(Credit: Netflix)

At first glance, From Scratch seems like your classic sweeping romance. A young woman falls in love while studying abroad. They overcome cultural differences and fight for their future, and the rest is history. Or so you think. But what this Netflix limited series quietly does, over eight beautifully devastating episodes, is prepare you for a profound heartbreak. You do not even notice it creeping in until it is already holding your chest in a vice grip.

Based on the memoir by Tembi Locke, From Scratch follows Amy (Zoe Saldaña), an American artist who meets and falls in love with Lino, a Sicilian chef, while studying in Florence. Their chemistry is instant, their passion fierce, and their connection unshakeable. Together, they move to Los Angeles to build a life, carving out a path through new jobs, disapproving families, and the usual chaos of modern love. But underneath all the romantic highs is a slow, quiet shift. The series begins to linger more on hospital rooms than dinner tables. The late-night laughter turns into whispered fears. And then it happens, life turns.

It is here that From Scratch transforms. It stops being a love story and becomes a grief guide. Not in the way grief is usually portrayed – loud, theatrical, and sudden. It actually feels. Drawn-out. Patient. Crushingly real. Amy becomes Lino’s carer. She smiles for him when he is too tired to. She lets herself shatter in private while staying whole in public. You watch her try to hold onto love while it’s slipping through her fingers, not because either of them gave up, but because life decided to rewrite their script.

What makes this series so important is that it never dramatises grief just for effect. It lets it breathe. It shows the exhaustion that comes from being strong. It shows the little joys that still somehow exist in between doctor’s appointments and medical scares. It shows the helplessness, the anger, and the guilt of living while someone you love is dying. And when the moment of loss finally comes, it does not hit you with a single tragic scene. It slowly rips you apart through flashbacks, silences, and the way Amy tries to find meaning in a world that suddenly feels too big and too empty.

Zoe Saldaña gives one of her most vulnerable performances to date. There is nothing performative about it. No grand monologues or overly sentimental gestures. Her grief feels lived-in. Private. Familiar. The way she stares at an empty kitchen. The way she presses a hand to her chest when no one is watching. It is these small, quiet moments that make From Scratch a mirror for anyone who has ever lost someone and had to pretend they were fine.

The show also digs into cultural grief, like how different families mourn, how traditions clash, and how love can get lost in translation when pain takes over. Lino’s Sicilian family and Amy’s Texan roots do not always meet eye-to-eye, but grief becomes a strange common language. Through food, rituals, and memory, they begin to find their own way to heal, even when nothing feels okay.

And that is exactly what From Scratch offers. A roadmap for grief. It does not fix anything. It does not promise a happy ending. But it promises something softer. It promises that one day, you will get out of bed. You will smile at a memory. You will cook the meal they love. You will miss them fiercely and still find a way to breathe.

In a world of love stories that chase fantasy, From Scratch dares to tell the truth that love sometimes ends in pain, but that pain can be beautiful, too.