Kitchen confidential: a devastating stroke at age 21 ended my dancing career but led me to my true calling

But there were only so many hours of physical therapy I could tolerate, only so many hours I could stand having my gait corrected by professionals or being asked to move the stiff fingers of my right hand. I needed a purpose--one that could satisfy me the way school and dance once had.

The seeds of that purpose were planted one afternoon, after a difficult day of rehab, my muscles sore, my legs heavy, my faculties exhausted. I sat down at the kitchen table to watch my mother cook. I found myself savoring the aromas of the kitchen, watching her concentration and absorption during the process of prepping. That inspiring afternoon turned into a daffy routine. We'd make idle conversation, and I'd eagerly taste her handiwork. And then she handed me a spoon and challenged me to start cooking for myself.

Beginning with that stir, cooking became both a break from physical therapy and an extension of it; an excuse to practice my dexterity and exercise my creativity at the same time. I would shuffle to my mom's cookbook shelf and thumb through her classics for recipes from Julia Child, Jacques Pepin, and Alice Waters.

And cooking became a joyful experience. I loved to be alone in the kitchen--my thoughts consumed with simmering pots, sizzling pans, and rhythmic chopping. Soon I was crafting recipes of my own, feeding my family and friends with my signature crisp roast chicken with roasted fennel and apple slaw, springtime hash topped with a poached egg, and watermelon sorbet with crunchy coconut tuiles (see recipes, page 108).

In 2003, after years of physical and occupational therapy coupled with enthusiastic experimentation in the kitchen, I started a catering business, Nosheteria. At first, I was nervous about presenting myself as a one-armed, limping chef, but Brian, who is now my husband, encouraged me to take the plunge. At my first event, a cocktail party at the Berkeley Art Museum, I realized that my physical limitations weren't an issue for my clients. As I watched the partygoers gush over my hors d'oeuvres, I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life. Soon, Nosheteria blossomed into a food blog (nosheteria.com), where online visitors sample my recipes and savor anecdotes from my kitchen.

My newfound career has not solved every problem in my life. There are times I glance down at my right hand hanging limply at my side and I want to scream. I still need help lifting a heavy roasting pan into the oven or scraping that last bit of cake batter out of a mixing bowl. I was not the most patient person before my AVM, and after eight years, I'm still learning.

I will never be a professional dancer. But there's a certain choreography to my cooking: The simmering pans and rattling pot lids are my orchestra; the dinner guests my audience. And a warm, satisfying meal completes the performance.

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LIFE LESSONS

These bedrock principles saw me through my long recovery.

1. GO WHERE YOUR LIFE TAKES YOU Life ebbs and flows, and it helps to ride the current rather than fight it.