My name is Molly Watson. I cook, I eat, I write. Lucky for me I’ve figured out how to turn that triumvirate into a living. I started The Dinner Files when I left my job as a food writer at Sunset magazine – I needed to get that sunny, perky, knowledgeable neighbor voice out of my head and I thought people might like to see what a real-life food writer actually ate everyday. After a year of chronicling my dinner every single night, I downshifted and now I only post about dishes and meals about which I have something to say. Plus, I decided the world didn’t need to know just how often we eat pasta with greens at my house.
A few glances at these pages and you’ll see my cooking style – easy, fresh, and decidedly unprocessed. Sometimes I get a bit nuts and make my own gnocchi or pâté, but for the most part I whip up veggie-laden pastas or simple soups. You may also like to cook these things… or not. I post things I think others may like to cook or that hit on something I’ve been thinking about. I can honestly say I don’t care if you cook any of these recipes, but if I’m being honest I must also say that I hope you’ll cook. Not heat up, not pick up, not take out, not microwave. I hope you’ll cook. Maybe you hate cooking – you’ve given it the old college try and decided it is not for you. Fair enough. I can respect that. But if you’re scared to cook or too busy to cook or hate cleaning up after wards… well, I can respect that, too, but deep down I still hope you’ll cook. It’s healthier than most alternatives, it makes the house smell good, it makes the people you feed feel loved. Plus, I’m so content when I cook – so peaceful, so focused – I can’t help but wish that for you, too.
Molly trivia: I swim and ski and quilt and chat with the best of them. I know a frightening amount about French brothels, syphilis, and 19th- and early 20th-century medical practices. I find Project Runway truly inspiring (see what you can get done in a day!). I am a dead-ringer for my Norwegian grandfather’s cousin. I grew up a small, dark-haired person in the land of blond giants and now happily live in a house of other small, dark-haired people. I once won a six-pound box of endives in a food trivia contest.
That gray streak you see? I’ve had it since I was 18. It started as three strands against the surrounding world of dark brown. They’ve really rallied and made a name for themselves, and now they’re sending out colonies. For a few years in my 20s I tried to cover them up, but it involved entirely too much time sitting around a hair salon.
I live in San Francisco (for all the locals: I’m right by the UPS center) with my dashing husband (who tries to eat vegetarian a lot of the time and I try and respect that a lot of the time) and our son (who will eat most anything as long as it’s not a banana or a mushroom; I agree with him about the bananas, but think he may be certifiably insane for not liking mushrooms).