One Step Behind and Slow Cooked Italian Sausages with Lentils

Leave a comment July 5, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Ever since I can remember I have been one step behind. I am rarely on the cutting edge of anything, which doesn’t bother me exactly, for the most part. I mean, my iPad is over five years old, I thought midi dresses were called “tea-length”, and while I have heard of Chewbacca Mom, I have not seen the video. For the most part, being on the tail end of trends like these does not bother me too much.

When it does bother me, though, is when there is something I really do care about, something I really am interested in and I find out someone else had that exact same idea, or that someone else beat me to the punch on putting their spin on whatever “thing” it is that’s taking up space in my dreaming heart. I think that fear has kept me from making the jump from dreaming to doing.

Stay with me: let’s talk shoes for a moment.

When I was in Junior High (back when it was still called Junior High), I was behind on what was cool and what wasn’t, not for lack of caring, but because by that time keeping up with my friends came with a price tag that my babysitting jobs couldn’t cover very quickly. I either had to save up for the things I really wanted or beg my parents for them. Take shoes, for example. There was this pair of black velvet Vans that I just had to have. I knew I would wear them with everything if I could only just get my hands on them, a vow I swore to my mom when I begged her to upgrade my Payless knock offs to these much cooler originals. I don’t remember if she put out the cash for them or if I did, but what I do remember is that when I finally got a pair, another girl at school had already gotten the same ones–and this girl was older, prettier, and far more popular than I was. To my insecure heart, this was a fate worse than not having the shoes at all: it made me look like I was copying her.

Not much has changed. This sort of thing happened to me again this year, more than 20 years later. I rarely shell out money for new shoes these days (a scar from long ago perhaps?), but when I laid eyes on a pair of slip-on white Converse, that all changed. I pined after them during pregnancy, knowing that as soon as my feet shrunk back to their normal size again (fingers crossed), I would treat myself to a pair. That day finally came, and I wore them all the time. But not long after I got them, I spotted them on a fellow preschool mom during morning drop off. As we waved hello in passing, I smiled and silently prayed she didn’t think I was copying her.

How silly am I for thinking anyone gives that sort of time and energy to thinking about my choice in shoes? Who cares? They are cute shoes and a lot of people like to wear them. End of story. Right?

I’m not sure. I think there is a deeper issue here, one that I am still trying to figure out and understand. I want to be original and affirmed for being a cool kind of different, but I do not want to be so outside the norm that I am weird–in my style, sure, but more than that, what I do with my life, how I create art and live a life in keeping with that.

For some reason, shoes sort of speak to that. What sort of people wear socks with sandals? Ballet flats? Platforms? Gladiators? Tom’s? Crocks? Running shoes (without the slightest sign of being used for running)? Impossibly high pumps? Converse? I bet you could take a room full of random people, sort them by their shoes, and within each group there would be many similarities among the people therein. They probably share a lot of the same basic personality traits and values.

But when I think about it a little more, the girl in Junior High who had those Vans and the fellow preschool mom both were a little similar to me. I remember the girl in Junior High as being somewhat soft-spoken, easy going, and down to earth. The fellow preschool mom is warm, kind, and laid back. Both balance out their louder and more gregarious counterparts. These are my sort of people, in other words. Perhaps I ought to see them as kindred spirits, people who share the same sort of values and ideals I have.

Which brings me to the whole idea of comparing myself to women walking the path in their professional lives I keep dreaming of walking too. It seems anytime I get a good idea, I come to find out that someone else has had that idea too. Instead of seeing it as an opportunity to learn from them and add my two cents to the discussion, I shy away and figure the topic is already covered. The world will keep turning if I don’t share my favorite new recipe, right?

What if I renewed my thinking, so that the proverbial competition became companions walking along the same path with me–not in front, nor behind, exactly, but beside. The world will not change, but maybe I will.

Love,
Scratch

Slow Cooked Italian Sausages with Lentils

When the weather took a turn for the worst (read: hot), I heeded Joey’s plea and did my best to keep the stove turned off–a difficult task with a broken grill, I might add. I started using my Crock Pot instead, even though I find the flavors and textures of slow cooked meals tiresome during the summer, when things should be fresh and light, not laden with warmth and comfort. But this recipe. I made it ages ago, on the stove, during the winter, but inspiration struck me in the middle of a hot July day and I cooked it in the Crock Pot. Easy, flavorful, fancy even (for essentially being a peasant-style dish), and perfect with a glass of our favorite wine. It would be a simple freezer meal to throw together too (in which case do not bother browning the sausages first. Skipping that step will change the end result slightly, but sometimes a short cut like that is worth it on a hot day). To make it truly dairy free, skip the garnish of cheese at the end.

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups French lentils (also known as Puy lentils, or lentilles du Puy)
2 cups water
1/2 cup red wine (such as Cabernet Sauvignon)
1 medium yellow onion, diced
2 large cloves garlic, smashed
6 Italian sausages (mild or hot; uncooked)
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground pepper, to taste
Fresh parsley and crumbled feta cheese (or shaved Parmesan) for serving

Method:

First, brown the sausages on at least two sides, but all four (or close to all four) is best. Meanwhile, rinse and sort through the lentils, making sure to remove any stray little stones. Then, combine lentils, water, wine, onion, garlic, red wine vinegar, salt and pepper in the bottom of a slow cooker. Give it a good stir, and then nestle the sausages on top, submerging them just a little bit (as best you can).

Cook on high for 4 hours*. When ready to serve, adjust seasoning as needed (need salt? Stir some more in. Flavor taste a little flat? Stir in a splash or two more of red wine vinegar). Sprinkle fresh parsley and crumbled feta (or shavings of fresh Parmesan cheese) on top for serving.

*Alternatively, cook on low for 6 hours (or so). Crock pots seem to vary in their heating power, so keep that in mind and keep use these cooking times as a guide. Lentils cook much faster than a big batch of beans, so be careful not to overcook them (they turn mushy, and of course, could burn–even in a crock pot!).

Too Long and Not Long Enough, and Confetti Quinoa Salad

3 Comments July 1, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Felicia,

Too long. It’s been too long since we’ve seen you. The last time was when Mia was still just a baby, one that fit snugly in your arms, wide-eyed and curious about an unfamiliar face cooing at her, nuzzling her. Addie was old enough to be timid around you, but innocent enough to believe us when we said she was your friend, that you loved her. That she was safe with you. We said the same thing to both girls this time around, and while they believed us, they were wary of you because nevertheless, you were still a stranger to them.

And then there was the little guy who eyed you suspiciously, not really sure what to make of you. He’s old enough to understand that when unfamiliar people show up, it usually means we are headed out the door. Before long, you made friends without forcing yourself on any of them. You were simply you, comfortable and alive in your roll of Auntie, as if no time had passed at all. Wiping up sticky popsicle hands, fawning over princess dresses, playfully urging Addie to be bold and showing our kids what it means to love, sight unseen. Encouraging them to have happy plates, and showing them that you were, in fact, the same Auntie Fee Fee we talk about every time we praise them for having a happy plate.

When you let us know you were coming, it was our instinct to celebrate. Joey and I imagined a big dinner with the whole gang back together again, sipping ice cold Moscow Mules while the kids ran around the warm summer evening, strangers separated by time turned to fast friends by virtue of just being together. In our imagination, there was no rush, no stress, not an ounce of weirdness that sometimes comes along with seeing faces you haven’t seen in awhile. The stories, laughter, wine and time never ran out.

But time does run out, and the gumption to throw a big party faded and was replaced by embarrassment that we didn’t keep up with everybody the way we used to when you lived here. Why is it that it took you coming all the way to California to show me just how distant everyone else had become?

There’s no real answer to that question, of course. Time forces us forward into new seasons. Sometimes we jump right in, eager to leave old things behind and experience something new, and other times we resist. Sometimes we realize things are changing, and other times we don’t. In this case, I think it’s a good mix of all of those things. And I think that’s ok.

Wouldn’t it be fun though–and easier on you, perhaps–to have everyone who loves you here in California gathered in one place? We could give you the same sort of welcome you always give to us. I’m sorry we didn’t make that happen for you. Maybe we can make it up to you the next time you come to visit.

We were sad to see you go so quickly, as I knew we would be. Seeing you for three hours was not long enough for our greedy selves who wanted to soak up a little more Felicia before the sun went down that night. But having you here for even that little blip in time reminded Joey and me of who we were before our lives took the turn that brought us to the place we are now as a family. It connected our kids to the bigger picture of what brought us to the place we are now. What a gift.

So thank you for visiting us, for carving out a time to enter and enjoy our new world. You are gold, Felicia Bond, and I love you. We love you. And I think I speak for all of California when I say, hurry back. We miss you.

Love,
Rachel

Confetti Quinoa Salad

This salad is basically a riff on the quinoa salad we always serve with spicy herbed chicken. While that version is fairly plain (bell peppers and green onions only), this one has a little more pizazz, sort of like dressing up an everyday knit sundress with dangly earrings and sparkly sandals. It’s a perfect summer side dish, cooling and light, bursting with sun-kissed flavor. Add black beans if you wish. Or red chili flakes. Or grilled chicken. Pretty much accessorize as you like, adding your own style as you go.

Ingredients

1 cup uncooked quinoa
1 sweet bell pepper (red, orange, or yellow) diced
1/4 large red onion, diced
1 large English cucumber, diced (alternatively, peel and dice a regular old cucumber)
1 cup sweet corn (fresh or frozen)
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Method

Rinse one cup quinoa. In a small saucepan, combine rinsed quinoa. 2 cups water and a dash of salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and cover. Cook for 15 minutes. Let stand, covered, for 5 minutes, and then fluff with a fork. Cool completely.

After the quinoa is cooked and cooled, toss it with diced vegetables, red wine vinegar and olive oil. Add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Mistakes Are Part of the Process, and Scrambled Eggs with Crème Fraîche

Leave a comment February 24, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Remember that day you tried to watch Worst Cooks in America and you couldn’t stand to watch the chefs scrutinize the contestants’ fried eggs?

You turned the channel, muttering under your breath you had a hard time believing there were people out there who actually cared enough about fried eggs to pick them apart like that, and how lucky you felt that your wife knew how to decently fry one. I sat quietly, thankful you appreciate my cooking, and let you flip the channel back to the basketball game. But inwardly I sulked, for I knew the truth: I am no good at making fried eggs. Haven’t you noticed I usually ask you to fry them?

The heat is always too high. Then it’s too low. Then the whites stick. The yolks are too runny, or not runny enough. The yolks break and bleed and get cooked into a brown spider web of disaster. Even Eggs in a Hole are hard to perfect, and while you happily eat whatever sludge I slide out of the pan, the younger, pickier mouths in this family protest even the slightest deviation from their idea of a perfectly cooked yolk.

Clearly, fried eggs aren’t my idea of a quick and easy breakfast. But scrambled eggs? That’s a different story.

Before I met you, I mastered the art of egg scrambling by taking Julia Child’s advice and cooking those beauties at a low temperature. Making a tender, fluffy batch on Saturday mornings was my specialty, so much so that my roommates praised them and clamored for them nearly every week. The longer cooking time, while admittedly a bit of an annoyance, yields unparalleled results. For me, a reluctant egg eater in the first place, Julia’s technique changed me forever.

When you and I decided to get married, I was sure my egg-scrambling confidence equipped me to meet your every whim of “Breakfast for dinner, please!” with brag-worthy fare. And for the most part, it has. Except for when it comes to fried eggs. But we’re talking about scrambled eggs here.

Even so, my confidence was shaken a little just days into our marriage. We were on our honeymoon, starting our last day in Seattle at a quaint little basement cafe nestled beneath The Elliot Bay Book Company in Pioneer Square. I don’t remember the specifics of what we ordered that morning, except for the scrambled eggs with crème fraîche and scallions. They were fancy, and just the sort of simple and delicious that made us sure we could replicate them at home.

But then, we didn’t.

The idea came up over the years (meaning: you asked me to try to make them, but I put it off, afraid of ruining the memory of them.) But eventually, finally, I did it, and in the process, I learned something: I put off most things I really want to do because I am afraid: that I’ll make a mess of things; that it won’t measure up to my expectations; that I will fail. I learned I let fear paralyze me and keep me from trying new things – even something as small and insignificant as making scrambled eggs with crème fraîche instead of milk or water. I don’t really trust myself.

After I finally got over it (sheesh–they’re just eggs!), in making them made I realized I am far more capable that I give myself credit for, and when I try new things (not if, but when), I ought to approach them with the attitude that accepts mistakes as part of the learning process. And goodness – trying and failing is more important than not trying at all, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t that what we tell our kids?

As it turns out, it was not nearly as challenging as I had imagined, nor did I ruin our memory of our charming breakfast in Seattle. Instead, we can re-live that moment in the taste of those eggs whenever we want, really, since we can’t just pop over for a quick little breakfast on a whim.

I gather the bookstore has moved since then anyway, to a new location with a different sort of cafe, which while it may be delicious and charming in its own right, will never be our cafe, so to speak. But whenever I make scrambled eggs with crème fraîche at home, I am transported to that place and that time for a moment long enough to remember what it felt like to experience something familiar and new all at the same time.

I’m so glad I got over myself and tried something new.

Love,
Scratch

Scrambled Eggs with Crème Fraîche

Inspired by the best eggs Joey & I ever had, this recipe elevates an ordinary breakfast food to something truly special. (I even made them for breakfast on Christmas morning when I was too pregnant to manage much else.) Crème fraîche (“krem fresh”) is really just unpasteurized heavy cream that is thickened by the good bacteria it naturally contains. Rich and velvety, it’s perfect for making these decadent eggs.

Ingredients:

8 large eggs
4 oz. crème fraîche (plus more, for optional topping)
2 T salted butter
1/2 tsp salt
3 green onions, chopped (green parts only)

Method:

First, warm up a large skillet over medium-low heat and let the butter begin to melt. Meanwhile, whisk together eggs, crème fraîche and salt. When the butter has melted, pour the egg mixture into the skillet. (I often use non-stick, so you will need to use more butter–say, 4 Tablespoons or so– if you are cooking the eggs in a stainless steel skillet.)
Let the eggs cook slowly, gently scraping up big fluffy curds as they begin to set. Do this until all eggs are soft-cooked: not runny, but still moist. When they’ve set, serve them warm, sprinkled with green onions. Top with additional dollop of crème fraîche if you want to be really fancy.

Victory! and Herbed Chicken and Quinoa Salad with Quick Pickled Cucumber

1 Comment June 25, 2015 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I don’t remember dinnertime being difficult when I was a kid. It was fun. Maybe the best part of the day.

Over the past year I have wondered why my memories of family dinner are so warm and low-key when our own family dinners aren’t always the same way. I should give myself a break – our oldest isn’t even five yet, for goodness sake.

I think the biggest difference between my memories of those days and our own reality is my folks were really relaxed when it came to meal time. Meaning, they kept calm if we refused to touch the food on our plate–as far as I remember, at least. If we didn’t like it, there was always a peanut butter sandwich.

In dealing with our own kids, I try to do my best to follow my parents’ lead; keep calm and let them be in charge of what they eat from their plate. As long as they have healthy choices, why should I insist they eat just one more bite before they are allowed to be excused? But the reality is that we have been super tense about eating and frustrated when our kids misbehave at the table (shocking!) or refuse to eat what they are given.

The girls come by it honestly, I guess. My mom tells the story of how she had to finish her peas before she was excused from the dinner table as a kid. She hated peas. I mean hated. But she finally figured out if she swallowed them like little green pills, washing them down with a big gulp of milk, she wouldn’t taste them and she would be allowed to leave table. And let’s not forget your brother’s legendary attempts and “cleaning his plate” – your parents found food hidden in house plants, radiators, you name it: anywhere your brother could surreptitiously stash it without getting caught (until months later, at least).

As much as we laugh about these anecdotes now, I don’t really want history to repeat itself. I’d rather we make the dinner table a fun place to be and help our kids enjoy their food, as much as we can at least.

So far, it’s sort of in-between. We have a long way to go, but we are making progress. I’m pretty sure our two hard-and-fast mealtime rules help:

1. Try at least one bite of everything on your plate. If you do not like it, you do not have to eat it.
2. There is nothing else to eat other than what is served. If you do not want to eat it, that’s ok. But you will not eat again until the next snack or mealtime.

For the most part, these rules work for us. Everyone knows them, and since we are consistent with them there isn’t room for negotiation.

It wasn’t always that way. At first, the girls protested. They whined and complained and feigned disgust and spit food out and begged for macaroni and cheese, or yogurt, or crackers — just like most toddlers are prone to do. But slowly, they came to realize that the food they’re given is all they get, and when they see us eating it, they figure it can’t be all that bad (I suppose).

Here’s the thing that helps me stick to the rules myself: I make sure to offer something I know they will actually eat (like rice and broccoli). Then, I challenge them with something fairly familiar they will probably like if they just try it (like salmon). And third, I add something I am fully prepared for them to hate (like artichokes) just to see if they might have a taste for it.

Before I sound like a total organized, over-achieving freak, let me say this: I often repeat the things I challenge them with, typically things we like to eat (like salad) or things they typically like (such as carrots) that are prepared in an unfamiliar way (like roasted carrots).

Apparently, this is working because in just the past few weeks, things have changed. Whereas it used to be that everything except the vegetables disappeared at dinnertime, now the veggies are being eaten up, too.

First, Addie starting eating coleslaw. Coleslaw! Then she declared her undying love for bell peppers. Not long after that, she braved a bite of a single green bean, a pesky dinnertime menace that has taunted her since infancy. When she announced she liked it, I almost fainted. Mia looked on with a face that seemed to say “Big deal. I have been telling you they are good for ages.” It was not a fluke: Addie ate an entire helping of them that night, and another helping of them a few nights later, and on it continues to go, assuring me that she does, in fact, like them.

Next, just this past weekend (at a pizza parlor!), Addie ordered a green salad and a meatball for dinner. A salad?! Like, a real one. With romaine and tomatoes and peppers and stuff. When I picked off a tomato for myself (thinking she would not notice), she protested, insisting, “But I wanted to eat that tomato!” (I am sure she must have thought I was nuts for the befuddled look I gave her.)

To top it all off, just this past Monday night, when presented with cucumbers, Addie sighed and said, “Oh, yes! I love these!” And both girls began to eat those cucumbers (and broccoli, I might add) with gusto, before they even touched their quinoa and chicken. And they both asked for seconds and fought over who got to polish off the broccoli. Holy moly.

Before I sound all braggy about these successes (too late?), I must admit that they also prefer to eat their fair share of not-so-healthy foods too (like the goldfish crackers they are eating for snack this afternoon), and this morning at breakfast they turned their noses up to my first attempt at waffles made with almond flour. I guess they are not perfect eaters, are they?

But I give them a lot of credit because they really are quite good at trying new things now, and perhaps it is because they know from experience they might find another yummy food to enjoy, and if they don’t, well, they know we will not force them to eat it.

To me? That is a victory.

Love,
Scratch

Herbed Chicken with Quinoa Salad and Quick Pickled Cucumbers

Victory! and Spicy Herbed Chicken and Quinoa Salad with Cucumber Ribbons

This is one of Joey’s current dinner favorites, and I love it because it makes everyone at our table happy. Based on the recipe for Quinoa Salad with Vinaigrette in Artisanal Gluten-Free Cooking, my version uses yellow bell peppers and adds spicy, herb-laden grilled chicken and quick pickled cucumber cut into spirals, so that they look like ribbons. The chicken is pounded thin, but feel free to skip that step, but do not let the other steps fool you into thinking this dinner is difficult to pull together. It’s quite easy, and you can do many of the steps ahead of time.

Ingredients:

Herbed Chicken
5 boneless chicken breasts, pounded flat to about 1/4″
1/3 cup lemon juice
2 tsp olive oil
1 1/2 tsp dried basil
1 1/2 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp (or more) red pepper flakes (optional to give it a spicy kick)
course salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Quinoa Salad
1 cup uncooked quinoa, rinsed
1 yellow bell pepper, diced small (or any color you prefer)
3 scallions, chopped
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
2 tsp olive oil (or up to 1/4 cup, but we keep the oil content low to make this a super light meal)
salt and pepper to taste

Quick Pickled Cucumber Ribbons
1 English cucumber
about 2 T white vinegar
sweetener of choice, to taste (equivalent to about 2 teaspoons cane sugar)

Method:

For the chicken
Place pounded chicken breasts into a zip top bag, along with all the marinade ingredients (except the red pepper flakes if your kids are like mine and do not like spicy food. You can always sprinkle the flakes on the adults’ chicken right before grilling it.) You may add an additional 1 1/2 T of olive oil if you like, but we keep it minimal for this recipe. Massage the marinade into the chicken and let rest for a couple hours, or overnight. Then grill the chicken, about 3-4 minutes per side if it’s pounded thin. When done, remove from heat and let rest, then slice before plating the salad.

For the quinoa
Bring 1 cup quinoa to a boil in 2 cups water. Once boiling, reduce heat and let simmer for 15 minutes. Let rest for 5 minutes, then fluff with a fork. Refrigerate until ready to make the salad. Meanwhile, dice 1 yellow bell pepper and slice three scallions. (I cut mine on the bias because I think it feels fancy, but do it however you prefer.) Toss the veggies with the cooked and cooled quinoa. Add the red wine vinegar and olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Start with about 1/4 tsp course salt to begin with, and add more to your liking.

For the cucumbers
Using a Spiralizer, slice the cucumbers into ribbons. (If you don’t have a Spiralizer, use a mandolin to cut the cucumber into thin slices in the meantime. If you don’t have a mandolin, slice the cucumbers as thin as you can. And if you have trouble doing that, just chop some up. The texture will be different than ribbons, but the flavor will still be great.) After the cucumbers are cut, toss them with a couple tablespoons of white vinegar along with a dash of salt and the sweetener of your choice, about the equivalent of 2 teaspoons of regular cane sugar. Let them sit for a few minutes and toss again before serving.

To serve
Scoop about a cup of the quinoa salad into a shallow bowl, followed by a sliced up chicken breast, and finally topped with cucumber ribbons. Top with freshly ground black pepper, if desired.

Victory! and Spicy Herbed Chicken and Quinoa Salad with Cucumber Ribbons

1 Comment June 25, 2015 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I don’t remember dinnertime being difficult when I was a kid. It was fun. Maybe the best part of the day.

So far, it’s sort of in-between. We have a long way to go, but we are making progress. I’m pretty sure our two hard-and-fast mealtime rules help:

For the most part, these rules work for us. Everyone knows them, and since we are consistent with them there isn’t room for negotiation.

To me? That is a victory.

Love,
Scratch

Spicy Herbed Chicken and Quinoa Salad with Cucumber Ribbons

This is one of Joey’s current dinner favorites, and I love it because it makes everyone at our table happy. Based on the recipe for Quinoa Salad with Vinaigrette in Artisanal Gluten-Free Cooking, my version uses yellow bell peppers and adds spicy, herb-laden grilled chicken and quick pickled cucumber, spiralized so they look like ribbons. The chicken is pounded thin, but feel free to skip that step, but do not let the other steps fool you into thinking this dinner is difficult to pull together. It’s quite easy, and you can do many of the steps ahead of time.

Ingredients:

Spicy Herbed Chicken
5 boneless chicken breasts, pounded flat to about 1/4″
1/3 cup lemon juice
2 tsp olive oil
1 1/2 tsp dried basil
1 1/2 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp (or more) red pepper flakes (optional)
course salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Method:

Tales of a Peanut Allergy and What I Learned about Being Brave

1 Comment January 12, 2015 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Last summer, just after Mia was re-tested for her peanut and possible tree nut allergy, we were relieved at the news that her allergy was peanut-specific, and that tree nuts would not pose a problem for her. The relief was short lived; the celebratory cashew butter we slathered on sandwiches for lunch that day caused the worst allergic reaction Mia had experienced. It turns out the cashew butter was contaminated with peanuts. I didn’t realize it, of course, and I didn’t notice the warning on the label until it was too late.

I made the girls their cashew butter and jelly sandwiches and settled them at the table to eat while I unloaded the rest of the groceries. I was distracted and I didn’t notice until at least five minutes later, maybe longer, after she had already eaten at least half of her sandwich.

I turned around to check on the girls and saw Mia’s face covered with hives. I rushed to her and tore her clothes off to check the rest of her body, which was covered in red-hot, blotchy hives. No swelling, but that could be moments away. She was breathing fine, but again, that could change in an instant.

As I checked her, I must have been screaming something like “Oh my gosh. Mia’s having an allergic reaction. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Dear Jesus. Help. Help me. Help her! Oh my gosh. It was just cashew butter! What happened?”

I always wondered how I would respond if Mia had a serious reaction: would I be brave or would I collapse in a heap of tears, the paralyzing fear of what could happen preventing me from doing what must happen to prevent the worst possible outcome? Turns out, my reaction was panic.

I have no memory of exactly what I said in those tense moments, but both girls understood what was happening. Addie began to cry and Mia just sort of stared blankly at me as she watched my emotions wrestle with my good sense. Before long, she gently said, “I sorry I had ‘lergic action, mommy.”

All I wanted to do was pull her out of her chair and hold her close to me, close enough so she would be absorbed into my own body, so it could take over and heal her. I wanted to snuggle her tight enough for her to understood just how sorry I was I let something dangerous find its way into her body. I wanted her to understand I would never hurt her on purpose, and I would take her place if I could.

Her simple words pierced my heart and snapped me out of paralysis, and in a split second I realized I am going to make mistakes. Even if I’m brave. Even when I’m brave. But it is what I do in the wake of those mistakes that matters most. My children will see both my successes and failures and the way I respond to them, and what they see will shape them. And so, I pushed aside my fear and took action, doing what needed to be done.

Out came the Benedryl, and the Epi Pen was at the ready. Up into my lap came Mia. Addie wasn’t far behind. We prayed. We waited. We cried. We waited some more. Mia apologized again, and Addie asked if her sister would be ok. I told her I believed she would. I shivered as the next 15 minutes passed, praying that God’s grace would cover my mistake. It did.

Slowly, the hives receded. Little by little, normalcy returned. When the worst was over, I checked the packaging of the cashew butter, which said, “May contain peanuts”–words that now mean, to me “avoid like the plague.”

Having a child with a peanut allergy is not such a big deal on most days. Sometimes it is frustrating (we always have to be mindful of it, which can be inconvenient, and honestly, selfishly, I really really miss peanut butter). But once in awhile, it is utterly terrifying.

I used to think being brave meant stifling the tears and being fearless in the face of adversity. Now I know being brave means not letting fear stop you from facing the thing that scares you, even if you do it in tears.

Love,
Scratch

It Might as Well Be Now and French Toast Crepes

1 Comment July 6, 2014 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Well, seeing as my attempt at an afternoon nap is shot, and seeing as I am sick of doing housework this weekend, and seeing as I have hit a plateau in caring about the book I am reading (which really is good, but I have walked away from it so many times in the past week that I seem to have forgotten just how good it is), it might as well be now that I mention these little gems before the urge to do so fades.

We tend to do pancakes on Saturdays around here, but yesterday you graciously let me sleep in well past the breakfast hour (in other words, I got to sleep through the typical 6:00 am wake up call of hungry little girls). When I finally emerged at 7:50, it felt far too late in the day to put effort into making pancakes. The better part of our morning was gone by then anyway. Besides, you and the girls had already eaten bowls of cereal by then, so the girls were satisfied.

But of course, after you headed back to bed for a mid-morning nap while I sat down to a cup of tea and the last bit of that Chocolate Banana Bread I’d made earlier this week, those girls were practically stealing my breakfast off of my plate, acting as if they hadn’t been fed in days. Without much to go around, I felt like I should have put in the effort to make those darn pancakes after all. Tomorrow, I promised myself.

And of course that self-made promise was partly out of necessity, as our pantry stores are at the point where creativity will be key to making them last until our next trip to the grocery store. With speckled bananas to spare and our stock of alternative flours diminished, our new favorite banana pancakes would have to be made at some point. Unless I threw the bananas into the freezer. (But then what would we eat for breakfast?)

This morning Addie was up at 6:00 as usual, and I somehow managed to whip together a handful of ingredients to make these bare-cupboard friendly pancake/crepe-like things. And you know what? I am just going to start calling them crepes because they are much closer to a crepe in character than they are pancakes. And honestly, I bet they would be perfect rolled up with sliced bananas, strawberries, and/or chocolate or and topped with some whipped cream or powdered sugar (but then they would not be so bare-cupboard friendly, would they?).

This batch was perfect–perhaps the best I have ever made. They tasted just like the crispy, sweet crust of classic french toast. And wouldn’t you know it, after all that, neither of the girls were interested in them for breakfast until you got up and started munching on them. By then, two hours later, they were cold. (I can’t win.) But I promise these French Toast Crepes (as I am now officially calling them), do win when they are fresh from the griddle.

Maybe next time I will make them just for myself, stuff them with fruit and chocolate and slather them in whipped cream and see if anyone cares to join me. (I know you will, at least.)

Love,
Scratch

French Toast Crepes

I admit I did not come up with the idea for these on my own. I first read about making pancakes out of pureed bananas and eggs on Shauna Niequist’s Facebook feed. Until then, I hadn’t heard of them. But apparently they’re all the rage and you can find many versions of them. Hers are the simplest: pureed bananas and eggs whisked together and cooked like pancakes. Joey and I liked them well enough, but Joey suggested tinkering around until we found the right concoction to make them taste a little fancier. Cinnamon, vanilla and sea salt did the trick. I used to slather the griddle with butter, but have switched to refined coconut oil due to Emery’s dairy allergy. I still highly recommend using butter (because, YUM.), but refined coconut oil does the job well too.

Ingredients:

3-4 very ripe bananas (3 if they’re large; 4 if they’re on the smaller side)
6 large eggs (or 8 medium eggs)
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/8 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp baking powder (optional, but they’ll have a bit more body if you use it)
Refined coconut oil, for cooking

Method:

First, puree the bananas until smooth – no lumps, please! (I use this immersion blender and it makes my life so much easier. I highly recommend it.)

Next, add the eggs, cinnamon, vanilla and salt. Whisk until well combined. Add in the baking soda (if using) and mix well. The batter should look like a thin pancake batter, but a bit thicker than traditional crepe batter.

Heat up your griddle and plunk a knob of coconut oil on top, about a half tablespoon per batch or so.

Pour the batter onto your hot griddle and cook on medium-high heat. I usually use about 1/4 cup per crepe, but you may certainly make them as big or small as you like. Cook as you would a pancake–look for the sides to firm up a bit, and for bubbles to rise up a bit in the center. They won’t bubble as much as traditional pancakes, so watch them carefully. Flip when they are golden and cook for another two minutes or so.

Serve as you like. We like them right off the griddle as a quick hand-held breakfast, but I’m serious when I say they’d be amazing stuffed with something sweet and topped off with something even sweeter.

A Story for the Eve of Our Anniversary

1 Comment June 26, 2014 Rachel Maier

^“4Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud ⁵or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. ⁶It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. ⁷Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. ⁸[…] love will last forever.”

— 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 NLT

Dear Joey,

Once upon a time, there was a boy from Kansas who dropped into my life — uninvited, I might add. The first time I saw him, his eyes captured me, but not because I fell into them with the sort of abandon girls like me dream about. They searched me out, found me, and locked on my own eyes, never once looking away.

Image by AGB Photographics

It unnerved me. He unnerved me. His rapt attention to me and his heartfelt interest in me didn’t make sense to me – how could a stranger be falling for me? To my crippled heart it simply could not be true, and so I decided it just wasn’t real, that he wasn’t real, that he was an illusion not to be trusted. Eventually, his kind words were lost on me and his generosity was wasted on me. But he persisted, assuring me he could be trusted, because Love is patient and kind.

Image by AGB Photographics

And persist he did. People started to doubt my sanity. This boy was attractive, kind, considerate, thoughtful and fun. He made me laugh and think and let me know that what I said really mattered. He was artistic and intelligent and cultured and creative all in one breath. He was a man of faith, integrity, and joy — he was everything I was looking for, and he knew it. I didn’t. And so, he let me take as much time as I needed, because Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.

Image by AGB Photographics

Finally, he became too much. Too kind. Too thoughtful. Too generous. Too perfect. I felt like I didn’t have a choice and I wasn’t okay with that, so I told him to leave me alone. And he did, because [Love] does not demand its own way.

Image by AGB Photographics

But he didn’t go away. He was friends with my friends, my roommates; it seemed as though he was always around. He was there for midweek dinners and birthday parties and ordinary Saturday nights. He watched as I climbed into cars with other boys, and greeted me when I came home from dates with them. He didn’t shy away from me, pride hurt from my rejection. And while he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t choose him, he honored my wishes and let me be. He let me make my own choices without complaint, because [Love] is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.


Image by AGB Photographics

And when the day came when my heart changed, when I realized how I had wronged him when I treated him so poorly, when I knew that I needed to tell him how sorry I was and how much I actually cared about him, he didn’t mock my feelings or laugh at my foolishness or my attempt to make things right, because [Love] does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.

Image by AGB Photographics

In those early years that boy from Kansas remained steadfast in his love for me, sifting through the good and the bad that life brings our way looking for the golden moments that make it all worthwhile, waiting for the day he would walk with me instead of choosing to walk away from me. And he has walked with me faithfully for the past five years because Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

Image by AGB Photographics

It is because of these things and so much more that I know our Love will last forever.

Happy anniversary, my boy from Kansas.

Love,
Scratch

A Living Cookbook and Greek Chicken-Lemon Soup

2 Comments June 20, 2014 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

As you know, I have a major weakness for cookbooks. If I happened upon an extra bit of money that I could spend on anything, you and I both know I would blow it on a new pile of cookbooks. Never mind the fact that I have three shelves full of them; I can confidently admit that I simply do not have enough of them. There’s always a new release I’m dying to get my hands on; an elusive, hard-to-come-by classic; those charming old cookbooks all tattered and splattered and dog-eared and very well-loved; and the ones I’ve never heard of that I fall madly in love with the moment I lay eyes on the cover.

I seem to go in phases with my cookbooks, working my way through them for a good solid year (at least), learning from them, experimenting with them and being inspired by them. Two years ago, I was all about the family meal. Bringing home baby number two compelled me to take a peek at how other mothers created the sacred rhythm of the family dinner in their own homes. (With two under two? What was I thinking?). Books like Jenny Rosenstrach‘s Dinner: A Love Story, and Laurie David and Kirstin Uhrenholdt‘s The Family Dinner were my guideposts. My cheerleaders.

A year later, disenchanted with the American food system (with particular regard to its meat supply), I was all about vegetarian cuisine and Mark Bittman‘s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian and Mollie Katzen‘s The Moosewood Cookbook took up permanent residence in my collection. (Her divine recipe for pita bread is worth finding a copy of your own). And then, cookbook/memoirs took center stage in my cookbook repertoire, and I was convinced that life would be perfect if all cookbooks were written the way that Shauna Niequist‘s Bread & Wine and Louisa Weiss’s My Berlin Kitchen were written.

This year, finally in a kitchen of my very own, and backed with an arsenal of family friendly, environmentally sound, healthy and delicious recipes (that were sure to create a sense of belonging for my little brood), I headed into my kitchen with confidence and my copy of Alana Chernila‘s The Homemade Pantry. If I could make it myself, I was going to. Bring on the memory making.

Before long, the books sat on the kitchen bookshelf, unused. The kitchen was quiet, and I sat idly by. Perceptive little Mia caught me gazing longingly at them during dinner one night. She asked what I was looking at, which snapped me out of my little reverie and made me realize just how much I missed pulling up a chair at someone else’s table, to be inspired by their stories instead of just by their recipes. I didn’t really do that anymore.

Dietary changes made it too painful to thumb through the pages of these books. The recipes reminded me of a time when thinking about eating healthy meant balancing food groups, limiting the bad stuff, going organic and non-GMO. Now, eating healthy meant eating so I didn’t feel like I was dying.

If last year’s theme of my kitchen life was the nostalgic joy of cooking, this year’s theme so far has largely been get me through this meal unscathed. Luckily, for me, it wasn’t really hard to figure out how to cook a meal without any grains in it (Grill some chicken. Steam some veggies. Done.)

The problem is cooking food like that is not my idea of fun–and you know me: I love to cook! And plus, I am so over reading about how and why to cut grains out of the diet. The majority of cookbooks I have read lately devote so much time and energy on explaining the perils of wheat and corn and soy and even rice (among so many others), and spend so very little time on the story behind the food they are promoting as healthy, let alone the story behind the recipes themselves.

For me, cookbooks are not so much about learning how to cook, but more about why to cook. Reading them is like peeking into the food life of other people, people who have gone, seen and learned things that I have not. Getting cozied up on the couch with one is not about making a list of ingredients and techniques to master; it’s about steeping myself in another person’s story, imagining the tastes and smells and experiences of another place and perspective for a moment, connecting to the heart of why they cook and being inspired to continue to refine the cooking culture here in our own kitchen.

If you have not figured it out by now, let me drive the point home: for me, cooking much more than prepping fuel to feed our bodies. It is feeding our spirits and nourishing our souls and creating a way of life within our home, knitting together bits and pieces of our collective pasts with the here and now of where we are as a family. It is celebrating heritage and creating a sense of belonging. It is hard to find a gluten-free cookbook (or grain-free one, for that matter) written from that perspective.

I had the loveliest conversation with my dad earlier this week. We were in the midst of running a not-so-fun errand and we found ourselves exchanging gluten-free/grain-free recipes. Ever the cook, he’s been low-carb for years and is always happy to share his recipes for some really yummy foods. I heard all about his lasagna-like casserole (where kale takes the stage), and I told him about my version of Greek chicken-lemon soup (where cauliflower works its cameleon magic). We talked about ingredients and methods, certainly, and also about how delicious the food was and how we really didn’t miss the grains at all. It was nice to share stories with someone who gets it, you know?

Embracing the gluten-free/grain-free way of eating in my own home and filling in my family on the why’s and how’s of why we’re eating differently feels funny enough, but talking about food and cooking with people who aren’t gluten-free or grain-free is even harder. (What do you eat? What do you cook? Is it hard?) So many casual conversations don’t have the room for a genuine answer. Thank God for the handful of people who have come alongside me this week- my dad and two of my dearest friends in the world (both of whom I rarely see–both in the same week!) to ask these questions and to listen to the real answer.

The real answer is Yes, it’s hard, and also No, it’s not hard at all. It is hard to give up the idea and the sentiment of the foods I used to eat. It is not hard to eat differently, especially when the food tastes as good as it does. Yes, it is hard to want to eat anything when you feel like you are dying, and no, it is not hard to not eat the things that make the pain worse.

It has been a week of talking these things out with people who care about me, about us. Talking about the things that are true and good and hard and important. Sharing meals, meager or strange as they may seem. Reliving old memories and being inspired to reinvent old recipes. Creating new memories that inspire new recipes.

I guess this week I learned that my life is a living cookbook, the one I have been looking for.

Love,
Scratch

Greek Chicken-Lemon Soup

adapted from Dinner: A Love Story‘s Avgolemeno

It may not look like much, but this recipe is proof that it is possible to cook delicious and satisfying food without grains. A favorite of Joey’s, Avgolemeno is typically made with orzo or rice, but my version uses riced cauliflower. Before you freak out, think about this: both my 3 1/2 year old and my 2 year old devoured it. I call that a success.

Ingredients:

4 cups gluten free chicken broth
10 oz. cauliflower
1 small onion
1 T butter (or ghee or olive oil or, or, or….)
4 large eggs
1/4 c lemon juice
1 1/2 c cooked and shredded chicken
salt & pepper, to taste

Method:

First, make sure you have pre-cooked chicken to work with. Leftover roast chicken works well here, or just throw a chicken breast or two in the crock pot for a couple hours. When done, shred the chicken and set aside a cup and a half for the soup. Or more, or less. Whatever you like.

Next, prep the cauliflower. You could use a cheese grater to “rice” the cauliflower (more time; courser texter), but I use a food processor (less time, finer texture). If you use a food processor, throw the onion in with the cauliflower to process in one easy step. If you don’t use a food processor, chop the onion finely after you finish preparing the cauliflower.

In a soup pot over medium high heat, add the butter (or other fat) and the cauliflower & onion. Sautee for a few minutes – about five or so – until the veggies are fairly soft. Add the broth and bring to a boil. Lower heat to a bare simmer (low heat).

Meanwhile, whisk together the eggs and the lemon juice. Then, ladle in a scoop of the simmering broth and whisk to combine. Then, pour back into the soup pot, whisking as you do so. The broth will turn opaque. Add the chicken and let the soup simmer for about 4 minutes to allow the eggy broth to cook. Add the salt and pepper to taste, adjusting as needed, and serve. Sprinkle dill on if you so desire.

Oh yeah, and DO NOT BOIL unless you want a curdled mess.

A Little Bit of Love and No Bake Chocolate Chip Cookies

Leave a comment June 14, 2014 Rachel Maier

“In the twilight of our lives, we will be judged on how we have loved.” — St. John of the Cross

Dear Joey,

Love is on my mind. It invades my thoughts and my motivations and plans and dreams lately. This is probably because Addie has been singing “A little bit of love goes a long, long way…” over and over and over again. I have heard it dozens and dozens of times over the past five months, and I am weary of them, but wouldn’t you know it: the girl’s free spirited singing etched those words into my heart, and now, they convict me when selfishness invades.

And invade it does. Let’s be honest: my first thought after breakfast revolves around my own agenda, well-meaning as it may be, and certainly does not revolve around which princess has been captured by the blue monster today, or what gown I will put on so I am ready to rock out to princess music on Pandora. My first thoughts are How will I manage to get these dishes washed before someone comes begging for me to play with her? Or I should have done a meal plan for this week because I have no idea what to thaw for dinner tonight. Or even, I wonder if they’ll notice if I slip away to go use the bathroom? This is the sneaky sort of selfishness and most of the time I don’t see it for what it really is. Selfishness distorts truth and gets in the way of loving well.

The truth is, most of the time I do not really want to play dollies–especially when there is an email I would rather write, or a book I would rather read or a recipe I would rather try or a shower I would rather take. Why can’t the girls just play together? I wonder. Why do they always need me? I get frustrated and am tempted to resent these cute little faces innocently seeking a little bit of attention. Lately, in these moments of weakness, I hear Addie’s little voice singing her heart out to her favorite preschool song and I remember that little bit of love really does go a long, long way.

And so I am choosing to engage with them and figure out a way to make whatever is important to them fun. Of course, I am not very good at this, and some days are better than others, but I am realizing that giving them small acts of love throughout the day builds up credibility with me (doesn’t it?). If I say I love them, do I make good on my word by show them this love in a way they can understand? Washing dishes and thawing chicken does not speak to their hearts. Building LEGO castles and dancing in the kitchen and singing at the top of our lungs in the car; letting them dress me up and pinning princess capes onto their shirts; having tea parties (real and imaginary); wrapping dollies up in blankets and putting them to bed over and over and over – all of it speaks one thing to them: Mommy loves you.

If I am not able to love them well now while they are young, what are the chances I will get a chance to do so later, when they are older? If I cannot lay aside myself for them—the most important things God has ever entrusted me with—do I really think He will entrust me with much else? Plus, what kind of love am I modeling for them? Do I want my actions to teach them that love is selfish, when really, the opposite is true (1 Corinthians 13:5)? If I want them to believe the truth that “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends,” shouldn’t also love them that way (John 15:13)?

It is a part of my faith that I am still working out – saying no to selfishness and saying yes to loving well. Clearing weeds and digging up roots and nurturing new love-seeds to grow in the fertile soil of a pure heart a so that my actions are motivated by love for others, not by love of self.

No small task. It is tough. But Addie’s little voice skipping through the house reminding me that “A little bit of love goes a long, long way” is helping. Isn’t it worth the work?

Love,
Scratch

No Bake Chocolate Chip Cookies (GF/DF/optional NF)

(Gluten-free, grain-free, nut-free; Modified from A Dash of Compassion’s Nut-Free Cookie Dough Balls)

My girls love having post-nap tea parties, especially when they get a sweet treat. Giving up grains for awhile (wheat, rice, corn) renders our house fairly free of cookie making supplies, and I am still learning how to make a truly delicious grain and nut free cookie (sometimes, honestly, they are just plain no good.). But these No Bake Cookies save the day for tea time: they are not only quick and easy, they are also versatile and very forgiving. If you wouldd rather use almond butter in place of sunflower seed butter, do it! If coconut flakes make you cringe, use rolled oats like the original recipe. If you could not imagine ever having tapioca flour on hand (which I do not blame you for. Neither did I until recently.), then try something else you do have on hand (like all-purpose flour) until you work up the courage to seek out said tapioca flour (which you should. Be brave.)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup sunflower seed butter (or almond butter, or peanut butter, or …)
3 T pure maple syrup
1/4 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/3 cup tapioca flour
2 T flax seed meal
1/4 cup toasted coconut flakes or shredded coconut
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
pinch of sea salt
Chocolate chips, as desired

Method:

Mix wet ingredients. Add dry ingredients (except for chocolate chips) and mix well. Sprinkle in desired amount of chocolate chips.

Form into balls. I use a 1 1/2″ ice cream scoop (which I love) so that all I have to do is scoop – no messy ball making for me. (Plus, the scoops end up looking more like cookies than balls of dough – which I like.) The cookies are firm enough to eat right away, but may be stored in a covered container in the refrigerator (or freezer) until ready to eat.