In my grandpa's honor - a blog that gets real.

In honour of my grandpa's passing, I'm taking a leap of faith into sharing something with you I've always loved - writing.

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamt of sharing my journals with the world. I used to think, "When I die, they'll preserve all my writing and put them in museums." Oh, how I dreamed of being the next Nikki Giovanni or Maya Angelou. Could I really have such a legacy? Do people still read? Why wait until we're dead?

This blog is my way of continuing what I've begun - for us to get personal. For me to share my thoughts, experiences, lessons, and most importantly, recipes with you. Let's connect on a deeper level as I open the pages of my culinary journal - sharing not only the flavors of my life, but the stories behind them.

This space is dedicated to my readers - to those who have always known this was my original form of communication. To the people who knew that before there was "Chef Lacey," there was "Lacey the Poet," or for those who really know - "Teflon the Poet." I dedicate this part of my journey to us and continuing our bond. Over the years of my written hiatus, many of you have reached out, and I am so grateful. My apologies for my absence. WE ARE SO BACK!

Through my school years, I was known for my poetry, my spoken word, my writing. I discovered this to be the best outlet for my thoughts and emotions when I was gifted my first journal in the fifth grade by my guidance counselor, Ms.Jenn Kaplan. Note - All of my journals mentioned here still live with me. Through every family move, they've been the one thing I've always kept safe.

My first journal was a pocket-sized, spring-bound notebook, about 60 pages, and a bright orange felt cover with a pop-out flower design. Ms. Kaplan gave me the journal, urging me to write my thoughts, ideas, sentiments, worries, and complaints in this tiny book. I did it, but I have to admit, originally, I didn't get the point - still, it felt like I had someone to talk to.

At first, my entries were scattered thoughts until I developed the skill of storytelling through poetry. Then came the seventh grade, and my first heartbreak. I'll never forget that feeling, the ambush, the pain, and I had nowhere to put it.

So, I started writing letters to the boy who broke my heart. "Dear You..."

Day after day, I filled my journal with endless Dear You entries - sometimes two, three times a day. Then one day, I realized I had gone days without an entry. The pain had faded, and I could barely remember the boy or why I was so hurt. But I had my journal, and through those letters, the lesson of who I was becoming will live on forever.

A few years ago, I found myself caged in my thoughts, unable to bring myself to write. I was too ashamed of my reality - that I had truly lost myself. My fearless, feral, bold innocence. She was gone.

But for those of us who know God know he speaks in many ways. Writing was my way of understanding what he has called me to do. When I couldn't find the words anymore, He led me to something new: cooking.

Cooking became my prayer. My form of communication. My return to self.

Because when you cook from the heart, when your hands follow the rhythm of your ancestors, its more than food. It's memory. It's a ministry. And maybe that's how God used me to find my way back home.

Now, I see that writing and cooking were never separate gifts. One is just the other in a different language. Every meal is a sentence, every recipe a poem, and together they tell the story of who I am becoming.

Amongst this season of required presence, this season of comfort, and grief, I can't help but think of some of my warmest days with my family. Saturdays, when the whole house would smell like chicken and pumpkin soup as my grandmother would hover over the simmering pot on the stove. My grandfather, sitting outside with his legs crossed and a cigarette in hand. Radio humming tunes by artists like Gregory Isaac, Beres Hammond, and someone is always asking, “Soup ready yet?”

That smell — the one that fills a home and quiets a heart — is comfort. It’s the kind of comfort I’m craving again. So today, we start with something simple, something familiar.

A bowl of warmth. A reminder of home. A taste of healing.

Let’s make Jamaican Chicken & Pumpkin Soup.

Jamaican Chicken & Pumpkin Soup — For the Soul

Ingredients

• 1 lb chicken cut into medium-sized pieces (bone-in pieces like thighs, neck, or back preferred)

• 2 lbs Jamaican pumpkin (or kabocha/butternut squash), peeled and cubed

• 2 medium carrots, sliced

• 2 cloves garlic, crushed

• 2 stalks scallion, beaten

• 1 sprig thyme

• 1 small Scotch bonnet pepper (whole — optional for flavor, not spice, cut open & use seeds for spice)

• 1 medium Irish potato, peeled and cubed

• 1 small piece of yellow yam (optional but traditional)

• 1 ear corn, chopped into 2-inch rounds

• 1 packet Grace cock soup mix

• 6–7 cups water or chicken stock

• 1 tbsp butter or coconut oil

• 1/2 tsp all-purpose seasoning

• Salt and black pepper to taste

• Dumplings (optional — flour, salt, and water kneaded into small spinners)

Instructions

1. Season & sear the chicken:Lightly season chicken with salt, pepper, and all-purpose seasoning. In a large soup pot, melt butter or coconut oil. Sear chicken pieces for 3–4 minutes per side until lightly golden — this step builds flavor.

2. Build the base:Add the pumpkin, carrots, potato, yam, corn, garlic, scallion, thyme, and water or stock. Cover and simmer for 25 minutes, until the pumpkin is tender and starting to break down.

3. Blend for body:Remove the thyme and Scotch bonnet. Use an immersion blender (or carefully transfer some to a blender) and puree part of the soup until thick and creamy, leaving some chunks for texture.

4. Add soup mix and spinners:Stir in the cock soup mix and add your dumplings. Simmer another 10–12 minutes until the soup thickens and the dumplings are cooked through.

5. Finish and adjust:Return the chicken if you removed it for blending, check seasoning, and let everything simmer together until the broth is silky and flavorful.

To Serve

Ladle the soup into deep bowls. Serve hot with a slice of hard dough bread, fried dumplings, or plantain chips on the side.

Optional garnish: a drizzle of coconut milk or scallion oil for brightness.

Reflection

Every time I make this soup, I think about my grandfather and all the Saturdays that smelled like home — the sound of the radio, the laughter, the steam rising from the pot.

In grief, I found God. In God, I found food. And through food, I found my way back to writing.

Maybe legacy isn’t something written in marble or kept in museums. Maybe it’s the flavor that stays on someone’s tongue long after the meal is done.