How Source Met Savor

I think I was about five when tea got me.

It started in the South Bronx, in the basement of our house.

I remember watching my mother steep Lipton tea bags—the same ones we’d use to make iced tea—whenever she didn’t have coffee. She’d open a can of Carnation milk, pour some into her mug, add sugar and sip.

And I would watch.

I don’t know what it was about that mug, but it looked so interesting to me. Everything my mother made was good, so one day I finally worked up the courage to ask for a sip.

That was it.

Tea got me.

Then there was The Orient on Fordham Road.

My mother would take my sister and me there when we were probably seven and nine. With our meal, they’d bring out a little silver kettle of green tea and the tiniest cups, and we got to pour the tea ourselves as we ate.

We felt regal.

There was something about that little silver kettle. Pouring our own tea into those tiny cups made dinner feel like an occasion.

We weren’t just drinking tea. We had a whole ritual.

I couldn’t have told you what kind of green tea it was, where it came from, or why it was served that way. I just knew I loved the experience of it.

Looking back, I think that feeling stayed with me as much as the tea did.

That little bit of happiness.

The luxury of a moment that didn’t necessarily have to be luxurious.

The way something delicious could make you slow down, relax, get curious—or just float for a minute.

By about 13, peppermint tea had become my go-to. Simple, minty and unmistakable.

Honestly, it kind of still is.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about origins, botanicals, steeping temperatures, spice markets, regional ingredients or what made one leaf—or one pepper—different from another.

I just knew what tasted good, how it made me feel, and that I wanted to know what else was out there.

Turns out, that curiosity stuck.

And eventually, tea wasn't enough.

Because the more I tasted, traveled, cooked and discovered, the more I realized I wasn't only fascinated by what was in my cup.

I wanted to know what was on the plate.

What was in the jar.

What was growing there.

What somebody's grandmother put in that.

Why this spice tasted completely different from the one I'd been buying my whole life.

And every now and then:

“Wait…what IS that?”
(Cardi voice.)

That curiosity became bigger than tea.

And that's where Source & Savor comes from.

Source is the discovery.

The ingredient, the place, the people, the story, the market, the culture, the unexpected thing I found somewhere and couldn't stop thinking about.

Savor is what happens next.

Taste it. Cook with it. Steep it. Share it. Sit with it. Enjoy the hell out of it.

Because I don't believe good flavor has to be complicated—and I definitely don't believe luxury has to be reserved for special occasions.

Sometimes luxury is a beautiful cup of tea.

Sometimes it's a seasoning that completely changes Tuesday night's dinner.

Sometimes it's opening something you've never tried before and realizing you've been missing out.

Source & Savor is about finding more of those moments.

Tea is still here. It will always be here.

But now there's room for everything else I've fallen in love with along the way: spices, seasonings, pantry finds, tools, ingredients, recipes, places, people and flavors from around the world.

Some things will stay.

Some will be seasonal.

Some might show up once because I found something incredible and couldn't resist bringing it home.

That's part of the fun.

I'm not interested in filling a shelf with more of the same.

I want Source & Savor to become a collection of things worth tasting, using, sharing—and talking about afterward.

Things with flavor.

Things with a story.

Things that make an ordinary moment feel just a little less ordinary.

I find what interests me.

I learn where it comes from.

I bring the good stuff home.

You savor it.

Come curious.

Leave with something good.

SOURCE & SAVOR

Find it. Taste it. Savor it.