Recipe: Pear, Caramelized Onion, Walnut & Stilton Tart + The Monastery Method

Pear, Caramelized Onion, Walnut & Stilton Tart

Several years ago, I found myself standing at the entrance to Thikse, a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the Indian Himalayas. My mother had died unexpectedly a few months earlier. I was looking for something I couldn't name. A young monk in burgundy robes gestured for me to follow him to the kitchen, where the morning fire was already burning. He handed me a wooden paddle and showed me how to stir the massive pot of butter tea. We didn't share a language, but we shared the fire, the stirring, the simple, ritualistic task performed the same way it had been performed for centuries.

That trip was the beginning of a journey that would take me to over a dozen monasteries, temples, and spiritual communities across four continents. The research became two cookbooks: Elysian Kitchens for W.W. Norton and Eat Like A Monk for Simon & Schuster. But the wisdom I gathered went far beyond recipes.

What the Monks Taught Me

The practitioners I met weren't escaping the world. They were paying deep attention to it. They had rituals that anchored their days. They ate with presence. They rested without guilt. They worked with their hands. They welcomed strangers. They found joy in simplicity. And they'd been doing this through wars, plagues, famines, and political upheaval for centuries.

When I started teaching workshops based on this research, for Fortune 500 companies, libraries, and community groups, I realized people weren't just interested in the stories. They were looking for the practices. The same questions came up again and again: How do I stay grounded when everything feels chaotic? How do I build routines that actually stick? How do I find meaning when the world feels like it's falling apart?

The Monastery Method

This Is Why I Created The Monastery Method

I distilled everything I've learned from the monks into a 30-day guide: The Monastery Method: 30 Days of Ancient Practices for Modern Living.

It's organized into four weeks:

• Foundations (morning rituals, eating with attention, simplicity, gratitude, rest)

• Nourishment (food as medicine, wasting nothing, preservation, movement, cooking for others)

• Connection (hospitality, listening, service, forgiveness, sacred meals)

• Integration (resilience, joy, generosity, designing your own sustainable practice)

Each day includes a story from my travels, the principle behind the practice, concrete steps to try, and reflection questions. It's not religious instruction. It's not wellness fluff. The practices are grounded in tradition, history, and science, and most require around 15 minutes per day. I also included 14 recipes from my cookbooks and downloadable worksheets to help you design your own path forward.

Thirty days is long enough to establish a morning ritual that anchors your day. Long enough to change how you relate to food, rest, and the people around you. Long enough to discover that the peace you've been seeking isn't somewhere else. It's available right here, in the ordinary moments you've been rushing past.

GET THE MONASTERY METHOD →

A Monastery Kind of Tart

The recipe below reflects the practices in The Monastery Method. This is the kind of dish I make when I want to gather people around a table without spending the whole day in the kitchen. It starts with a single sheet of puff pastry and becomes something that feels special without a lot of effort. The onions caramelize slowly, the pears soften as they bake, the Stilton adds just enough richness and depth without overwhelming. Fresh thyme. A scattering of walnuts. Cut it into six pieces. Set it in the middle of the table. Invite people to gather.

This is monastery cooking to me: not austere, not complicated, but intentional. Food that asks you to slow down long enough to let the onions caramelize. Food that assumes you'll share it.

Read the full post about this recipe and The Monastery Method on my Substack Newsletter What's Good Here →

Pear, Caramelized Onion, Walnut, and Stilton Puff Pastry Tart

Makes 1 large tart (serves 6) Prep Time: 45 minutes

This is the kind of food I return to again and again when I want something that feels both comforting and celebratory without causing me too much trouble. It's something meant to be shared. A single sheet of puff pastry becomes a generous tart, cut into six pieces and set in the middle of the table. The sweetness of caramelized onions and pears, the subtle robustness of toasted walnuts, and the salty depth of Stilton come together in a way that feels fortifying without being heavy.

It's simple to prepare, but it asks for presence: time to let the onions soften and deepen in flavor, to layer thoughtfully, to gather people and pause long enough to eat together. This is the kind of dish I think about when I think about the monasteries. It's not austerity, but nourishment; not complexity, but intention. Food that steadies you, that holds warmth, that reminds you to slow down and share what you have.

Ingredients:

• 1 sheet (225g/8oz) frozen puff pastry, thawed

• 2 tbsp (30ml) unsalted butter

• 2 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced

• ½ tsp sea salt

• ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

• 2 medium pears, cored and thinly sliced lengthwise

• 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves

• 40g (1½oz) walnuts, roughly chopped

• 75g (2½oz) Stilton cheese, crumbled (or whatever cheese you prefer)

• 1 large egg, beaten with 1 tsp cold water

• Flaky sea salt, for finishing

• Freshly cracked black pepper, for finishing

Method:

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Transfer the puff pastry sheet to a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Using a sharp knife, lightly score a 2cm (¾ inch) border around the edge, being careful not to cut all the way through. Prick the center all over with a fork. Refrigerate while you prepare the toppings.

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the sliced onions, salt, and black pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, deeply golden, and caramelized, about 25–30 minutes. Reduce the heat if they begin to color too quickly. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.

Assemble the tart. Spread the caramelized onions evenly over the center of the puff pastry, staying within the scored border. Arrange the pear slices on top in even rows. Sprinkle with the thyme leaves, followed by the chopped walnuts. Crumble the Stilton over the tart, allowing space for the other flavors to come through.

Brush the border of the puff pastry with the egg wash for a golden finish.

Bake for 25–30 minutes, until the pastry is puffed and deeply golden and the pears are tender. Rotate the pan halfway through if needed for even browning.

Finish and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest for 5–10 minutes. Sprinkle lightly with flaky sea salt and freshly cracked black pepper. Cut into six pieces and serve warm or at room temperature.

This tart is best enjoyed the day it's made, shared slowly, preferably with people you trust and time you've intentionally kept open.

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Every Wednesday in my Substack newsletter, What’s Good Here, I share a new, well-tested recipe alongside guides, how-tos, interviews with inspiring people, and stories about what it means to live a good life. Every other Friday I also share five original recipes plus a step-by-step guide to host a Fantasy Feast inspired by your favorite movies, books and television shows.

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Recipe: Orange-Ginger Olive Oil Cake + Third Places & The Art of Gathering

Orange-Ginger Olive Oil Cake from Morocco. photo credit: Jody Eddy

In 1989, sociologist Ray Oldenburg gave us a name for something humans have always needed: the third place. Not home. Not work. Somewhere else entirely: the café, the pub, the library, the park bench where strangers become neighbors and neighbors become friends.

I've been thinking about third places constantly lately. After six years living throughout Europe in Ireland, Prague, Normandy, Portugal, I've come to understand what America has lost. The tables spilling onto sidewalks. The unhurried afternoons. The way a Tuesday in a European plaza can feel like a celebration simply because people have gathered, without agenda, without rushing, without clutching paper cups on their way somewhere else.

When I returned to the U.S. recently, the absence was glaring. Where were the gathering places? In their place: drive-throughs, parking lots, the lonely choreography of errands.

This is why Story Feast exists.

Every gathering we host in monasteries, castles, art museums, hidden spaces around the world, is an attempt to rebuild what we've lost. Long communal tables. Family-style service. Four or five hours where no one checks the time. Strangers becoming friends over food that someone cared enough to make extraordinary.

We can't fix everything that's broken. But we can create spaces where people sit together, pass dishes, tell stories, and remember what it feels like to belong somewhere.

I wrote more about all of this including a deeper exploration about what third places are, the data on loneliness, the decline of libraries and VFW halls and bowling leagues, what I've witnessed in Europe, and what I think we can do about it. It’s all in my latest newsletter. It's one of the most personal things I've written in a while.

Read the full piece on Substack: "Where Did Everybody Go? The Disappearance of Third Places in America" →

A Third Place Kind of Cake

The recipe below comes from a kitchen in the medina of Fes, where I stood shoulder to shoulder with a woman named Nabila while she taught me to make it. Her kitchen was tiny. The generosity of the space was enormous because of what she put into it and what she expected from it: that people would come, sit, eat, stay.

This is that kind of cake. The kind you set on a table and watch disappear slice by slice while conversation deepens and no one checks the time. The olive oil makes it impossibly tender. The pistachios give it a faintly green-gold interior. The orange blossom water, if you use it, makes the whole thing bloom into something you'll dream about later.

It's better on the second day. It keeps beautifully. It's the thing you make when you want someone to stay longer.

Orange-Ginger Olive Oil Cake with Pistachios and Orange Blossom Water

Makes 1 large cake (serves 8-10)Prep Time: 20 minutes | Bake Time: 45-50 minutes

Ingredients:

• 120g / 1 cup whole wheat flour

• 60g / ½ cup self-rising flour

• 75g / ¾ cup ground pistachios

• ½ tsp fine sea salt

• 1 tsp ground ginger

• 3 large eggs, at room temperature

• 200g / 1 cup granulated sugar

• Zest of 2 medium oranges

• Zest of 1 lemon

• 180ml / ¾ cup extra virgin olive oil

• 120ml / ½ cup freshly squeezed orange juice (about 2 small oranges)

• 1 tbsp / 15ml orange blossom water (optional but highly recommended)

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

• 50g / ⅓ cup roughly chopped pistachios, for finishing

Method:

Preheat the oven to 175°C / 350°F. Grease a 23cm / 9-inch round cake pan and line the bottom with parchment paper.

Sift together both flours, the ground pistachios, salt, and ginger in a medium bowl and set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the eggs and sugar together with a whisk or hand mixer until the mixture is pale, thick, and falls from the whisk in a slow ribbon, about 3 minutes of vigorous whisking by hand or 2 minutes with a mixer. Add the orange zest and lemon zest and whisk until fragrant and slightly golden.

Drizzle in the olive oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking continuously, then add the orange juice, the orange blossom water if using, and the vanilla extract, whisking until smooth and emulsified. The batter should be glossy.

Add the dry ingredients in two additions, folding gently with a spatula each time until just combined. The batter will be quite liquid and pourable, this is exactly right.

Pour into the prepared pan and tap gently against the counter to release any large air bubbles.

Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until the top is deeply golden and a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean or with only a few moist crumbs. The cake will dome slightly and settle as it cools.

Let cool in the pan for at least 20 minutes before turning out onto a serving plate. Scatter the chopped pistachios across the top, pressing gently so they adhere. Sprinkle with additional orange zest for color.

This cake keeps well in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 4 days… it's almost better on the second day when the crumb has fully absorbed the olive oil and the citrus has mellowed into something rounder and warmer.

My newsletter

Every Wednesday in my Substack newsletter, What’s Good Here, I share a new, well-tested recipe alongside guides, how-tos, interviews with inspiring people, and stories about what it means to live a good life. Every other Friday I also share five original recipes plus a step-by-step guide to host a Fantasy Feast inspired by your favorite movies, books and television shows.

Subscribe to What's Good Here →

Interested in partnering with us for a future gathering? See partnership opportunities →

Interested in joining a future gathering? See upcoming events →