Turkey Pie

Five kernels of corn on a plate. A symbol of privation and provision. A reminder of the terrible hardness and need of winter past and the intimate care of the Almighty as the Pilgrims struggled with the pangs of hunger and penetrating cold. A remembrance of the bountiful goodness of Providence in a time of deepest need and isolation. 

The wind whipped around us as we piled out of the car and dodged across the street. We passed the Richard Sparrow house, the oldest surviving home in Plymouth, its weathered clapboards and sloped floors holding hundreds of stories and secrets. We shivered as we walked quickly past. We had happened to pick the very weekend that a hurricane was hugging the eastern coast for our girl trip and the wind was piercing, bringing spits of rain and bracing cold. I clutched my little Emma tightly to myself as my mother, sister and I darted into the home next door to Sparrow's, the Jenney Museum, where we were due for a historical presentation on the Pilgrims. 

Meatballs

Wednesday was spaghetti night, or "pa-sketti" as my younger sister used to call it. Midweek was always a busy time for my family. My Dad would get home from work, we'd eat together and then be off to "Wens-dee prayer-meetin.'" Since my dad's drive home was a good forty minutes and our drive to church was at least thirty, it didn't leave a whole lot of time in between for eating. Supper had to be ready when my dad got home, easy to get on the table and quick to eat. And so my mom instituted spaghetti night. 

And while we don't attend a church with a midweek service anymore, we do still have those rushed evenings before Brad runs out to a meeting or those Sundays where we come home tired and hungry for something easy to get into our bellies. And for those meals, I rely on my mom's wisdom -- make it easy and make it ahead!

Carrot Cake

Is there an unspoken rule among children that they don't have to eat their dinner? Do they look knowingly across the table at one another, winking behind mom and dad's back before opening their mouths in a plaintive wail that can be heard three blocks away? Do they think it clever to play the "I'm full" card right before begging loudly for adult-sized bowls of ice cream? Sauce-soaked noodles  languish and turn cold, pushed around the plate with straggling bits of broccoli. Food they cannot possibly eat, you know. That is, until dessert is brought out. 

And then, all of the sudden, everyone has loads of room for cake. 

Sweet 'N Salties

I was fortunate enough, in college, to room with a kind, laid-back girl who was also a choco-holic. Even more fortunate, her family lived only twenty minutes from campus and she regularly came back to the dorm with treats to snack on. And better yet, sometimes we'd leave the cinder-block walls and same-old cafeteria food for the warm, inviting home of Papa and Momma J. 

And that's where I learned of these delicious, snackable "cookies." A pretzel bottom acts as a platform to hold the good stuff -- chocolate. It's the perfect mix of sweet and salty, all in one bite. They are seriously addicting. And while you probably shouldn't be passing these out to all those chubby-faced jack-o'lanterns and fairies tomorrow night (being "homemade" and all), surely it wouldn't hurt to have a bowl nearby to snack on yourself. Because if there's one thing Momma J. taught me, it's to always have chocolate on-hand. 

Apple Butter

There is apple butter cooking in my kitchen. It fills our home with the scents of Fall -- nutmeg and cloves and Cortland apples. It reminds me of peeling apples the day before, Jack seated across from me, handing me large, purple-skinned fruit and sampling each one's white flesh. Three-year-old jibber-jabber broken by the snapping of apple between his teeth and flashes of sweet, brown-eyed smiles.  

It reminds me of apple pie-making on Tuesday. Jack's feet pounding quickly through the house as he hears the scraping of my flour jar's lid. He pulls a chair across the floor and is quickly at my elbow, sneaking pieces of pie dough and asking to help. He is soon rolling out his own disk of scraps, smiling broadly as he tells me he is making "pie." 

It reminds me of a day spent at the arboretum. Sunshine kissing our heads as we trek through leaf-littered fields, eyes alert for brightly-colored specimens to place in our basket. Yellow birch and brilliant maples. Nut-brown oaks and mottled sassafras. We stand on the bridge, cut stone arcing across leaf-dappled water. Jack perches on the edge and throws a small, yellow leaf with all his little-boy might. It dances crazily in the air before settling casually on the surface, landing not nearly far enough from where he threw it. We come home and assemble our collection into a leaf man, who fiercely guards the entrance to our fridge. 

It reminds me of going to the orchard. The hot sun causing us to sweat as we walk down the twisting dirt road to the row labeled Macoun. Emma sits in the grass, contemplating a nearby rotting apple while Jack reaches low and over to grab the biggest one he can find, dangling from a laden branch. He gently sets it into the waiting bag which Emma promptly knocks down, climbs astride and straddles under her chubby legs. Hungry from the effort, we make our way back to sit on the porch, eating our sandwiches and sharing a jug of orchard-made cider. We chug straight from the container between mouthfuls of sugar-sprinkled cider doughnuts. 

It reminds me of Autumn. 

How To: Perfect Hard-Boiled Eggs (sans the green ring!)

Hard boiled eggs can be frustrating. Undercooked, dark yellow centers or overcooked, crumbly ones. Shells that insist on staying attached, making your egg look pockmarked and fragmented. And that infamous green ring. Many a hard-boiled egg is cut open to reveal a chalky, yellow center encompassed by an unattractive, greenish-gray ring. That ring is a sign that you have cooked your egg too long. And really, it's all about the timing. For perfectly cooked eggs, ten minutes is just right. Goodbye, green ring!

I also read online that the difficulty in removing the shells has to do with the freshness of the egg. Fresher eggs insist on holding onto their shells. So, if you want the shell to remove easily, simply let the egg sit in the fridge a week before cooking. (I haven't tested this theory myself!)

Baked Brie

I hosted a baby shower in my home last week. Or rather, I feel like I should say, "A baby shower was hosted in my home last week." I don't think I had much to do with the process. Jodi planned the food and Michelle sent out invites and Becky did the decor. All I had to do was prepare my home. I enjoyed that. 

And then I thought about Baked Brie and had to add it to the menu. It's a recipe that I discovered in high school when my newly married cousin came to Thanksgiving dinner, toting a wheel of Brie and a bag of brown sugar. As she pulled it out of the oven, I eyed the dish suspiciously because it looked...interesting...but one bite and I was hooked. It's a mix of savory from the cheese, sweet from the brown sugar and crunch from the almonds, all piled onto a crisp cracker of your choice. It felt like a very grown-up dish. I thought I was pretty sophisticated to be enjoying Brie. 

And while it may taste sophisticated, it's probably one of the simpler appetizers you could make. The Brie is positioned in the center of an overproof dish and covered with sugar, nuts and butter before being tossed in a hot oven where all the ingredients melt and meld together. Perfect for a tasty appetizer to hold back the gnawings of hunger before the Thanksgiving feast or to add the lineup of miniature hors d'oeuvres and sweet somethings as you celebrate the imminent arrival of baby. 

Granola

A few years ago, my friend Lucy and I were in charge of the menu for our church's ladies' brunch. We decided on a delicious spread of french toast casserole, fresh fruit and puffed pastry tarts. One tart was layered with slices of juicy, red tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and basil before being drizzled with olive oil, and baked in the oven until puffed and golden. The other was inspired by a loaded baked potato--a potato and onion mash spread over the pastry, sprinkled with cheese and bacon and topped with splotches of sour cream after baking. So yum. 

The last part of our feast was yogurt topped with granola. We were going to go the simplest route and buy granola at the wholesale store. That is, until we saw the exorbitant prices and immediately decided that it couldn't be that hard to make granola. And we were right. Upon research, I found that making granola was as simple as measuring out oats and some spices, tossing with honey and oil and baking for 30 minutes in the oven. Really. That simple. And much cheaper than anything we could have bought in the store. Based on the reaction of the ladies, I think they thought it was tastier too.

Dill Pickles

A pickle's life begins in the garden. The story is passed around our family of my cousin's friend who, upon tasting my Grammy's pickles, asked if they came from a pickle tree. We find it humorous because pickles, and the process of making them, are as familiar to us as an old friend. We all have memories of seeing my grandpa pick cucumbers in the garden for Grammy to pickle. And we all have memories of Grammy packing jars and boiling brine, with a sink full of the green veggie. And we all remember coming home to Maine to a dinner of corn chowder, homemade bread and dill pickles. And we never ate the stems because of Grandpa's solemn warning that cucumber vines would grow out of our ears.

Their garden is full of these cucumber vines. Two or three long rows of just cucumbers. The cucumbers are picked small, the best size being about the length of your pinky finger, and it takes many, many plants to get enough to fill Grammy's waiting jars. 

They pick cucumbers every few days, making a batch every time they have enough. Green jars line up on their cellar shelves, joining the dwindling supply of last year's crop. Some are boxed up and given to family, and many are popped open and placed on the table, awaiting dinner. These jars are visited by pickle-lovers, who throw furtive glances toward the cook and toss tell-tale pickle stems in the trash. Dinners are accompanied by the oft repeated "please, pass the pickles" and little stems line themselves in an arc upon every plate. 

"Lobstah"

There's a picture of me as a little girl, twenty-five years ago or so, meeting a lobster for the first time. There's an open cooler and my father's hand holding a very-much-alive lobster. My dad's finger is out, as if he is gently stroking the crustacean to show how docile it is or maybe he's instructing me that "it can't possibly hurt you." I, on the other side of the frame, am not convinced. My little four or five year old self is drawn back in uncertainty, hands drawn protectively to my chest, my profile showing concern. I don't think I ever did touch it. 

How To: Garden Green Beans

We were on vacation in Maine last week. A trip I look forward to every year. Time spent dipping chubby legs in the water for the first time, amid kicks and splashes and giggles. 

Lemon Bars

A cicada's loud rasp on the branch above, startles as it zips to nearby branch. Dappled sunlight plays capriciously on the brow of my little one, appearing and disappearing through maple leaves. Breeze riffles through fern-fingers and bent-over grasses and our chestnut hair. Splish-splashes of water, carefully poured from the spout of silver watering can, feeding thirsty thyme and spiraea. Snack-break for all. Little bars of sunshine, powdered in white, on the windowsill. Teeth sink in, through bright curd and buttery shortbread. A pungent tartness smarts slightly on the tongue. Big, dark eyes inquire for more. We both reach for another. A perfect day. 

Pulled Pork

I love pulled pork because it's easy and it makes a lot for a crowd. I can make it ahead and warm it in the crockpot before serving. And this recipe is so delicious. A dry rub and a flavorful broth add considerably to the flavor. Just these little extra steps take pulled pork from good to great!

Raspberry Jello Salad

This may just be the easiest recipe I ever post. One of those dump-it-all-in and stir-all-together dishes that ends up tasting deliciously wonderful. In fact, the most difficult thing about it is waiting the four hours until it sets. 

My mom made this "salad" a lot when I was in high school. It's a sweet dish with pungent bits of slightly tart berries. It makes a nice, bright accompaniment to a ham dinner or serve it as a cool treat when the weather is hot. Not to mention, that brilliant red color screams Independence Day picnics. It's also easy to make ahead and requires no oven. The perfect accompaniment to nestle between your hot dog and potato salad. 

Chocolate Pie

I'm not sure when my love of chocolate began. Perhaps it was when I began stealthily sneaking chocolate chips from the cupboard. Or maybe when my mom made chocolate pudding and we'd eat it hot out of the pot, burning our tongues, both unable to wait for it to cool. Or maybe it began when she made chocolate fudge and we'd scrape the leftovers from the pot with a tablespoon. But most certainly chocolate pie had something to do with my love of chocolate. 

It's a pie that my mom has made my whole life, a recipe her mother-in-law gave her. A homemade crust lining a glass pie plate, is poked with a fork and baked until just beginning to turn golden. The filling, a rich chocolate pudding is whipped up on the stove, turning thick as the cornstarch does its work. Later, some cream is whipped before the whole thing is assembled. Pudding into crust. Whipped cream atop the pudding. It's a beautiful medley of crunch, richness and sweetness. And the perfect dessert for the chocolate lover.

Strawberries for Strawberry Shortcake

Strawberry season always takes me by surprise in Pennsylvania. In central New York, where I grew up, the growing season is quite a bit later due to the area's reluctance to let go of winter. Berry season always started right around my birthday, toward the end of June, meaning that I almost always got a strawberry pie on my birthday instead of cake. But here in Philly, the season is on its way out the door by the time my special day rolls around and I almost always am scrambling to get to the berry patch in time to get my ten quarts of scarlet red fruit.  This year was no exception and we planned a quick trip to Lancaster to get the last bits of this year's bounty.

How-To: Pie Crust

I've been watching my mom make pie crust ever since I was a little girl. Cutting the fat into the flour, adding ice cold water, stirring with a fork. I would sit at the island and watch the rhythm of her arms rolling out the dough, always from the center outward. She transformed it from a squat disk into a beautiful sheet of thin pastry. It's an art that is best learned by watching and doing together, an old hand guiding yours as you learn the feel of the dough. My mom learned from her mother-in-law, my Grammy, who has made countless pies in her century of life. My mom taught my sister, who then taught me on a weekend of sister fun. 

Jack helps me sometimes, measuring flour or stirring the fork. Someday Emma will help too. Passing on the family tradition, over a century old. 

Chicken Tortellini Soup

Some days just call for soup. And soup has been calling my name during this unnaturally chilly beginning of June. I like this one because it's pretty quick. You use leftover rotisserie chicken (or a chicken breast that you've cooked in the crock pot) sauté some veggies, add broth and pasta and you're done twenty minutes later. Stews need lots of time and their hearty nature is generally more appropriate in winter. But this soup takes thirty to forty minutes, start to finish, and its light and clean broth makes a delicious supper for spring as well as winter. 

Morning Glory Muffins

The evening sounds of spring peepers had melted into the warble of songbirds at dawn's coming. As the sun grew warm upon the green grass, goldfinches flitted happily back and forth between the bird feeder and the clothes line that they were perching upon. Flashes of black and yellow, twittered and chattered. 

Water gurgled unbidden from the ground, cold springs released from the loam by the advent of warmer weather. A relentless bubbling that saturated the viridescent earth, which collapsed slightly under the tread of children's feet. 

An anxious robin guarded a newly-formed nest, the four blue eggs nestled comfortably in a downy hideaway, hidden from roving eyes in the shadowy depths of the blue spruce. 

Bumblebees buzzed lazily, bobbing unconcernedly among the blossom-laden branches of the apple tree. The crooked trunk and forked boughs formed an ideal climbing tree, a secret bower for the solitary explorer.

And Morning Glories twisted their way up the pussy willow, velvet tufts mingled with verdant green. White trumpets shouting that spring was finally here.

Blueberry Crumble

My Grandpa's GMC truck turns left, off of the smooth pavement and onto a worn gravel road. Grandpa and my Dad are up front, while Mom, Lace and I are somewhat squashed in the small backseat. Lace opens the back window and we stick our heads out, ever on the lookout for a stray moose, craning our necks to see into every bog that flies past or to peer studiously into the mud for fresh tracks. The tires fly over the sandy road, lined with bushy pines, white birch and the orange spray of my favorite wildflower, jewelweed. 

The road narrows and branches scratch mercilessly at the sides of the truck, leaves stripping off as they whip into the open window and then out again. My Grandpa slows way down as we come to a make-shift bridge--maybe two planks laid over a small gully or a culvert that is badly eroded and just barely passable. The truck rocks back and forth as it makes its way over several severe pot-holes, the road pock-marked with the lot of them. 

My Grandpa turns right, left, and then left again. It's a labyrinth of unending gravel road. An unceasing maze of scrub pine and bog. Sometimes we make our way through close forest, the trees hugging the road. Then we break free, into an open area where the trees have been logged off and it's nothing but mountains, rising tall on either side, covered in forest green with the marks of logging etched starkly onto its majestic sides. And once again I'm amazed that my Grandpa remembers how to get there. The place we go every year for berries. 

Popovers

The first time I ever had popovers was the summer Brad popped the question. I had just finished my junior year of college and it was a beautiful day at Longwood Gardens, when he pulled out a ring and asked me to be his wife. 

Upon going home to my parents, I began wedding planning right away. And one of the first things I did was look for a place for the reception. The winner was the Lincklaen House, an old refurbished inn in nearby Cazenovia. This small village, set on Cazenovia Lake, used to be a vacation destination for the wealthy a hundred years or so ago. 

My mom, sister and I walked into the Linckalen for lunch that June to assess the food and discuss menu options. It wasn't very crowded, there were only a few patrons sitting at small square tables. A breeze came through the open doors and the clinking of cutlery on plates could be heard from the outdoor patio. We sat there admiring the old woodwork, checkerboard tile floor and vintage feel, a feeling of anticipation and apprehension in our smiles. 

The server came by to fill our water glasses and offer the customary small plate of bread to pick at while we waited for our meal. Except it wasn't the usual variety of sourdough and whole wheat slices. Instead, we were given large, crusty-golden balloons that looked like they had mushroomed dramatically out of their pan. Upon piercing, these popovers released a cloud of steam and revealed a mostly-empty, wispy inside. The honey butter that accompanied it melted almost instantaneously upon contact with the hot bread and dripped lavishly down the sides and onto our hands. They were decidedly eggy and not overly sweet  and our eyes rolled with pleasure as we licked our fingers and possessively eyed the last one in the basket.

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I recently started making popovers at home and they are so delicious. Apart from being super easy, they are also super impressive and quite fun for little helpers to watch the dramatic rise in the oven. 

Chicken Waikiki

Two-year olds. Lots of joy amidst lots of hard. And one of the hardest things has got to be getting them to eat dinner. As we sit around the supper table, another delicious meal growing cold in front of my pouting son, I can feel my desire to control his eating habits reaching like long, bony fingers--eat, eat, EAT. And I'm sure he can feel it too because he responds with a two-year old battery of defenses including whining, pretending to be tired and distracting me with hugs and kisses. 

It's never easy.

Almost never. Once in awhile we have those amazing nights when everyone is calm and peaceful. The baby is gurgling sweetly and the two-year old sits in his chair and feeds himself his dinner. Happily. And usually it's because we are eating chicken waikiki. 

Tender pieces of chicken, dredged in flour and pan fried, are baked in a sweet and sour sauce, along with bits of red pepper and pineapple. The meal is spooned over a bed of rice, the sauce soaking down into the white grains. Add a green vegetable on the side--I love to use broccoli--and you have a tasty meal that even my picky two-year old describes as "So yummy!"

Summit Salad Dressing (Sesame & Poppyseed)

My windows are open. The first hints of spring are wafting through, a sunny breeze bearing the beginnings of new life. Jack and I open the back door, previously sealed from the winter cold, and bang through the screen door to the backyard. The lilacs are heavy with large, purple blossoms and big, old bumblebees are bobbing from bunch to bunch, burying themselves in the colorful bower. The grass is springing up in tall, brilliant patches, threatening to take over the yard by pure exuberance. We bury our toes in it. It's soft and alive and tickles our bare feet. 

We find half a bird egg, of palest blue and spattered with brown speckles. Jack is in awe of it, holding it in his hands and threatening to crush it with his two-year-old wonder. We put the egg on the sill, anxious to show Daddy later. 

The sun is so warm on our heads, spilling luxuriously over our matching brown hair. Jack runs from end to end of the yard, for the pure joy of it. He crouches over the dirt, spying a troop of ants, busily marching from here to there, and back yet again. Jack interrupts their monotony with his dump truck, the plastic treads diverting their insect march. 

Spring has come again.

Magic Cookie Bars

Do you have a go-to recipe? A recipe that you love, that's easy to whip up and keep the ingredients on hand? Something that you can run to the cupboard for when someone comes over unexpectedly, or maybe you have a craving or you need to take a treat to that party? 

Magic Cookie Bars: our family's go-to recipe. My mom would make these on Sunday nights after church. We'd all be roaming the kitchen, opening the fridge multiple times and staring blankly at the contents. Then mom would mention these bars and we'd all perk up and go sit at the island until they came out of the oven. 

I think a similar recipe, with added butterscotch and white chocolate chips, is known as "Seven Layer Bars." However, in my family we call these magic cookie bars, probably because they magically disappear as soon as they are made! 

Broiler Cake

I've been reading a fascinating book recently called "Ratios: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking". It's all about the science behind cooking; that what makes a popover different from a muffin or different from a crepe is just the ratio of flour to fat to sugar to eggs, etc. One of the things I've learned is that a basic sponge cake is not all that different from a pound cake. The ratios are the same (both are equal parts flour, fat, sugar and egg) but the difference lies in the order in which the ingredients are mixed. A pound cake starts by creaming together the eggs and butter while a sponge cake starts by beating the eggs and sugar. These methods give a sponge cake its light, airy texture and a pound cake its denser, richer texture. 

Broiler cake is a sponge cake. You start by beating the sugar into the eggs. This creates millions of tiny air bubbles in the batter which expand in the oven, making your cake rise impressively and leaving it full of tiny air pockets, like a sponge. However, my mom always called it a hot milk cake, due to scalding the milk before adding it. 

What makes this cake so special, beyond the delicious sponge, is the topping. You can use coconut or crushed pineapple, or nuts if you wish. Mixed together with butter, brown sugar and cream, the topping is spread over the hot, just-out-of-the-oven cake and then stuck under the broiler for a few, short minutes. The intense heat of the broiler causes the topping to boil, melting the sugars to create a carmelized crust that is brittle on top, but soft underneath, and punctuated throughout with coconut. 

The effect is wonderful. A sweet, moist cake that is light and airy, covered over in a richly, decadent topping of carmelized coconut. And it's easy to make, to boot. A perfect cake to wow your friends or family, or to just have a piece all to yourself while the kids are napping!

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip (or Raisin) Cookies

When it comes to baked goods, are you into raisins? Or chocolate chips? 

I'm a chocolate chipper, myself. 

I like raisins. Plain, by the hand. But can't say I'm a fan of them in my cookies. Give me ooey-gooey, chocolate any day. 

My mom started making these when I was in high school and they are one of my sister's favorites. They are pleasantly chewy due to the oats and they have just a hint of cinnamon. And the good thing about them is that they please both raisin and chocolate lovers. Just add whichever you prefer. 

Sour Cream Coffeecake

I don't remember ever going to an Easter egg hunt. I'm not sure why. Maybe we did and I just don't remember it. Or maybe it's because we lived way out in the country and there were no community egg hunts nearby. But whatever the reason, don't feel bad for me. I don't feel jipped. 

Because we did get Easter baskets. Easter Sunday would find my mom sneaking quietly into our room to deposit two white, woven baskets, filled to the brim with green, plastic grass hiding all sorts of sugary treats beneath. I know, pretty standard. But the best part of the Easter basket was the gigantic, solid, white chocolate, Easter bunny nestled on top. None of that hollow, milk chocolate variety from the convenience store that tastes slightly of plastic. 

It was so special. And it delighted my little girl's heart. I would save that Easter bunny as long as I possibly could, sneaking a small bite every time I came in my room. Nibbling the ears off first. Then the head and tail. And then bit by bit, the rest of the bunny's solid, chocolatey self would disappear. 

The bunny was the best part of the basket and I would have been seriously offended if my mom had switched out my white chocolate rabbit for a milk chocolate one. Not because I don't like milk chocolate, but because I wanted to be just like my daddy. He always got a mini white chocolate on Easter, not preferring milk chocolate, and so I had to have the same. 

Meat Pie

It's hard to know what to do with leftover roast. You can eat it in sandwiches or make a stew, but sometimes you need something different. My grandma's method was to make Meat Pie. 

Meat Pie isn't strictly a pie. I'm not sure it's even loosely a pie, but it's a great way to use up leftover roast ingredients. It's essentially a soup on the bottom with biscuits or dumplings floating on the top. My grandma used to just make Bisquick biscuits, but my mom found a homemade dumpling that we use now. It's a simple, hearty dish stemming from the necessity of making a bit of leftover meat stretch into an entire meal. As a pastor's wife, my grandma's grocery budget was not large. 

It's a great recipe because it's flexible, depending on what you have leftover from your pot roast. Bare bones, you only really need leftover meat and gravy to make this, but you can also add in leftover onions, carrots and potatoes. 

The rich broth gets its flavor not only from gravy, but also smashed roasted onions and carrots that were from your pot roast. If you have them, they deeply enhance the flavor profile of the broth. Added to this is leftover roast chunks and bites of carrot and potato. The dumpling batter is dropped onto the top, where it cooks in the steam generated by your simmering "soup." A delicious way to turn boring leftovers into a satisfying meal.

How-To: Whipped Cream

If reading my blog only changed one thing about your cooking, I would be so happy if it was learning to make real whipped cream instead of using fake "whipped topping." 

I have a few recipes, okay two, that I use fake topping for. Jello Cake and Chocolate Eclair Cake. And I understand that sometimes life is crazy and why add just another thing to your list, like whipping cream. 

But, real whipped cream is oh-so-heavenly and oh-so-easy. It's almost just as easy as opening a tub of whipped topping and dumping it out. You measure 4 ingredients (does salt even count? you only use a pinch) and beat for 3 - 4 minutes. Boom. Done. And the results are incredibly better. Sweet and light. And the ingredients are real. 

So the next time you pull up a recipe for Key Lime Pie or Gingerbread, maybe pull up this one too and just give it a chance? You may never want to go back to "whipped topping" again. 

Granola Bars

It is mid-afternoon here. The sun is golden and warm and streaming through my front windows with vibrance. It is quiet. Jack is asleep upstairs and Emma is asleep in her little bouncer in the kitchen. Dreams are flickering across their faces. 

Supper is in the oven and the house is picked up. A rarity these days. It's a moment of peace in the crazy busyness of life. I love these moments when life is calm. 

But it's not always that way. Sometimes there are train tracks all over my floor. And pacifiers tucked in nooks here and there. Sometimes (most of the time) there are dishes all over the counter and oats all over the floor. Sometimes a baby is crying in one room and the toddler is crying in the other. Sometimes these rooms smell of diapers or burnt granola bars. Sometimes there is no sun shining through my windows and it's raining. Not a nice spring rain, but a cold, dreary, unhappy sort of rain. 

But that's life right? A topsy-turvy mix-up of peace and chaos. Storm and serenity. A blog I read once said that "Life is a process of making messes and cleaning them up." And it's oh so true. Learning to smile amidst the mess and say, "Yes, Jack, let's make the granola bars, together."

Scalloped Potatoes and Ham

Ah, the humble potato. A difficult vegetable for me. I don't hate them, but I don't love them either. Alone they seem bland and rather boring. They need a little dressing up. Something flavorful and rich. Enter chicken broth, cream and cheese. And ham. My husband requires ham.

We had friends over for dinner last night. Our kids are about the same age and they only live a few blocks away. They are one of those families that are easy to have over. Conversation flows, the kids play and the moms fuss over the babies.

Sweet and Sour Chicken

I like things in a sweet and sour sauce. I have a few of these Americanized Asian dishes and I love them. Tender chicken, breaded and fried until just crispy and then baked  to coat each piece in a delicious, sticky sauce. Served with sticky rice and steamed broccoli, this meal tastes far superior to take out.

It's a bit involved, however -- cutting up, coating and then frying the chicken before baking it for an hour. But after tasting it, I'm sure you'll forgive me.

How-To: Hash Browns

I love Saturday mornings at our house. With two little ones, we are up early, but we start out the day in the kitchen, making breakfast together. Sometimes we have something fancy like Quicky Sticky Buns or French Toast. But often it's just humble scrambled eggs and hash browns. Brad mans the bacon and I tackle the hash and eggs. And Jack "helps", standing on his stool, overseeing all. 

Cinnamon Twists

Love is like cinnamon rolls. They both require effort, but the effort is always worth it. There's a sweetness in the commitment to something worthwhile. 

Right now the snow is falling outside my window in large, beautiful puffs. There is a burlap banner strung across the window with painted pink and red and white hearts. My children have appropriately decorated socks on and my sweet newborn is wearing a beautiful red dress. There is a potted rose blooming on the table and various valentines are scattered across the table. My favorite is the one my dad sent to my son, the words "I feel Dumpy without you" hovering above the cartoon dump truck. I'm planning on making my husband's favorite chocolate pudding soon and there's a nice supper started. But these things don't really make Valentine's Day, do they? 

Snow-Capped Pie

My mother called her Rhoda Dell. She was a robust woman with a happy face and snow white hair. Her big smile stretched wide and crinkled her face all the way up to her eyes, which glinted through practically squeezed-shut eyelids. Her laugh, more like a cackle, could be heard resounding through the church auditorium. She was there every Sunday, one of the first to arrive and last to leave, arms full of babies in the between.

This recipe is based on Rhoda Dell's, but doctored a bit by my mom. A key to this recipe that makes it so very tasty is the addition of Worcestershire sauce, celery salt and using the carrot "broth" in the pie. These ingredients add depth to the flavor profile, making this meal go from simple meat and potatoes to a tasty dinner.

Sugar Cookies or "Manna"

This was one of the first recipes I tried as a newly married woman. I remember my husband taking his first bite. His eyes lit up and he nodded his head vigorously when I asked them if they were good. After consuming the better part of a dozen, he decided they were now one of his favorite cookies. He has called them "manna" ever since. 

Sugar cookies can be quite disappointing. They spread too thin, creating dark brown edges that are too crisp and taste burned. It's hard to get them off the sheet in one piece and often half the cookie, and your patience, is left behind in the process. 

I love this recipe because it creates a delicate cookie that is decidedly soft in the center (as long as you don't overbake). The use of parchment paper geniously keeps the cookies from spreading too thin and from glueing themselves to your cookie sheet. The texture is light and almost cake-like. The cookies are sweet, as sugar cookies should be and go lovely with a tall glass of milk. Maybe not quite "the dew of heaven," but pretty, pretty close!

Hot Cocoa for Two

Snow drifts softly down from the heavens, alighting itself on the frozen ground, building up into a blanket of white that covers all the unattractive brown. It fills my home with a gentle, white light. All is quiet outside. None but a few brave souls are willing to venture out and for a moment peace and calm reign on a busy street in the city. 

My firstborn is upstairs getting a bath. I can hear his little baby talk and squeals of laughter when the water splashes up into his sweet face. My second child is snug as a bug in my belly, not inclined at all to come and join us in this beautiful world. 

It's a good moment to sit and watch the weather float by, a mug of homemade hot chocolate steaming my face, a little peace before our world is overturned by the coming of a little baby girl.  

Lasagna

Simple. Homemade. Good Food. 

The kind of meal that you make for yourselves and for company. 

The kind of meal you take to sick friends or friends with newborns. 

The kind that you make in a big pan so that you can have leftovers later in the week. 

It's a simple recipe -- doctor your favorite sauce, boil some noodles and whip up a cheese filling. But sometimes simple is best. 

Lemon-Garlic Potatoes

Lemon and Garlic. Two robust flavors that paired together create an explosion of delight in your mouth. Toss over red potatoes and you have a delicious side to jazz up your next chicken or pork dinner. This recipe is for two people, but can easily be doubled to serve more. 

I first made this when Brad and I were newlyweds. Our dinners were often late due to my evening piano teaching schedule and this side was quick and easy when I needed something to round out the meal. And it was handy to have a recipe specifically tailored to two people. 

I would suggest making just enough for your dinner as leftovers won't keep well. The fresh garlic deteriorates quickly in the fridge. 

Beef Stew

The holidays are over. The magical moments spent together with family and friends are memories now and we've turned the page to a new year. But while Christmas and New Years may be a thing of the past, the cold weather is not. There are at least a few more months of long, hard cold left before spring begins to turn her thoughts toward us. And after all the pies, puddings and cookies of the holiday season, I am ready for something hearty and warming to the bone. 

This stew is just that. A whole mess of onions is slow cooked with chunks of beef until the onions break down and melt into the velvety sauce, making it rich with color and flavor. Thick slices of carrots and hunks of red potato are thrown in at the end, cooked until just tender. Serve with a warm dinner roll slathered with butter, and you'll sit down to dinner and say, "Take that, Old Man Winter!"