Exploring into our past can serve us, to understand how far we have evolved, it can also teach us that we may need to return to our roots, as we might have strayed too far. What I desire to explain is that the simple things in life are the most significant, they ease us, they make us smile when I am overwhelmed with too many things, it's the sun that makes me smile, it's the bird that just flew by me that reminded me that life is beautiful. The simple meals my mother Sarina used to make remind me of that, if I just remember this, all is well with my soul, conserving the best is what makes me smile; the memory can transform into this generation and serve it well. To be a cook, one must feel, love, and be infectious with the human connection that food transmits to people. A simple meal shared across the table can take away the negative feelings that one has felt through the day (a tribe of aunties, laughing outside at something funny as a child is a memory I want to share with you) do we have any of those aunties around now? I'm sure they had many things that concerned them. From memory when we where all together all I can remember is laughter and food.When we bring laughter into the equation, we are transformed. To become a great cook we need simple steps that will guide us, everyone around us will taste it through our food. This book is simple, easy, and will guide you; overall, you are the person who will be transformed in this process. Everything you need is already in you; we sometimes just need a little nudge to awaken, and the steering of my mother Sarina to guide us into this generation of takeout.
*101 Ways to Transform the way you cook* By:- Carmela D'Amore 5 outof 5 🌟
Carmela D’Amore’s 101 Ways to Transform the Way You Cook is not a cookbook. It is a resurrection.
We live in a time when food has become transactional—measured in macros, likes, and fleeting dopamine hits from a screen-lit delivery app. In the noise of pre-packaged convenience, D’Amore offers a hush. A stillness. She doesn’t ask you to cook better. She asks you to feel again.
Reading this book is like walking into your grandmother’s kitchen decades after she’s gone and realizing her essence never left. The scent of slow-roasted tomatoes. The silence between stirring. The heartbeat hidden in the clatter of cutlery. Carmela’s 101 ways aren’t techniques—they’re memory spells. They awaken what you forgot you knew.
The brilliance lies in how she reframes the kitchen not as a workspace, but as an emotional greenhouse. Each “way” is less instruction, more invocation—prompting you to ask, What kind of energy am I feeding my family? What wounds have I brought into this soup? What version of myself am I simmering into this sauce?
With her mother Sarina ever-present like a spirit guide, D’Amore offers the reader something revolutionary: permission to stop performing and start remembering. That joy isn’t a garnish—it’s an ingredient. That the rhythm of chopping can mirror the rhythm of healing. That laughter has a taste, and so does grief.
What few realize is that 101 Ways is also an anti-anxiety manual. In every mindful action it suggests—peeling, breathing, laughing—it slowly unravels the tangled tension of modern life. Not by offering escape, but by pulling you closer to yourself through the oldest ritual humans know: feeding.
You close the book not thinking, “I want to cook,” but realizing, I already can. The food was never the point. You are.