In a small commercial kitchen along a sketchy section of Colonial Drive, a recent day of classes begins with breathing exercises.
Then it moves to a discussion on healing the often-deep wounds of one’s inner child. Some of those wounds are still raw.
“I always thought I was a failure,” says one student who looks barely 20.
Ultimately, the class ends in a gourmet cupcake-decorating lesson โ followed by gleeful tasting.
No, it is not your conventional culinary school. For these students โ all women, all survivors of domestic violence, addiction, human trafficking or all of the above โ it is more a school of life.
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Article by: Kate Santich