Cornbread

There's something about a good chili that just begs to be paired with cornbread. The meat and bean dish needs the simple heartiness cornbread offers and chili's take-your-breath-away heat is somehow tempered by the bread's neutral corn flavor.

Beef Chili

I really don't like beans. 

Not pinto. Or Kidney. Or Lima. Or any of them. 

Yuck. 

My aversion to these legumes has always been problematic when it comes to chili. Most people will tell you that chili just isn't the same without the beans. 

Anadama Bread

There's something about the feel of dough under the hand. The process of transforming flour, water, salt and yeast to something of substance. The rhythm of push-fold-turn, push-fold-turn. Bread feels alive when you knead it. You can feel it resist and stretch. It takes strength and energy, up close and personal. Floured hands shaping and turning and pushing. Spending myself to make something beautiful. The satisfaction of a properly kneaded dough, heavy in the hand and soft to the touch, as smooth as a little baby's bum. I love to knead bread.

Stuffed Peppers for Two

Do you remember being a kid and the wonder of playing outdoors? The sense of adventure and freedom that it brought? The thrill of feeling fresh air on your face and the possibilities contained in having all the elements of nature at your disposal? A low, crumbling wall becomes the towering bulwark of a besieged fort and a small grouping of birches becomes a fairy den. Sticks becomes medieval swords, a rotting stump a devilish mountain and a blossoming apple tree a private bower hiding you from the all-too-eager-to-join-in younger sibling.

Simple Meatloaf

Let's face it; meatloaf doesn't usually make the "Top Ten" of favorite foods. It's a humble dish that is mostly unattractive and some versions are downright scary. The list of ingredients for this unassuming entree is as varied as can be with gems like hot dogs or hard-boiled eggs. A quick perusal of a cookbook on my shelf grabs your attention with appealing titles like "Zucchini Meatloaf", "Potato-Frosted Meatloaf" and "Pizza Meatloaf."

Yes, really, pizza meatloaf. Need I say more?

Spaghetti Pie

I love lasagna, but sometimes it's too much work. There's all those slippery noodles to deal with, layer upon layer to build and a cheesy filling to mix up. Sometimes I want something slightly simpler, but just as tasty.

Macaroni & Cheese: Two Versions

Almost nothing speaks to the nostalgic heart more than macaroni and cheese. Homemade and hot from the oven with a bite of cheddar and perhaps a blush of heat. A rich and creamy sauce folded over and under and into every crevice of every tender noodle. Love dripping with every spoonful.

Buttermilk Pancakes or The Birth of a Family Tradition

It was one of those lazy Saturday mornings growing up. My maternal grandparents had come up for the day and we were enjoying a late breakfast on a sunny, weekend morning. Chairs were pushed slightly back from the table, bellies were patted with satisfaction and my sister and I listened to the low murmur of story-telling with an eagerness that comes with the hunger to be "grown-up." That moment where it's time to clean up but no one wants to hung in the air and a few ignored pancakes lay in the center of the table.

And then, "Thwap!"

A golden pancake hurtled through the air and landed squarely on the side of my dad's face.

Christmas: Caramel Corn

Sometimes it's those little things that tell you that it's Christmas. Like hanging garland across the window, or setting the wise men on the hearth, or suspending the wax-faced angel on top of the freshly cut pine. Those things that bring flashes of memory and steal satisfyingly across your soul, whispering, "Christmas is here."

Raspberry Jam or Ode to My Sister

My family has always been staunchly in the strawberry jam camp. Thick slices of warm, homemade bread are accompanied by a frosty mason jar filled with that crimson goodness. 

However, a few years ago, my sister made a foray into the land of raspberry jam and came back with stained fingers and happy taste buds. My Christmas present that year was two pints of raspberry jam, a string of raffia tied jauntily underneath the rim. I ate them sparingly, saving them for especially delicious treats like fresh bread and oatmeal scones. It was a sad day when I finally spied the bottom of the second jar and tried scraping out the last, few globs.