drivers that taunt and dredge in the slow lane.


Even with these small comforts, the car was zipping me towards the airport, where I would board a petri dish with wings that would take me far away from family, a land without alarm clocks, and a place that whispers promises of grounding.
It’s been a hard few weeks (years). We’ve been living in a world without answers peppered with wildly complicated questions. Hard work is consistent, but the juicy fruits of our labors are still clinging stubbornly to their lofty branches.

The magic-odometer has been dangerously low.

I continued to gaze out the window, squinting throught the thick morning haze. A flock of birds appeared. At first, they’re disjointed. A mess of wings stewing in a pot of clouds. Then without warning, a shift occurred. An unknown force pulled the birds into formation. A perfect V. The shape shifted seemlessly from one formation to the next, like the mesmerizing dance of a screen saver, or the percent marbled artwork that occurs when a shot of espresso hits a glass of iced milk.

How can they know how to do that? How can such a seeming mess snap into a perfect symphony? Teach me!

My love squeezed my hand as my eyes flickered with their movements — chaos breeding sense. The impossible laughing at it’s own name. Magic existing without instructions. Birds schooling me on the way to JFK.

I squeezed her hand back. The car carving its own artistic patterns on land.
For a moment we synced.
My heart rate calmed.
We’re gonna be okay.