October 7 changed me from biscuit baker to accidental activist

I am a passionate and slightly obsessive person who really loves food. My late father couldn’t understand my obsession and wondered how such a thing could happen. Ironically, it came from all the stories he told me about his balaboosta mother, my Buba Shendel, who I never knew. (More on that another time.) 

Cooking and eating, and talking about cooking and eating, have been an enormous part of my life thanks to my DNA, the man I married and my life’s work, the Monday Morning Cooking Club project. Social media gave me the perfect vehicle to share my obsession.

I would eat at my favourite Bondi cafe, photographing the exceptional fattoush salad with smoked trout before eating, to share the joy and encourage others to go. I spent many holiday hours making videos of buttery, crisp-shelled, just-doughy croissants in Paris and flaky molten-custard Portuguese tarts in Lisbon.

I baked fluffy flour-dusted mini pita breads and fried soft eggy matzo brei, filming every mouthwatering step along the way. I created a ten-part food show called Walking up an Appetite, where I walked, ate and cooked (my three favourite pastimes) my way across Sydney.  

Was I too obsessed? Did my social media feed serve any purpose other than deliciousness? I can easily rationalise it. Instagram made sense alongside the Monday Morning Cooking Club project. Our mission was to collect, curate and publish the recipes and stories from our food-obsessed Jewish community, which we did through our four books. Over the years, the essence of our community - the family table, culinary traditions around the festivals and preserving all of these for future generations - became an intrinsic part of my life.