April 5, 2005. The Ukrainian government imposes a 30-day waiting period on my adoption of this little morsel, my son Theo, and I am sent home to New York to stare at the wall and wait. “If you feel up to it, a booking just came in for a new magazine and it sounds right up your alley," says my agent. “The magazine's called Cookie, and they know what you're going through but they said to just show up and they'll support you through it.” 

Support me they did, and thus began an association that continued until today, when Conde Nast decided to cease publication of Cookie. 

I'll miss the magazine, but I'll miss my cohorts there more. I loved brainstorming food stories in the 4th-floor cafeteria or jammed into Jenny's office,  and then seeing them come to life on set. My friends (because that’s what we became—friends) gave me roots and wings and all kinds of latitude and, eventually, a contract. They knew how to get the best out of me, always with humor and grace and a sense of possibility.

So in the spirit of infinite possibility, I thank Pilar, Alana, Jenny, Darrick, Linda, Carl, Kristina, Yolanda, Nicolette, Mireille, Julie, Miranda, Kiera, Joyce, and Kirby and anyone I've forgotten. And I await with humor and good grace the next chapter.