edibleportland.com | 11 program but the demands of the coursework—things like taking body measurements and calculating calories (there's that math again!)—soon proved too much. "I felt afraid of food and decided something needed to change," Arcé says. Enter culinary school. It turned out to be the just-right fix. Without nutrition's weight-centric curriculum, Arcé was free to pursue the culinary arts as just that—an art. In classes on French pastry and plant-based cuisine, she could feel herself reimagining food, seeing it less as a means for control and restriction and more as a craft, a vessel for creativity. “There’s this hyper-fixation on food to be the best for people—like, ‘Is it healthy?’” Arcé says. “Culinary arts helped repair my relationship with food. It made me want to create something beautiful.” Alongside her classes, Arcé also began attending a support group for people struggling with disordered eating. Surrounded by strangers talking openly about their recovery journey, food assumed yet another layer in Arcé’s mind: it could be a space for community, a way to connect and share stories that don’t often get told. “It was validating because it was everyone—people dealing with bulimia, anorexia, everyone—just sitting together and talking about food fears,” Arcé recounts. “And I was like, wow, I am afraid of food just as you are. You are afraid of food just as I am. We only have different behaviors and ways of showing it.” At Camellia, Arcé weaves together these new ideas about food. Her ever-evolving menu is an homage to the creative mindset of culinary school—like an artist, Arcé forages for pastry inspiration everywhere, from childhood memories scented by cinnamon to farmers market stands and peaceful moments around a cup of tea. Camellia, in part, is also an ode to the healing, nurturing power of food—slowly, it’s become the foundation for a community brought together by recovery. On social channels, Arcé emulates the warm vulnerability of her support group, writing candidly about her journey with disordered eating. It can be hard to be that open, Arcé admits, but it pays off in the deep connections she’s formed with people who share her story. “At farmers markets, I’ve had people just come up to me telling me their own experience with disordered eating, and I’m like, ‘I just want to hug you now!’” Arcé says. “It’s also very interesting being upfront about it in the food industry because I've had managers, servers, bakers—a lot of bakers—who are like, ‘I also view food in this way,’ or ‘I’m afraid of the things that I serve, too.’ That kind of community has been therapeutic for me and for others.” For Arcé, recovery will always be a work in progress, but these days, that feels less like a bad thing and more like something to be proud of. Remember that numbers tattoo? Scattered across Arcé's right forearm, each digit is a different reading on the scale, a symbol that body weight is always changing. It's a reminder that fears can sometimes lead to strength, and Arcé wears it like the badge of honor it is. Find Camellia at King Farmers Market, Obon Shokudo, and pop-ups throughout the Portland area. For the most up-to-date news and drops, follow Arcé on Instagram at @camelliapistrina and sign up for pop-up notifications on Hot Plate. e
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