On Being Shy and Making Friends, and Blueberry Stuffed French Toast

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Dear Joey,

It’s very strange to coach someone else through the process of making friends. I’ve never felt particularly good at making friends myself, so walking Addie through the process is teaching me new lessons and forcing me to face a few deep-seeded fears. For instance, to make a friend, you must first speak to someone else and they have to listen to you. And then, you have to keep speaking and they have to keep listening, and vice-versa. All very difficult for a formerly “shy” child like me.

I was a slow-to-warm sort of child, observant, soft-spoken. I liked to watch the action a little bit before I felt comfortable enough to join in. This, of course, made me appear snooty, aloof, shy. Along the line, that word – shy – was attached to me as if it were part of my name. I wasn’t just Rachel; I was Shy Rachel. I guess that’s ok, in some ways. I acted shy a lot of the time, so to the outward observer, it must have been natural to assume that I was shy. Eventually, though, whether because of labels others put upon me or not, shyness became central to who I believed I was. It wasn’t just a way I felt or acted; it was a label that identified me as incapable of engaging with others in a healthy, normal way. I carried that lie with me for years, filtered every interaction through that lens, and I saw the world as a big scary place filled with intimidating people and situations.

As an adult, I am still observant and somewhat soft-spoken, though I’m not sure many people would classify me as shy these days (only took 30 years to get to that point). Now, though, I find myself revisiting this issue again in our daughter. Addie is definitely not shy, and in many situations she warms up immediately and shows her true colors immediately, both the good and the not so good. However, in no less than a dozen situations over the last few months people have called her shy – with her listening to them intently – and have thus labeled her as a shy child.

I know she heard them and took what they said to heart because she told me the other day that she is shy, to which I responded that she was not shy. And we argued about it a bit. “Yes, I am shy,” she insisted. But instead of even saying things like, “You’re just acting shy” I have switched my word choice to avoid that word altogether. In my mind, the word has a bad connotation to it that I don’t want her to associate with who she actually is. (Synonyms include timid, diffident, afraid, fearful, distrustful, reluctant, sheepish, nervous).  

Perhaps I’ll tell her she is demure, thoughtful, and intentional. Or perhaps I’ll just tell her that sometimes it takes her a little bit of time to feel at ease with people. I want to teach her to be friendly and polite and to respond to people when they engage her, to not be fearful of unfamiliar people or situations, and to be confident in who she is, whether she is loud and gregarious or observant and introspective. And I’ll tell her that it’s ok to want to be alone, that it’s ok to need to be alone, and there is a time to be silent and a time to speak (Ecclesiastes 3:7). But more difficult than that, I am earnestly trying to live out the best advice on how to make friends that was ever given: treat others as you would want them to treat you (Luke 6:31). In other words, to have a friend, you must be a friend. 

Friendship is a sticky business because relationships are hard. Establishing them, maintaining them, growing them. It takes vulnerability, follow through, and a great deal of risk. Things could go wrong, things could get messy. Someone may not accept you right away. Someone may eventually reject you. Haven’t we been living this lately as we build friendships with new people? I hope our own efforts are showing her that friendship is worth the risk of rejection. It’s worth the work. It’s worth the occasional inconvenience because in the end, we would want someone to love us enough to be willing to be inconvenienced for us.

 

Addie has a good number of friends, young and old, boys and girls, near and far away. She asks about them, checking in on them when she hasn’t seen them in awhile, and she even prays for her most special ones, unprompted.  This girl is anything but shy, and I’m sure that in the coming years, she’ll show that truth in ways we can’t even imagine.

Love, Scratch

 

Blueberry Stuffed French Toast (GF option/NF)On Being Shy, Making Friends, and Blueberry Stuffed French Toast

The first time I made this recipe, I gave it away to new friends who had just had a baby. Since then, I’ve made it many, many times (and it’s just as good made gluten free!). It’s my new vote for brunch or potlucks or Christmas morning breakfast because not only is it delicious, it is incredibly easy to make. There is very little fuss involved to put it together but it does have to sit overnight, so best to plan ahead on this one. You can use frozen blueberries for the filling if you prefer, but you’ll need to increase the cooking time by at least 30 minutes.

Ingredients:
For the casserole

12 slices gluten free sandwich bread cut into 1 inch cubes (Udi’s works well. Use whole wheat if gluten isn’t a problem for you)
2 – 8 oz. packages low fat cream cheese, cut into 1 inch cubes (you could use just one package, if you want, but use both for a more decadent, delicious result)
1 cup fresh blueberries, rinsed
12 large eggs
1/3 cup pure maple syrup
2 cups lowfat milk

For the blueberry sauce
1 cup sugar
2 T cornstarch
1 cup water
1 cup frozen blueberries
1 T butter

Method:
For the casserole
Start by greasing a 9 x 13 baking dish. Then, cube your bread and cube the cream cheese. After that, assemble the casserole by arranging 1/2 of the bread cubes in the bottom of the baking dish. Scatter cream cheese cubes and blueberries over the bread, and then scatter the remaining bread on top.

Then, in a large bowl, whisk the eggs, syrup, and milk and pour on top of the bread. Cover with foil (or a lid, if you have one) and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, remove the pan from refrigerator and let the pan sit at room temperature while you preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake covered for 30 minutes; remove the foil (or lid), and bake for another 30 minutes or until puffed and golden. Finish by pouring the blueberry sauce on top (see below).

For the blueberry sauce
Stir together the sugar, cornstarch and water. Heat over medium heat for 5 minutes, or until thick. Add the blueberries. Cook for 10 minutes or until berries have burst. Add butter and stir until melted and combined.

More Alike Than Different, and Flexible Grilled Flank Steak

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Dear Joey,

Our kitchen table is in storage. The table we eat at now isn’t actually a table, so much as a footstool. A footstool with wooden trays on it that are usually cluttered with dolls or crayon wrappers or a half-eaten piece of toast or finally, after the kids are asleep, some semblance of a dinner fit for adults.

As it turns out, we aren’t the only people who eat dinner far after a “normal” dinner hour. Take Molly and Jeff: turns out that they also have been known to eat dinner after their kids are asleep, if not on a regular basis, then frequently enough for me to feel like we aren’t alone in this habit. And although I don’t want this to be our way of life forever, it does have its charm, too. Eating without interruptions? So worth the late hour.

But anyway, Molly and I talked about one such dinner just a couple of days after Valentine’s Day this year. I remember the conversation because we had gone down to her house for our first visit since last summer just a few short days after Valentine’s Day, and over the course of our conversation we discovered that we both had the same idea of what constituted a special Valentine’s dinner these days: grilling a good piece of meat at home and cracking open a bottle of wine after the kids were asleep. It turns out they had grilled flank steak too, using a marinade that was nearly identical to the one we used, save for just a few ingredients that although not identical, were interchangeable (honey for the brown sugar, for example). It was in hearing Molly’s steak recipe that once and for all convinced me that we are more alike than different.

More Alike Than Different

Molly and I couldn’t be more different, in many ways. We’re opposites in hair color and eye color, for one (and strangely Addie looks more like her than she does me), not to mention the fact that she is outgoing and gregarious; I tend toward being more reserved and soft-spoken. She likes Almond Roca and raspberries and Old English poetry while I could easily pass on all three. But after giving it a lot of thought (it has been almost two months since Valentine’s Day, hasn’t it?), I realize that there isn’t much to add to this list of differences. Either the older we get, the more we have in common, or the older we get, the more I realize we always had in common.

We both love strong coffee in chunky Starbucks mugs, and reading challenging books and watching Disney movies. We love brownies and Le Creuset cookware and black tea and Jesus. We think strawberries pretty much rule and could eat a whole package of Oreos on our own if our good sense didn’t tell us not to. We both find European decor both charming and attractive, and we both love a good hoodie.

I’ve been wishing we lived closer to the Nelson family for a long time now, but after this particular visit, I realized just how much I wish we lived down the street from them, close enough for me to knock on her door, unannounced, kids in tow, and be welcomed in for an afternoon gab fest over a glass of malted milk and graham crackers slathered with chocolate frosting.

Life changes all the time, but some things never change. Molly is that for me, a constant, I mean. The sort of friend that will always be my friend, though she changes and I change and things change. And I love that about her.

Funny how a simple recipe for grilled steak can make me realize this simple truth, isn’t it?

Love, Scratch

Flexible Grilled Flank Steak (GF/DF/NF)

More Alike Than Different

See that cookbook cracked open on the counter? It’s open to a recipe known as “Tony’s Steak,” a  recipe I used as my guide for our Valentine’s dinner this year. I made a few alterations to the original recipe based on what I had on hand, and it worked so well that I may never make the recipe as it was originally written (which reinforces the fact that this marinade is truly a flexible one). This is my version; for the original, head over to Dinner: A Love Story. (You’ll also find a pretty picture of the way the steak looks once cooked, a picture I failed to snap. But I promise, ours turned out perfectly.)

Ingredients:

1/3 cup low sodium Tamari (gluten free soy sauce)
1 T brown sugar (or use honey to taste instead)
1 T olive oil
1 tsp sesame oil
1/4 cup finely chopped yellow onion
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 tsp Tabasco Sauce
Juice from one lemon
Salt and pepper
1 1/2 pound flank steak

Method:

Put all ingredients in a ziplock bag (or really, any container) and smush around until well mixed. Add the steak and smush everything around again, making sure to coat the meat well. Let sit for four hours (or longer). Grill about four minutes per side and then let rest for 10 more minutes. Slice against the grain.

This steak was the perfect complement to this wine, which is one of our favorites.

Vulnerable, Honest, Bare-Faced Love and Chicken and Rice Soup with Lemon

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Dear Joey,

Somewhere along the lines when I was growing up, someone (and honestly, I cannot remember who it was) told me that if I wore make up everyday, then people would be so used to my made up face that my un-made up face would look sort of funny to them. In my young mind, I thought that meant if I chose to start wearing make up, I had better always wear it, in every situation –even when I was at home, sick — in order to not look funny.

Jokes on me, because the closest I came to wearing make up this week was that little bit of mascara I wore yesterday when I took Addie to the doctor’s office. Other than that, I’ve been bare-faced and pajama clad, wiping noses and tears and hands and mouths, miraculously dodging the bug that has infiltrated our house this week. And you have forgiven me this, praising my endurance and coming to my rescue with Children’s Advil, Vapor Rub, Kleenex with lotion, and Chocolate Truffle Coffee (which you have had ready and waiting for me in the coffee pot many mornings this week).

I shouldn’t be surprised at this. After all, the first time you saw my unshowered, no make-up self, you ended up spending the whole Saturday with Christy and me lounging around in the living room playing Mad Gab, eating deli sandwiches, introducing us to Tapioca Express, and listening to our stories with an eager ear.  You didn’t seem to notice my bare face, messy pony tail, saggy gray sweatpants or frumpy college sweatshirt.

And then, in another surprising moment, I answered your early morning knock on the door with towel-dried hair and a not-yet-made-up, somewhat confused face; it was the time you came to tell me how sorry you were that you hadn’t asked me to dance with you the night before, when we were both at a wedding for our dear friends. I remember the way your face looked when you saw me that morning, choking back tears as you told me how beautiful I had looked the night before, and I remember thinking two things in that moment: the first was disbelief that you would say these things to me while my make-up-free face was staring back at you, and the second was really wishing I was in love with you.

It took some time, but now here we are nearly six years later, and my wish came true, and you have probably seen more of my bare face than you bargained for. You’ve seen my I’m so sick I can’t move face and my I haven’t slept since last May face and my I’m trying to hide the fact that I’ve been crying face. You’ve seen my swollen, pregnant face and my angry face and my happy face and my excited face and my frustrated face and my content face. All, might I add, sans make up.

When I look back on those moments, the ones when I was brave enough to let you see the real me, both before you loved me and the ones well after, I realize those are the moments that showed you who I really am, the moments when you really saw me, and you still wanted to marry me because no matter how I appeared, you saw the real me beneath it all. Bare faces are beautiful because messy or not, they are vulnerable and honest.

With the girls’ colds have come red-rimmed, weepy eyes and  swollen, stuffy noses, and even though they have been too sick and frail to do much other than cry or whine, I realize how deeply I love them. I love them because of who they are, not who they appear to be in their messiest moments. It astonishes me that even though I’ve scarce had time to change my clothes or brush my hair in these past few days, let alone fuss with makeup, neither they nor you seem fazed by it. In fact, you all seem to love me even more.

That’s the kind of love we all need: vulnerable, honest, bare-faced love. Perhaps the world would be a better place if more people loved like that.

Love, Scratch

Chicken and Rice Soup with Lemon

soup

This soup is not at all fancy, but is sophisticated and delicious all the same. It began as a simple chicken and rice soup, but became something special when Joey suggested we add lemon juice to give it a bit of Greek flair. The result is sort of like  avgolemolo, but is made without eggs. Don’t let the lemon deter you: it gives the soup a bit of added zing that is most welcome when you’ve got a stuffy nose and sore throat. We use Meyer lemons, but regular lemon juice can be substituted easily. Start with 1/3 cup and add more to taste. The soup should not be sour, but should have a distinct lemon flavor. 

Ingredients:
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 large carrots
3 large celery ribs
1/2 medium yellow onion
6 cups chicken broth (I usually use Better than Bouillon)
2 cups cooked short grain brown rice
juice of 3 Meyer lemons (or about 1/3 – 2/3 cup lemon juice)
Optional: 1/2 cup whole milk (2% or half & half can be used if needed)

Method:
Heat broth on the stove to boiling. Throw in the chicken breasts (frozen is ok). When they’re cooked through, remove them and set them aside to cool. Meanwhile, cook up the rice. Once it’s done, set it aside until ready to use.

When both the broth and chicken are cool enough to handle, shred the chicken and set aside. Strain the broth, reserving it in a large pot and discarding any unwanted chicken bits.

Next, dice the onion, carrots and celery ribs. (I usually cut them into about 1/2 cubes, but they can be chunkier if you prefer.) Sauté them in a little bit of oil until softened, adding some salt and pepper to taste as they cook. Add the cooked vegetables, chicken, pre-cooked rice, and lemon juice to the reserved broth; bring it up to a boil and then let it simmer for 30-45 minutes or so, which will transform the broth into thicker, more creamier version of itself. The soup is ready to serve at that point, but if you’d like to amp up the soothing creaminess factor (and your family can handle dairy just fine), read on.

Temper the milk a bit (by gently warming it up in the microwave for about 20-30 seconds), then swirl it into the soup pot. I don’t make it at our house this way anymore, but this step was standard before Emery joined our ranks. The good news? The soup fares well either way, so the decision is completely up to you. (Ah, food allergy flexibility.)

 

Traditions, and Red Velvet Chocolate Chip Cookies for Valentine’s Day

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Dear Joey,

I’m big on traditions. I will likely make a big deal about them in the years ahead, so I’m warning you now.

Things like chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast on birthdays, or going to the Niles Christmas parade the day after Thanksgiving. Opening stockings before presents on Christmas morning. Writing in your Birthday Book every year. Being surprised and delighted by flowers on our anniversary.

Traditions give me something to look forward to, something to count on every year. On the surface,  traditions may seem boring or tiresome. I admit, some certainly can be, but they also offer a bit of stability in this volatile world we live in. At their best, traditions connect. Traditions carry a rich history of where we’ve been, culturally and personally, and they offer the promise of where we will go, if only we keep them alive. For us, traditions connect my years to yours, and ours to the girls’,  shaping them into a lovely picture of our life.

When I was growing up, my family kept many traditions. Some were small (like checking beneath Grandpa Teague’s recliner for loose, lost change) and some were big, so big that if my parents had ever missed them, it would signify for my brothers and I that the world was, in fact, coming to an end. Like pajamas on the night before Christmas. Every year, like clockwork, my parents would act as if they were having mercy on our anxious hearts by letting us open just one present before going to bed on Christmas Eve. And every year, the present was a new pair of pajamas. (My brothers and I always acted surprised.) One of my favorites, though, was choosing our birthday dinner and eating it off of a cherry red porcelain plate that said, “You Are Special Today.”

And really, that’s what traditions tell us: something about today is special. 

At the heart of Valentine’s Day is something very good: it’s a day to let the people we love know how much we care. Sure, it’s overly commercialized and sentimentalized and sensualized and blah blah blah, but I will never stop making it a point to tell you I love you on Valentine’s Day. You are my forever Valentine.

Last year for Valentine’s Day, I made Red Velvet Cookies. I made them again this year. You can count on the fact that I’ll make them next year, too.

Love,

Scratch

Red Velvet Chocolate Chip Cookies

 
These cookies are soft and chewy, thanks in large part to corn starch. Omit the red food coloring altogether if you rather (and I wouldn’t blame you if you did), but I use it to make it festive. I figure if I’m only making this recipe once a year, I can make an exception and use it. Swap butter for vegan buttery spread and all purpose flour for gluten free flour 1:1 if desired. Perfect results every time.

Ingredients:
1 cup Earth Balance Vegan Buttery Spread, softened
1 cup pure cane sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 teaspoons red food coloring
2/3 cup cocoa powder
3 cups all purpose gluten free flour
4 teaspoons corn starch
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup Enjoy Life Chocolate Chips (or other allergy friendly brand)

Preheat the oven to 375. Cream together the softened butter and both sugars. Add eggs and vanilla and beat until smooth. Carefully add the food coloring (it splashes easily!). Stir in the cocoa powder, then add the flour cornstarch, salt, and baking soda. Mix until everything is combined. It will be sticky. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Scoop out onto ungreased baking sheets, making dough balls about 1 1/2 inches in diameter. (I suggest using a mini ice cream scoop to minimized the mess, as the dough is very sticky.)

Bake for 10 minutes; let rest on the sheet pan for 30 seconds or so, and then let cool on a wire rack completely.

Yields about 3 1/2 dozen

Traditions, and the Cookie I’ll Always Make for Valentine’s Day

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Dear Joey,

I’m big on traditions. I will likely make a big deal about them in the years ahead, so I’m warning you now.

Things like chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast on birthdays, or going to the Niles Christmas parade the day after Thanksgiving. Opening stockings before presents on Christmas morning. Writing in your Birthday Book every year. Being surprised and delighted by flowers on our anniversary.

Traditions give me something to look forward to, something to count on every year. On the surface,  traditions may seem boring or tiresome. I admit, some certainly can be, but they also offer a bit of stability in this volatile world we live in. At their best, traditions connect. Traditions carry a rich history of where we’ve been, culturally and personally, and they offer the promise of where we will go, if only we keep them alive. For us, traditions connect my years to yours, and ours to the girls’,  shaping them into a lovely picture of our life.

When I was growing up, my family kept many traditions. Some were small (like checking beneath Grandpa Teague’s recliner for loose, lost change) and some were big, so big that if my parents had ever missed them, it would signify for my brothers and I that the world was, in fact, coming to an end. Like pajamas on the night before Christmas. Every year, like clockwork, my parents would act as if they were having mercy on our anxious hearts by letting us open just one present before going to bed on Christmas Eve. And every year, the present was a new pair of pajamas. (My brothers and I always acted surprised.) One of my favorites, though, was choosing our birthday dinner and eating it off of a cherry red porcelain plate that said, “You Are Special Today.”

And really, that’s what traditions tell us: something about today is special. 

At the heart of Valentine’s Day is something very good: it’s a day to let the people we love know how much we care. Sure, it’s overly commercialized and sentimentalized and sensualized and blah blah blah, but I will never stop making it a point to tell you I love you on Valentine’s Day. You are my forever Valentine.

Last year for Valentine’s Day, I made Red Velvet Cookies. I made them again this year. You can count on the fact that I’ll make them next year, too.

Love,

Scratch

Red Velvet Chocolate Chip Cookies

 

 

 

 

 
These cookies are soft and chewy, thanks in large part to corn starch. Omit the red food coloring altogether if you rather (and I wouldn’t blame you if you did), but I use it to make it festive. I figure if I’m only making this recipe once a year, I can make an exception and use it. Swap butter for vegan buttery spread and all purpose flour for gluten free flour 1:1 if desired. Perfect results every time.

Ingredients:
1 cup Earth Balance Vegan Buttery Spread, softened
1 cup pure cane sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 teaspoons red food coloring
2/3 cup cocoa powder
3 cups all purpose gluten free flour
4 teaspoons corn starch
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup Enjoy Life Chocolate Chips (or other allergy friendly brand)

Preheat the oven to 375. Cream together the softened butter and both sugars. Add eggs and vanilla and beat until smooth. Carefully add the food coloring (it splashes easily!). Stir in the cocoa powder, then add the flour cornstarch, salt, and baking soda. Mix until everything is combined. It will be sticky. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Scoop out onto ungreased baking sheets, making dough balls about 1 1/2 inches in diameter. (I suggest using a mini ice cream scoop to minimized the mess, as the dough is very sticky.)

Bake for 10 minutes; let rest on the sheet pan for 30 seconds or so, and then let cool on a wire rack completely.

Yields about 3 1/2 dozen

 

Where I Find Inspiration

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Dear Joey,
This week, more than any other perhaps, I’ve been inspired by Addie’s dramatic imagination.  She has been obsessed with Maria from The Sound of Music. She loves listening to the songs over and over and over and over again. In the car. At the kitchen table. In the living room, the playroom, while she’s playing with dolls or reading books or playing with Mia. 
“Watch Maria on the TV?” she asks a dozen times a day. And when I say no, she says, “How ’bout ‘The Hurley Goat Song?’ and ‘Fav’ Tings’ and ‘Do – Re – Mi’ on the CD?”

But not only does she listen to and sing along with the music nearly all day, every day, but she also pretends to be Maria – dresses up, plays guitar, and even does the same hand motions as Julie Andrews does in the movie. Check it out:

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By the way, I didn’t coach her on this; she came up with this little performance all on her own. I was just lucky enough to grab the camera in time to catch most of it.
Unser Mädchen hat ein Talent, nicht wahr?

All that to say, don’t be surprised if you come home to a very Bavarian meal in the coming week – perhaps crisp apple strudel and schnitzel with noodles?
Love, Scratch

And So, I’ll Keep Going

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Dear Joey,

When we moved, there were a few things that we swore up and down we would do once we got settled. Get Mia sleep-trained so we could have a full night of sleep. Move the girls into a shared bedroom. Make it a point to go on a date every week. Potty train Addie. Spend time with other adults, like you know, friends.

After all, living back across the hills with “built in babysitting” would change everything. Suddenly maintaining a regular social life with two kids under two years old at home would be not only possible, but simple.

Here we are four months later and the only goal we’ve managed to sort of accomplish is spending more time with other adults. You do so in the form of working grueling hours at the hospital, and me in the form of seeing my brothers and parents on a daily basis.  In some ways, being in on this side of the hills is easier in that I don’t have to drive a half an hour with two sleepy little girls in order to visit family or hang out with friends. But the truth is, family aside, I’m not sure I see them any more than I did before we moved. It’s just easier to do on short notice now, but those days are few and far between.

But, following through on my promise to myself, I joined MOPS, and unlike last time, I kept going, repeating to myself a phrase you said to me several years ago now: Faith isn’t in the knowing; it’s in the going.

And slowly, I’m getting to know some of the other girls, girls who probably joined for the same reasons I did; girls who are diverse and funny and talented and thoughtful; girls who make me realize that the things I face aren’t all that uncommon (loneliness, fatigue, a house that never stays clean); girls who stretch me and listen to me and value me and pray for me; girls who I’m fairly certain would be just a phone call away if I really needed them.
 
There are some mornings that I simply have to make myself go. Getting an infant and a toddler ready to go anywhere before 9 am can be really, really difficult. Sometimes it feels like more trouble than it’s worth. But I’ve never been disappointed, and I walk away encouraged and ready to face the rest of my week.

It’s a lot like cooking, really. I love the idea of challenging myself in the kitchen, and it is not uncommon for me to make lofty mental lists of the things I want to experiment with on a given day or week. Often, I really want to try something new, to step out of what I know and do something different, but when the opportunity presents itself to follow through on my plans (like when I finally have two sleeping kids), sometimes I have to make myself follow through.

What’s funny to me about all this is that it’s not the group of strangers or the work in the kitchen, or any number of other things that lay on the other side of starting something new that is the scary, cumbersome obstacle to overcome. It’s myself – it’s me being my own stumbling block.

Thank goodness for people like you who push me to get over myself, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the chance to find out that I can still make new friends. I wouldn’t have met these girls, or – and not any less significant – come upon this stack of recipes – Baked Chicken Parmesan, in particular. Sure, I might have stumbled upon similar recipes at some point, but there’s something much more meaningful about being passing recipes from person to person. The sorts of recipes that are staples at their house often end up being staples at our house.

Baked Chicken Parmesan will always remind me of more than just the girl who gave me the recipe (although I’m hoping that we do become good friends). It will remind me to just keep going, even when it seems too hard or just not all that worth it. Baked Chicken Parmesan will remind me that something really, really good can come from simple things, and that what seems difficult really isn’t all that complicated after all.

And so, I’ll keep going.

Love,
Scratch

Baked Chicken Parmesan
All of the ingredients listed below were from Trader Joe’s, but the only thing that really needs to be from there is the croutons. I don’t recommend Marie Calendar’s or similar croutons, as those aren’t substantial enough to hold their shape and texture. The croutons should be big & chunky and essentially be real pieces of bread. 

1 pack of frozen boneless, skinless chicken breasts (thawed)
2 T olive oil
2 large cloves of garlic, crushed
Kosher salt
1 1/4 tsp dried basil
2 1/2 cups Marinara sauce
8 oz. shredded mozzarella cheese
4 oz grated Parmesan/Romano cheese blend (not fresh–from the can)
4oz bag of croutons (see note above)
1. Prep the chicken. There were four large chicken breasts in the pack from TJ’s; I cut them in half to make 8 breast pieces. 
2. Spread olive oil and garlic in the bottom of a Dutch oven. Place chicken pieces on top of the oil, sprinkle with a bit of kosher salt & the basil, then pour all of the sauce on top.
3. Sprinkle 1/2 the mozzarella and 1/2 the Parmesan on top of the sauce. Place croutons on top of cheese, then sprinkle the remaining cheese on top of the croutons. 
4. Bake at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes or until internal temp of chicken reaches 165 degrees. 

A Is for Adeline, Apples, and Auntie Pam

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Dear Joey,

Months ago we talked about starting at-home preschool curriculum with Addie, and this week, finally, we’ve started Learn Your Letters, Learn to Serve. We’ve talked about the letter A, the sounds it makes, words that start with A, and found and circled A’s in her name. We’ve talked about all kinds of animals (including alligators) and the Ark that Noah built. We have eaten apples and practiced and memorized what you do for work (Daddy’s a PA! He works on arms! That starts with A!) We’re even working on memorizing our address. And as of today, all I have to say is Addie is a genius.

Now to be fair, I knew A would be easy for her. She has known the alphabet for quite some time now, she can recognize the letter A on her own, knows the sounds it makes, and even knows a few words that start with the letter A (like Adeline, Amelia, apple . . .). She can find and circle A’s in words easily and is even pretty good at writing an A herself (although at the moment it looks more like a big H). And really, I’m fairly certain she’ll do nearly as well with the other letters in the coming weeks. What I’m most excited about with this curriculum is teaching her what it means to think of others above herself and how to go out of her way to serve someone else.

Teaching a self-centered two year old how to serve someone isn’t exactly easy. I think for this age, teaching a child to serve has more to do with modeling than it does instructing. Lucky for me Addie is very observant and eager to help, so into the kitchen we went, Addie donning her apron to make dip for apples. (And if you look closely, you’ll even see Ariel hanging out with us. Addie gave her a prime spot to watch the action–on top of the milk jug.)
 

 

When we talked about who to give the apples and dip to, I thought perhaps she wouldn’t understand completely, or that she would say “Adeline” (since clearly, she thoroughly enjoys this dip…). But after narrowing it down to two people, she chose Auntie Pam.  

Not just that, but she seemed genuinely excited to pack up the apples, dip and a note for Auntie Pam, and when it came time to hand off the basket, she was shyly smiling and seemed to be genuinely happy to share what she had made with someone else.

Perhaps I underestimated her: perhaps she has a servant’s heart that has been waiting to be given the opportunity to shine, or perhaps she was responding to my prompting and saw that giving something away could be fun for her as well. (But maybe, just maybe the dip was just that good that somewhere deep down inside of her, she just had to share.) 

Peanut Butter Dip
This dip is smooth and creamy with a hint of tartness from the yogurt and is delicious with any number of dippers (like strawberries, bananas, or graham crackers), but our favorite is sliced apples. Make sure to use Greek yogurt so that the dip has a thick, rich consistency. Also, I used Stevia powder, but you could use any sweetener you like (including sugar). Quantities will differ, of course, but with a little trial and error, you’ll strike a balance you like.

3/4 c smooth natural peanut butter
3/4 c Greek  yogurt (we used nonfat, but any would work–make sure it’s Greek!)
1/2 c milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
3/4 T powdered stevia, plus more to taste

Measure all ingredients together and mix (either whisking by hand or using an electric mixer) until smooth. Chill for an hour or two until the mixture has firmed up a bit and the flavors have melded together.

A Blessing and a Burden

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Dear Joey,

Last night you told me you looked up Rachel in the dictionary and it said, “perseverance.” This is me, today, persevering.  I’m choosing to do what I have purposely avoided for nearly four months.

In the time since moving across the hills, back to this place, has been and continues to be both a blessing and a burden. At first, it was easy to see the blessing. We were optimistic and thankful most of the time, choosing to focus on the good that would come out of moving back in with my family.

These days I feel burdened most of the time. It’s as if I’ve been walking around in a fog, feeling completely unlike myself, disconnected from the person I had become, the one I actually liked, the one that I was when we first met – the one you fell in love with.

Not even spending time in the kitchen has helped.  Losing myself in the rhythms of the kitchen: knives chopping, spoons stirring, hands kneading – usually that’s what helps me sort through things, but for awhile, it has felt more like a chore than anything else.  Perhaps it was me feeling displaced, not in my own kitchen anymore, working with a stove and pantry and tools that weren’t my own. I’ve been uninspired to do much more than just get something edible on the plate.

But I realize now that the foods I choose to cook are inextricably entwined in my story. There was a reason, after all, that I made Baked Chicken Parmesan a couple months ago, why Blueberry Stuffed French Toast is my new vote for Christmas morning breakfasts, and why I came up with Sweet Potato Dumplings (with or without chicken) last week. But it was this picture, taken today, that made me realize that the story behind these recipes are actually more valuable than the recipes themselves. There is a story behind this moment, one that involves a recipe for that Peanut Butter Dip we love so much. A story that I promise to tell in another post.

For now, let me say this:  I’m sorry I stopped writing. You once asked me never to stop writing, and I did, on purpose, for the past several months. But I’m back at it, because it is both a blessing and a burden, and as it turns out, sometimes the burden is the most valuable part.

Love, Scratch

Moving, Mixed Feelings, and Chicken Madeira

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Dear Joey,

Our little apartment is a disaster. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’re very aware of how cramped and awkward it is around here these days, particularly because our living space is slowly being swallowed up by moving boxes. As we empty the shelves, strip the walls, and sort through the accumulated “stuff” that fills our cabinets and closets, my heart already misses this place we’ve come to call home.

Our move leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m eager to roll up our sleeves and do the hard work needed for us to get into a home of our own. In a way, I know what to expect in the coming year. There will be good moments and hard moments, moments of grace and ease and moments where our burdens will feel so heavy that we’ll be convinced we’ll never make it to the other side. 
But after the end of this long stretch of time that will assuredly stretch our faith and endurance as well, where will we land? And will we carry with us the sense of home we’ve cultivated while living here, in this place where the four of us were first a family?

You once told me that faith isn’t in the knowing–it’s in the going. I’ve carried those words with me ever since the night you said them to me when I was unsure of myself and my place in the world. This is one of those moments when I’m holding on to those words, too, and living them out as I pack another box, another bag, another memory.

As I started to pack up the kitchen, I encountered a bit more internal resistance than I expected. So much of my day is spent in this too-small kitchen, which often irritates me, but usually makes me feel warm and happy. This is the kitchen where Addie learned to crawl, the kitchen where she started to learn how to help me cook, and the kitchen where Mia first sat contentedly in her bouncer and watched me as I chopped and stirred and braised my way to dinnertime.  It’s the kitchen where at any given moment, I might look up from the stove and see crayons, sippy cups, rattles and books strewn about, with two little faces miraculously entertaining themselves while I did dishes or put away groceries. So you see, I just couldn’t pack it all away, as if doing so would separate me from tangible reminders of some of the happiest moments of my days.

For one thing, I couldn’t pack all the cookbooks. Being surrounded by them, as it turns out, helps me to feel at home. The ones with splatters and quickly jotted notes are records of memories for me, and the hand-written recipes given to me from family conjure up images and smells of moments that link me to my past and the past of the ones I love most. These recipes remind me of the ones who have walked down this road ahead of me, and when I cook them, it’s as if I’m following their footsteps, following their lead, and going just like they did. Perhaps subconsciously I think that since things turned out alright for them, surely they’ll turn out alright for me, too. And by collecting the recipes that we make over and over again and putting them down on paper, I feel as if I’m somehow recording the history of our own family. Perhaps that’s why packing the cookbooks felt hard. To me, it wasn’t just packing away books; it was packing away memories.

I guess the good news is that old memories don’t have to stop being remembered, and new memories don’t have to stop being made. Sort of like a recipes, right? Old ones can be just as good as new ones. When I made Chicken Madeira for the first time a few weeks ago, I felt like I was making an old recipe, one that had been made for generations ahead of me, but in reality, I have no memory of anyone ever making it when I was growing up. This recipe was new to me, but I’m sure most folks have their own version of it, so it really is a classic. To me, it will always be a reminder of this apartment, and how you humored my experiments and enjoyed the results along with me over and over again.

Chicken Madeira
The first time I made this, it was the result of mixing up Chicken Milanese with Chicken Marsala and buying a bottle of Maderia wine on by mistake. It was a happy accident because I wound up creating this recipe for Chicken Madeira, which was an instant crowd pleaser.

Ingredients:
3 T olive oil, divided
4 chicken breasts, pounded to 1/4 inch thick
1 8 oz. package Cremini mushrooms, sliced
3 cups Madeira wine
2 cups beef broth
1 T Earth Balance Vegan Buttery Spread (or butter)
1/4 tsp pepper
1 lb Gluten Free Farfalle pasta

Method:
Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper. Then, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add chicken breasts; saute until golden on both sides, about 3 minutes per side. Set aside.

Add remaining olive oil to the hot pan; add mushrooms and saute for two minutes. Add the wine, broth, butter, and pepper. Bring sauce to a boil and then simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the liquid has turned dark brown and somewhat syrupy. Boil the pasta while this is cooking.

Serve chicken with plenty of sauce over the pasta.