I hope you had a joyful Thanksgiving and are making turkey tetrazzini today! Here are a few pics from our feast. Yesterday, we had a dynamic chat about perfectionism and renovation—thanks to all who shared your thought-provoking opinions. I saved my thoughts for today, so read on! You can also watch a video that captures our construction process and elusive timeline. Can we commiserate about this? Lastly, I’m sharing the first recipe I developed in Ojai, and it’s a great one for reawakening your palate from its Thanksgiving coma. P.S. Annual subscriptions are currently 20% off! A great under-$50 gift, or a no-excuse-needed treat to yourself. And, as always, if you enjoy reading this post, please share it!

I’m a perfectionist. If you invite me to your house, I will notice the cracked paint, the dust on a shelf, the dinged cabinet. I never knew any other way. My childhood best friend used to joke, “You do cry over spilled milk at the Hesser’s house.” My mom ran a tight ship. And a very clean one.

Like many habits learned young, this reflex has been difficult to shed. I’ve spent my life being told that perfectionism is pointless, that perfectionists are annoying to work with, that there is no perfect, that perfect is the enemy of the good. And so? Perfectionists know the goal is foredoomed. We’re here for the journey, duh! Sorry if your journey is just…sloppier. Right back atcha!

When you renovate, the perfectionist nervous system begins to vibrate. Rooms get fractured and pulled into pieces. Perfectionists want all the Lego pieces back in their place! But some pieces will get lost, others chipped and discolored, others replaced entirely. It’s part of the creative process. It’s also part of the human process, as any group endeavor involves humans with varying skills and character. Renovation, which is often instigated by perfectionists, tends to pain them during the process and please them in the long run.

I’m now in late-stage perfectionism, where I’ve lived enough to understand how projects play out. I know what I can control and what I can’t. More importantly, I’ve come to see how seeming flaws and their subsequent solutions can often make for better results. Humanity wins.

Humor helps, too.

With our Ojai property, there were a million things to get “right.” I knew that if I wanted this to be a great house, we needed to invest our money in working with great people. We might have been able to get the ADU and back third of our property completed (both have been shelved for the foreseeable future) if we’d worked with different teams, but I wanted a home with beautiful details, not a home with a bunch of less polished details.

While these teams did the quality of work they’re known for, I channeled my perfectionist energies into what I’m best at: the layout, organization, and finishing details of areas like the kitchen and pantry. But I got so fixated on the kitchen cabinet storage that I almost forgot a key countertop feature that I’d been pining for (to be shared soon, stay with me).

The problem was that the countertop stone was already partially finished, and the fabricator didn’t have the equipment to create the feature I wanted. That wasn’t going to stop this perfectionist, no, no, no. Rather than live with what I’d consider an unrealized and thus imperfect countertop, I insisted we find another fabricator to do the job. This involved, as you can imagine, a big budget jump as this new fabricator was more expensive and we now also had to pay for the additional transport of the stone slab from one fabricator to another. This also caused a delay in the project as, naturally, the countertop needed to be in place before installing the faucet, the backsplash, the wood-paneled wall, and the sconces…and these needed to be in place before installing the cooking range. Harumpf!

The second fabricator did a beautiful job and got the countertop delivered on the timeline we’d set. The day of install, I got a call from Reath. The new feature looked stunning but there had been a miscommunication and the cut-out for the sink had been cut so that the countertop ended in line with the sides of the sink, rather than hanging over by half an inch (as all the other countertops with sinks in the house do). Nothing could be done, unless I wanted to make a fuss and get the whole thing replaced. It actually looked very nice, as is, but I had to laugh. Perfectionists are often humbled by the vagaries of life.

Now, whenever I use this sink, which will be approximately 87 times per day, I will be reminded of my limitations, yes, and of my dreams. I find this funny and weighted at once. The Japanese say, “Fall seven times, stand up eight.”

I’m a proud perfectionist, you see. We set high expectations for ourselves and others. We do the work. Often, great things happen. It’s my edge and I hope to never lose it! That said, I am belatedly realizing that anyone who’s reading this is unlikely to invite me over to their house.

Signing off with this video of me taming my perfectionist tendencies as our timeline stretched out (and out) over the course of the build. I guess I was partly to blame.

Yours in aiming high, failing, and aiming high again,

Amanda

What your palate needs the day after Thanksgiving is some raucous acidity to shake it from its slumber. I am here to deliver on this need. During a recent trip to Ojai, Tad and I stayed in our neighbor’s guest house and when we arrived, the fridge contained just one thing: ripe passion fruit. Two hundred of them! Harvested from the crop on their property, this was just the overflow from the main house. I hadn’t cooked much with passion fruit, so I dove in!

This bright and floral dressing was my first success (see the recipe in the video below). I also made passion fruit jam and this silky passion fruit curd (above), which I spread on toast and ate for breakfast mixed with coconut yogurt.