East Greenwich, Hot Cheetos Corn Dogs, and the Week I Just Didn't Feel Like Writing

Dear Diary,

I skipped last Sunday.

There. I said it. I simply did not feel like writing, which is honestly not very on-brand for someone who has apparently turned her weekly life updates into a tiny public diary for the internet, but here we are! Sometimes the brain says, “We should write something meaningful and charming,” and the body says, “Absolutely not, girl. We are going to stare at the ceiling and recover.”

Could it have been the Red Bull withdrawal from the previous week? Maybe! Could it have been because I was unwell? NOT WELL. Also maybe! Could it have been both, plus general life chaos. Yes. All of the above.

And honestly, I’m learning that sometimes not writing is also part of the story. Very profound. Very double Pisces. Very “I need to honor my watery emotional landscape,” when really I was probably tired and didn’t want to put pants on.

But I did go to Newport. Well, Newport-adjacent, technically. I stayed in East Greenwich, which is still such a quintessential coastal New England town. Quaint little streets, gorgeous views, boats bobbing around like they have nowhere to be, and that soft salt-air feeling that makes you believe you could become the kind of person who wakes up early and goes for a walk before coffee. I did not become that person. I didn’t have coffee either.

East Greenwich Is Giving “Coastal Charm Without the Financial Ruin”

East Greenwich was lovely. Like, genuinely lovely. The kind of place where you expect Diane Keaton to walk around a corner holding a baguette and wearing an oversized linen shirt.

And the best part? It was exponentially cheaper than staying in Newport. Listen, I love Newport. Newport is beautiful and dramatic and historic and full of mansions that make you wonder what exactly everyone was doing with all that money besides building rooms the size of my entire house. But my bank account does not always want to participate in a Newport fantasy. My bank account is more of a “let’s compare three hotel tabs and then quietly make scrambled eggs at home” kind of girl.

East Greenwich gave me the coastal views, the charming streets, the nice people, the good food, and the general water-sign nourishment without making my debit card call its therapist.

As a double Pisces, I do believe I require regular access to water or I start feeling like a forgotten houseplant in a dentist’s office. Pisces people, you know what I mean. We need a little ocean. We need a breeze. We need to look dramatically into the middle distance for no reason. It’s medical.

Lunch at The Carriage House at The Elms

One of the highlights was lunch at The Carriage House at The Elms and it was just lovely. So yes, I did go to Newport. The grounds are spectacular. Truly. The kind of spectacular where you walk around pretending you understand landscaping and architecture, while internally you’re just saying, “Wowwwww,” every six seconds.

The Carriage House sits on the grounds surrounded by those gorgeous Newport gardens, fountains, and all the historic Gilded Age drama. It has indoor and outdoor seating, and the whole space feels airy and inviting. Very French-inspired, very elegant, very “I should be holding a tiny handbag,” even though I was probably holding my phone, sunglasses, and some mysterious receipt I had no memory of acquiring.

Lunch was lovely, the setting was even lovelier, and the grounds are absolutely worth a visit. Even if you’re not doing a full mansion-tour personality that day, being able to slow down and take in the gardens is such a treat.

And I mean slow down. Actually slow down. Not the fake kind where you sit down but still answer emails, check the schedule, mentally count how many croissant sandwiches you need for Thursday, and wonder if there’s enough parchment paper in the shop. The real kind.

The kind where you look around and remember that beautiful places exist and you are allowed to enjoy them without immediately turning the experience into a productivity exercise.

Retail Therapy, But Make It Spicy

I popped over to Providence Place for some retail therapy. Sometimes you need to walk around a mall and make questionable but emotionally necessary purchases. This is science. And then I found the Hot Cheetos Korean corn dog. People. I cannot explain how good this was. It was crunchy, spicy, cheesy, salty, a little chaotic, basically the snack equivalent of me on a busy Saturday. A Korean corn dog coated in Hot Cheetos crumbs? Whoever thought of that deserves a parade, a key to the city, and possibly naming rights to a small airport. It was a 10/10.

And then there was the brown sugar boba tea. Also a 10/10. I got it with Lactaid milk because your girl wanted to survive the rest of the day and not be taken out by a dairy-related plot twist in the middle of Providence.

This is adulthood, by the way. Not knowing your retirement plan, but knowing exactly which milk alternative will let you enjoy a brown sugar boba tea without needing to cancel the rest of your afternoon.

I’m not saying you need to make an entire day around a corn dog, but I’m also not saying you shouldn’t.

Fancy Cocktails and Good Vibes

The rest of the trip was basically really good food, really fancy cocktails, beautiful people, and good vibes. That’s it. That’s the review. The Airbnb having a full kitchen was a little bit dangerous for me in the best possible way. Because the second I realized I had an actual kitchen-kitchen and not just, like, one sad pan and a spiritually broken mini fridge, I took that as a personal challenge. A vacation challenge. So yes, fully took advantage.

Think beef Wellington, carbonara, shakshuka, lamb pitas... and there was Veuve involved because if I’m on a coastal little getaway and there’s a full kitchen and bubbles, I’m apparently turning into a one-woman Ina Garten fever dream. Barefoot Contessa if she was a little more tired. And let me tell you, it was literally so nice not cooking for anyone else. No counts. No modifications. No timeline math. No “can we add two more boxes?” text coming in while I’m trying to package something. An apron, a pretty kitchen, my delusions of culinary grandeur, and the deeply luxurious experience of food because I wanted to eat it. Work hard, play hard, sauté dramatically, pour the champagne, etc etc.

Also, in a truly humbling little chef-on-vacation plot twist, I left one of my Nordic Ware sheet pans at the Airbnb. Tragic. Devastating. A real loss for the nation. So... bummer, obviously, but I guess I’ll just have to make another trip and retrieve my beloved pan like the slightly scattered domestic goddess I apparently am.

Sometimes a trip doesn’t need a dramatic transformation arc. Sometimes you don’t come home with a new five-year plan, a spiritual awakening, or a perfectly organized inbox. Sometimes you just eat well, drink something with an herb floating in it, cook an aggressively unnecessary beef Wellington for fun, accidentally donate a sheet pan to your vacation rental, look at pretty scenery, and think, “Yep. I would do that again.”

And I would.

And I’ll keep this part soft, because some things feel better when they’re held gently, but this trip reminded me what it feels like to come back to myself. No performing, no shrinking, no second-guessing every little thing you say like you’re defusing a bomb in your own life. Just being able to exhale. Which... wow. What a concept. And when you’ve spent enough time feeling unseen or like you have to make yourself smaller to keep the peace, choosing yourself again feels almost surreal. Like, oh. So this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

There is something very healing about realizing you can create your own peace. That you can take up space, be your weird emotional Pisces self, ramble, laugh too loud, cry at the ocean if the lighting is right, and not feel like you are “too much.” You’re just... you. And that is enough. More than enough, actually. If you’ve gone a long time feeling disconnected from yourself, that kind of remembering lands in your body like sunlight. Quietly. Completely.

I’m in a season of understanding my worth in a way that is less loud than I thought it would be. It’s not dramatic, it’s not me standing on a rooftop screaming, “LOOK AT ME NOW,” even though, sure, the theater kid in me would absolutely love a spotlight moment. It’s calmer than that. It’s just this deep little knowing that I deserve goodness. I deserve care. I deserve joy. I deserve a life that feels expansive instead of heavy. I deserve to go experience life. And I think there’s something really beautiful about finally giving those things to yourself without apologizing for it.

And yes, I’m happy. Empowered, even. Free in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Not because everything is easy or tied up in a pretty bow, but because I know my worth now, and once you really know that, you move differently. Softer maybe, but stronger too. God, Graze drains me sometimes but I have to carry on like the rest.

So yes, the coast was pretty, the cocktails were fancy, the food was insane, and my sheet pan is living a new life in Rhode Island now, apparently. But underneath all of that, this trip felt like proof. Proof that life keeps moving. Proof that beautiful things still find you. Proof that after hard chapters, you are still allowed to be happy, whole, worthy of love, and a little glowy about it.

There’s something about getting away, even for a short trip that helps me remember I am not only a business owner, a scheduler, a caterer, a purchaser of approximately 900 kinds of cheese, or the person who occasionally looks for her phone while actively holding it.

I love Graze. I love the shop, the customers, the workshops, the platterboxes, the catering, the creative problem-solving, and the beautiful chaos of making food for people’s important moments. But I also work very hard so I can play very hard. That’s the deal.

As a Pisces, I need the ocean and the fancy cocktail. As a business owner, I need the reset. As a human being, I need the Hot Cheetos corn dog. All three can be true!

And now I’m back in the shop world, thinking about upcoming events, catering orders, fresh ingredients, and how quickly September is approaching. September always arrives like it has a personal vendetta against my calendar. Suddenly everyone needs a meeting spread, a birthday board, a grazing table, a workshop, a snack box, and somehow all of it is “just a little something.”

Which, to be fair, I love. Keep it coming. I’ll figure it out. I may be surrounded by cheese paper but I’ll figure it out!

If you’re planning your own gathering, you can check out our website. We’ll bring the snacks. You bring the people. Maybe bring Lactaid pills too, depending on the situation.

Thank you for letting me skip a week without disappearing into the fog forever. Thank you for reading these little Sunday rambles, even when they contain more snack reviews than actual wisdom. I appreciate you guys more than I can say, even when I’m tired, behind, or staring at a to-do list that has somehow reproduced overnight.

East Greenwich, The Elms, fancy cocktails, Hot Cheetos corn dogs, brown sugar boba, and good people. 10/10. Would do it again.

XX,

Abby

Song of the day: Catfish and the Bottleman: Longshot

It just feels like the soundtrack to packing up the Subaru, hitting the coast, and deciding you deserve a beef Wellington and a fancy cocktail. Let’s just go do the thing.

Stopped in Chinatown for a quick snack

Did not chip a tooth or my tooth gems. 😜

Tried all the espresso martini places. They were all really amazing! No complaints.