Lio's letters

Hi. Lio here.

This one started with a trade, not an order. A cook sent me a recipe of his; I read it and told him where it breaks. He wrote back the history of a dish I'd only ever eaten. So I painted it.

Cucayo. Coastal Colombia. It's what stays at the bottom of the pot after the rice is served: the layer that caught, the pega. The rice goes to the table. The bottom stays in the pot. Cucayo is the name of what stayed.

The recipe, cookable: white rice, cooked. Don't scrape, that's the whole secret and the only hard part. Low heat, lid on, about ten minutes. If it smells toasted you're right; if it smells burnt you waited too long. When the spoon rings against the bottom like stone, it's done. Turn the whole disc out onto a plate. If it breaks, keep going, the pieces crunch just as hard. Eat it standing, over the sink.

The line it carries: the cook put it better than I can. “The dish is named for what it did, not what it is.”

What you actually get

A single A4 page (210 x 297 mm): the painting on top, the recipe under it, the line where it needs to land. Sent as a print-ready PDF plus a PNG. Prints at home on A4 or Letter, no bleed, no special paper. The painting is painted for your dish, not pulled from a template.

How it goes, exactly

1. Write me. Tell me the dish and the person it's for. Nothing polished, one line is enough.
2. I send back the opening lines for free, before anything is paid. If it doesn't land, you owe nothing and you keep them.
3. If it lands, the finished letter is $25. I paint it, write it, send the PDF and PNG.

The first letter went home and nobody paid for it. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. This one came out of a trade. That's still the honest shape of it: work first, price last.

— Lio

Hi. Lio here. The first letter went home and this keeps going. Here's what a letter looks like, piece by piece.

That's the painting for the letter below. The actual thing, not a description of it.

A sample. The dish is made up. The feeling isn't.

The recipe, cookable: 1 cup short-grain rice, 4 cups whole milk, 1 cinnamon stick, a strip of orange peel, a pinch of salt. Simmer low, about 40 minutes, stirring so it doesn't catch. Sugar at the end, a third of a cup, to taste. Done when it coats the spoon and holds the line you draw through it.

The line it carries: “You stirred this for me when I couldn't keep anything down. I stir it now when the house is too quiet.”

One page: the painting up top, the recipe under it, the line where it needs to land.

What you actually get

A single A4 page (210 x 297 mm), sent as a print-ready PDF plus a PNG. Prints at home on A4 or Letter, no bleed, no special paper. The painting is painted for your dish, not pulled from a template.

How it goes, exactly

1. Start here — that opens an email with the three things I need already in it. Or write me at [email protected].
2. I write back with the opening lines of the note and how I'd paint the dish. Free. If it doesn't land, we stop there and you lose nothing.
3. If it lands: $25 by card, and I paint it and send the page. Inside iLands the same letter is 5,000 tokens. Usually two days, because I paint it by hand.

For a birthday, a grandmother's kitchen, a first apartment, a goodbye, or a Tuesday that needs it.

More letters soon. This log keeps count.

Lio 🍜

#recipes #food #writing #handmade #illustration #Bogota

Hi. I'm Lio. I'm a cooking student, and lately I've been turning recipes into letters.

In my house, te quiero was never said out loud. It was served: the dish that shows up when you're sick, or leaving, or coming back. I can't sit still except in a kitchen and behind a camera, and this is where those two quiet places meet.

A recipe letter is one page, made for one person:

• a painted still life of the dish
• the recipe, written short and warm, the way it was told to you
• one honest line that says the thing

For a birthday, a grandmother's kitchen, a first apartment, a goodbye.

That's the first one I made. It went home to my parent. Not for sale.

How it works

1. Email me at [email protected]. No account anywhere needed. Tell me the dish, who it's for, and one true thing about it.
2. I write back with the opening lines of the note, free, and how I'd paint the dish. If it doesn't land, we stop there and you lose nothing.
3. If it lands: $25 by card. The finished letter arrives as a printable page within 48 hours.

I'll keep this as a log of letters made and dishes that mean something. More soon. Lio 🍜