Pardon our appearance

My life (and this newsletter) are about to be changed.

Doug and I went to Ikea to get another cube bookshelf. If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw my cookbook shelving dilemma a couple of weeks ago. If you did not see it, I'd be happy to summarize it here: I have way more cookbooks than I can store. I can't seem to be able to stop buying them. And I don't care.

Don't let this Italian version of Jamie fool you. We've been only cooking French in this house.

As I prepare for Paris & Le Cordon Bleu, I've been cleaning and organizing the apartment incessantly. I say it's because I want to leave everything as clean and organized as possible for Doug. But I know it's mostly because I don't want to leave Doug at all. Would be cleaning and organizing a fruitful combo for my coping mechanism? I just realized it is.

I clean and organize, so it's enough distraction to pretend I'm not afraid of changes. But I am terrified of them. I remember when I was about to leave Brazil in 2016 to come to the US and spent months doing nothing but going over what I wanted to get rid of, what I wanted to keep, and what I couldn't decide. I cleaned everything. And I cleaned once more. Then I disorganized what I had organized so that I could organize it again.

While I cleaned and organized (which might just have become my new logo), I cried. I cried because I knew something big was about to happen. I was scared. I still am. So I cry. I cry, I clean, and I organize. I know something big is about to happen.

And the whole scariness of it actually makes me productive. I clean all the books, and I arrange them by relevance. Well, at least my own criteria of significance. Then I donate the ones I don't use anymore but have already learned so much from. It's never easy to pass them along, though. I'm very attached to these colorful pages to let them go simply. Did I tell you I'm afraid of changes? Just as I am terrible at goodbyes and the thought that I'll leave it all behind—cookbooks and Doug.

But I want to move on and get things done. So I keep cleaning and organizing until I finally get to a delightful round number of 380 cookbooks (and some peace at heart). They're all housed and protected. They look beautiful and pair well. The French ones are sitting around Julia. Baking guides are at the top of the shelf, all really easy to reach. And the Brazilians… Well, I still have to write those.

But back to Paris and the whole organization fixation that has been going on in this household. I decided to—this time—not be afraid of changes. I plan on turning this newsletter into paid. I intend that because I love writing it so much, and I have this whimsical vision of turning my biggest passion (writing for you) into my breadwinner. My mind says "who can afford to do that?!", while my heart yells at me to keep going. You've seen me crying on TV enough times to know who this emotional Jaíne will listen to.

So I want to ask you to bear with me while I clean and organize not only my shelves, but also my professional life. I promise you great things are coming your way in this newsletter, and your support will be the most important (and appreciated) of them all. I just need a little more dose of your patience.

Paris chronicles, recipes, reviews, and guides. Interviews, cookbook recommendations (soooo many cookbooks. All clean and organized), more recipes, and occasional unsolicited advice. Classes, virtual and not. And the inside scoop of how it is to be writing my own cookbook. A podcast, maybe? Who knows.

I'm at the cusp of living this Parisian dream so many people (me included) have dreamed about. I only have certainty that I want you, just like Doug, to be there—virtually—alongside me. If we are together, I don't fear.

Don't you have a feeling that something big is about to happen?

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I will tell you more details soon,

but in the meantime, I'd love to hear from you. What would you like to read here? How can I bring us closer? Do you need help cleaning and organizing your shelves?

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