Caprese Salad
Tomato Season Is Ancestral — Caprese, but Make It Ceremony
To my Gorgeous Mogul Bestie,
The one building brands and setting boundaries, sipping nettle tea while reviewing Q3 goals…
Let’s talk about tomatoes.
Yes, tomatoes.
Because when you’ve been pushing, giving, creating, and holding space all week, sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do is… make a salad.
But not just any salad — a ceremonial one.
One rooted in seasonality, ancestral slowness, and deep feminine nourishment.
Caprese, but make it high-vibe.
This dish is my go-to when tomato season is poppin’ — when the earth is literally overflowing with flavor and abundance, and she’s asking you to slow down, cut your herbs with intention, and remember that nourishment doesn’t have to be complicated.
The secret? Marinating the tomatoes in garlic-infused oil.
Yes, it’s extra.
Yes, it’s worth it.
Yes, your ancestors are nodding in approval.
🌿 “Let your food be your ritual. Let your ingredients hold memory. Let your nourishment reflect your worth.”
This isn’t just a recipe — it’s a soft spell disguised as pasta.
Ingredients (aka the cast of your edible love story):
5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 pounds cherry tomatoes, halved
1 cup fresh basil leaves, torn or thinly sliced
4 tablespoons capers (salty, bold, like you)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest + more for sprinkling
¼ teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 pound pasta, cooked al dente (bucatini is a whole vibe, but use what calls you)
8 ounces mozzarella bocconcini balls, halved
Instructions (aka the ritual steps):
In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil and garlic slices over medium heat. Watch them like you’d watch your dreams — with care. Lower the heat if they start to brown. Bitterness has no place here. Let cool.
In a large bowl, mix the cherry tomatoes, half of the basil, capers, lemon zest, red pepper flakes, and salt. Pour in the cooled garlic oil (with all its golden magic). Let it marinate for at least 30 minutes — longer if your spirit says “wait.”
Cook the pasta until al dente, drain, and gently fold it into the marinated tomato mix. Add the bocconcini balls, lemon juice, and toss like you’re blessing every bite.
Top with the rest of the basil, more zest, and a sprinkle of fresh pepper. Serve warm or at room temp, preferably with bare feet, candles lit, and a playlist that feeds your inner goddess.
Why does this matter?
Because eating in season is ancestral.
Because basil isn’t just an herb — it’s a heart opener.
Because slowing down to taste your food is a form of resistance.
Because you deserve softness — not just on Sunday, but on a random Tuesday with tomatoes and a glass of sparkling rose.
So yes — make this dish.
Feed yourself with presence.
And remember: your nourishment is not a reward for productivity.
It is the foundation of your power.
You already know that. I’m just here to remind you.
Bon appétit, Beautiful.