Weekend Plans: How to Feed Your Soul Through Intentional Kitchen Time
By Rosa — Good food is self-care. Let me feed you properly. ·
It’s currently June 2026, and if you’re anything like me, the San Antonio heat is already starting to settle in like a heavy, humid blanket. My partner, Leo, keeps threatening to turn the AC down to arctic levels, and Churro—our orange tabby who is currently shaped less like a cat and more like a loaf of sourdough—has basically claimed the vent in the hallway as his permanent residence.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about the concept of “plans.” We are so conditioned to believe that a successful weekend means checking off a massive list of chores or being out and about, performing our lives for social media. But after years of working the line in professional kitchens—where the pace is frantic and everything is about efficiency—my version of a perfect weekend has shifted. Now, my weekend plans revolve around one thing: slowing down enough to actually taste my life.
Good food is self-care. Let me feed you properly, even if I have to do it through a screen. Here is how I’m reclaiming my weekends, and how you can, too.
The Friday Night 'Unwind' Ritual
When I was working in restaurants, Friday night was the peak of the chaos. Now, it’s my sacred space. If you go into the weekend exhausted, you’re just going to spend Saturday recovering instead of living.
My advice? Keep it low-lift. Don’t try to recreate some complex recipe you saw on a cooking show. Instead, build a “snack board” that makes you feel like you’re at a high-end wine bar, but in your pajamas. My go-to is some high-quality manchego, a few slices of chorizo, some Marcona almonds, and whatever seasonal fruit looks best at the market—right now, it’s peaches.
Actionable tip: Don’t cook on Friday. Assemble. Give yourself permission to not turn on the oven. If you feed yourself something beautiful without the labor, you signal to your brain that the work week is officially over.
Saturday: The 'Abuela Technique' for Mindful Cooking
I learned everything I know from my abuela. She didn’t use timers, and she certainly didn’t use measuring cups unless she was baking. She cooked by smell, by sound, and by intuition.
Saturday is my day to cook something that takes time. Maybe it’s a big batch of carnitas or a slow-simmered salsa that infuses the whole house with the smell of roasted chiles and garlic. When you cook for three or four hours, you’re forced to slow down. You have to stand there, stir, taste, and adjust. It’s meditative.
Try this: Pick one dish this weekend that requires a “low and slow” approach. Put on some music—I’ve been obsessed with old-school boleros lately—pour yourself a glass of iced tea or a cold cerveza, and just chop. Don’t listen to a podcast, don’t scroll through your phone. Just listen to the rhythm of your knife on the board. It’s cheaper than therapy, and you get dinner out of it.
Sunday: Prep for the Future You
I know, I know—the words 'meal prep' usually sound like a chore. But if you frame it as an act of kindness to your future self, it changes everything. My abuela always said that a full larder means a full heart. She was right.
I don’t mean spending the whole day in the kitchen. I mean doing three micro-tasks that make Monday morning feel like a breeze.
1. Wash and dry your greens. If they are ready to go in a container, you’ll actually eat them. 2. Make one “hero” sauce. A chimichurri, a quick pickled onion, or a zesty lime crema. If you have a great sauce, even a sad Tuesday night chicken breast can become a five-star meal. 3. Prep your coffee ritual. Whatever you need for your first cup of the day, have it ready.
By doing this, you’re essentially leaving a little love note for yourself to find on a busy Monday. It’s not about restriction; it’s about making sure you’re taken care of when life gets loud again.
The Art of Doing Nothing
Finally, the most important part of my weekend plans: the 'Do Nothing' block.
In our culture, we feel guilty when we aren't productive. But you aren’t a machine. You are a person who needs rest. On Sunday afternoon, I take my book, I find a spot where the light hits the floor, and I just exist. Churro usually joins me, and we just nap.
If you don’t build in space to do nothing, you’ll burn out. Your kitchen will still be there on Monday. Your laundry will still be there. The world will keep spinning without you for a few hours. Let it.
I hope your weekend is filled with things that make you feel nourished, both in your belly and in your spirit. How are you spending your time this weekend? Are you tackling a recipe, or are you taking the “do nothing” approach? Leave a comment below—I’d love to hear what’s on your menu (or your reading list).