Dusk to Dawn
Evening Rituals That Set the Tone for Tomorrow
There's something deeply satisfying about tying a ribbon on the day—bringing everything to a gentle close so tomorrow starts with a fresh, uncluttered canvas. In true Bougie Brunette fashion, I treat my evening kitchen closing rituals not as chores, but as slow, grounding rituals that set the tone for the next morning.
As dusk settles over the Bougie Estate, I slip into something cozy, brew a calming tea, and begin what I fondly call my kitchen closing procedures—a blend of homemaking, garden-tending, and self-nurturing that feels more poetic than practical.
Before anything else, I make my final visit to the kitchen garden. I clip any fruit that ripened throughout the day, give a light pruning to anything getting unruly, and offer a long, slow drink of water to the plants that worked so hard in the sun. This is my version of tucking them in—bidding each one goodnight until we meet again over morning coffee. It’s a quiet moment, shared between me and my green little companions.
Once back inside, I check on my pickle crock. I make sure the water seal is holding and—without fail—I taste a pickle. Just one. Quality control is essential, after all. They’re spicy, juicy, and perfectly crisp—just the way I love them. There’s something about that salty, crunchy bite that makes me feel connected to time-honored traditions and my own little rhythms.
Then, it’s time to button up the kitchen. I load or unload the dishwasher, depending on the cycle’s timing, give the counters a good wipe-down, and make sure everything is where it belongs. This simple reset makes the morning feel less chaotic and more elegant.
I also take a moment to refresh the water in my butter crock—sometimes just a cool ice cube, other times fresh water with a pinch of flaky salt. It ensures a creamy, perfectly spreadable butter awaits me at breakfast.
Next up: sourdough duty. My starter(s), Doughthea and her bready twin Doughthea 2.0 (or "Thea" if you're friendly), get their evening meal. There’s something sweet and simple about feeding something that will rise strong and flavorful by morning. A little flour, a little water, and a lot of love.
Once the kitchen is tidy and my little yeast babies are tucked in, I fill up my water bottle for the night and brew a cup of evening tea—or hot cocoa if I need something extra comforting. This is my slow exhale. My tiny luxury. My signal that the day is done.
These rituals may be small, but together, they’re a love letter to the version of me I’ll meet in the morning. And that, mes chères, is the magic of tending to your space with intention.
