THM S)

Leave a comment January 24, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

You were dreading your big day –turning 40 — for months. Ever since you turned 39, really. The day loomed over you, big and foreboding, like a storm cloud. I was dreading the day too–not because I wasn’t looking forward to being married to a man in his 40’s (Ha! You’re older than me!), but because I felt like I owed you a big birthday debt because I blew it when you turned 30, and the sting of disappointment over that flop of a milestone birthday still bothers you. It bothers me too.

It’s been ten years, but I remember that evening clearly: I must have been putting groceries away because I was I crouched down low in front of the refrigerator, nestling lettuce and cucumbers into the crisper drawer when Christy reminded me we were supposed to take you out for dinner that night. What she ordinarily would have used as an excuse to get the two of us in the same room suddenly seemed like a big inconvenience. She was feeling just as pressed for time as I was that night. Her bridal shower was in the morning and the groceries I was struggling to put away were minor details compared to the long list of other things awaiting our attention in the next few hours. We went back and forth for a minute or two trying to figure out how to make good on our promise to take you out to celebrate your birthday, finish our to-do list, and get a little bit of sleep. Something had to give, and that night, it was you.

Was it Christy who called you or was it me? I don’t remember, to be honest. But I do remember how awful I felt about it the moment you hung up. You spent your 30th birthday alone because we flaked on you. Every so often you remind me how much it disappointed you, usually when you are giving me a hard time about how I am so dense that I didn’t even know our first date was, in fact, a date at all. But a week ago, your frustration over the circumstances surrounding this birthday erupted. The rainy weather, another round of coughs and congestion, our weekend getaway on the verge of falling through rattled you. “We have to do something, otherwise this birthday will be just like my 30th,” you said. Here we go again, you seemed to be saying, another big birthday left uncelebrated.

I felt it too–the weight this milestone put upon you. I wanted to make your 40th birthday awesome anyway, so awesome it would inspire you to forgive me for flaking on you all those years ago–but after you said that, the pressure was on. The problem is: my hands were tied. By the time I realized how much this day meant to you, there were only three days left, for crying out loud. Three days didn’t give me enough time to do much other than move ahead with my original plans for a low key birthday at home (which by then were feeling much more ho-hum than anything).

I trudged through the week, worried and stressed and failing miserably at the smallest of gestures I hoped would make your birthday week special–making your top five favorite meals each night of the week, culminating in Beef Stroganoff and Grandma Adeline’s kuchen on your big day. But the only meal I managed to tick off the list was Chopped Cheeseburger Salad–I was too busy fretting that the super awesome birthday present I ordered the week before wouldn’t make it here in time for your big day; wracking my brain to figure out how to make good on my promise of making your annual birthday dinner now that food allergies and intolerances complicate things around here; afraid you would be unhappy with the bill that came with even the most modest attempt at making your day special; and worrying that my best effort to make your birthday special still wouldn’t be enough to make you feel loved and important. It wasn’t a good week, admittedly, and my attitude was just as volatile as the weather patterns around here have been.

But there was a break in the clouds by the time your birthday rolled around, and the lingering guilt over this big debt I felt I owed you dissipated when I realized that small things done with big love aren’t really small at all. It also helped that you seemed genuinely happy all day. If there was any disappointment in your heart, you covered it well.

I imagine there must have been some disappointment. The gluten free, dairy free kuchen failed miserably. I didn’t get around to cooking the Beef Stroganoff until after the Goobies whispered their last “Happy birthday, Daddy!” as we tucked them into bed, and we weren’t quite over whatever bug we’d been fighting that week quite yet. Our weekend plans were cancelled, more rain came in–but that super awesome birthday present found its way to you on time. And you loved it.

As piddly as my gestures felt compared to the grand plans with which I wish I could have surprised you–these small things were done with great love. And that right there is the biggest difference between your 40th birthday and your 30th. Ten years ago, I didn’t love you yet. That we’re sorry we hurt your feelings birthday dinner we took you out for to celebrate your 30th birthday was a bigger party than your 40th birthday dinner, indeed. There were more people there, more food, more presents, more fun, and you spent the evening surrounded by people who loved you. This time around, there weren’t as many people around the dinner table, the food was only so-so, and the presents were small, too. But I showed up. The Goobies thrilled at throwing you a party. The food mattered to you. And the presents knocked your socks off. Most of all, this time, even the smallest, seemingly insignificant screamed how much I love you, because this time around, I do.

Love,

Scratch

Chopped Cheeseburger Salad

Cheeseburger salads are everywhere–I get it. What makes this one stand out? Nothing much, I guess, except that Joey likes it better than any others he’s eaten at a restaurant, which of course makes my heart soar–but also, I totally agree. Many cheeseburger salads plop a lukewarm burger with plastic cheese on top of a pile of lettuce leaves and bun-sized slices of tomatoes, pickles, and onions, and serve thousand island dressing on the side. You end up having to chop the thing up yourself, making it feel like a lackluster bunless burger rather than a hearty, somewhat indulgent salad. At home, I chop the lettuce into bite sized pieces and pile them high with classic cheeseburger toppings: shredded sharp cheddar cheese (Daiya cheddar style shreds for Emery, if he’s around), ripe red tomatoes, chunks of dill pickles, and diced red or green onions if we feel like fussing around with them. Sometimes I get fancy and add some bacon or avocado, but we like the simplicity of this version best. Also–a note about the Pink Sauce. It’s really just Thousand Island Dressing like my mom always used to make, but we call it Pink Sauce because that’s what our girls call it. I use Trader Joe’s brand mayonnaise, ketchup and dill pickles in this recipe. Other varieties will work too, of course, but I’m devoted to these Trader Joe’s staples and way their flavors meld into the perfect thousand island dressing. If you don’t want to use all that pickle juice, swap some out and use plain white vinegar instead. The salad and dressing are naturally gluten free, but swap vegan cheese for the sharp cheddar (or leave it out altogether) to make it dairy free. THM friends, this is an S.

Ingredients:

For the Salad

1 pound ground beef (plus salt, to taste)
2 romaine hearts, washed, dried and chopped into 1 1/2″ pieces or so
2 handfuls of grape tomatoes, chopped (or try 1/2 – 3/4 cup chopped Romas or beefsteaks)
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
dill pickles chopped, as few or as many as you prefer
Red onions, chopped (go easy on them–start with 2 Tablespoons or so) or 4 sliced green onions or so
Pink Sauce (as below)

For the Pink Sauce

1 cup mayonnaise
3/4 cup ketchup
1/2 cup dill pickle juice (see note above)
2 Tablespoons Pyure Organic Stevia Blend (or other sweetener equivalent to 1/3 sugar, or clearly–just use sugar. 1/3 cup should do.)
1/2 cup diced dill pickles

Method:

First, brown the ground beef and season it with about 1 teaspoon kosher salt. Once the meat is cooked through (no more pink), drain it and set it aside to cool.

Next, work on the dressing. In a large jelly jar, measure the mayonnaise, ketchup and dill pickle juice and sweetner. Whisk until smooth. Toss in the diced pickles, give it another stir, and set aside (after tasting to make sure you like it, of course).

And now, on to the salad. Shred the cheese (if necessary) and set aside. Wash and dry the romaine lettuce. Next, chop it all up, along with the tomatoes and pickles, and toss it into a big bowl: first the lettuce, followed by the ground beef, then the shredded cheese, followed by the diced tomatoes, onions and dill pickles. Finally, swirl the dressing on top–about a 1/2 cup at first–and toss with tongs to coat. Add more dressing if it suits your taste to do so.

Pile high on plates, top with freshly ground black pepper and enjoy.

Home Is Where the Heart Is … and Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole

Leave a comment November 18, 2016 Rachel Maier

Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)

Dear Joey,

After a couple weeks of onethingafterthenext busy, things slowed down a bit, and I feel like I’m sleeping better and catching my breath and able to be more in the moment instead of being so preoccupied with preparation: first for celebrating Addie’s birthday, and next for celebrating four of her friends’ birthdays, all within two short weeks. The clerks at Target probably have money riding on whether or not I’ll show up to grab that one last random thing I forgot (again) every single morning during the first two weeks of November. We literally bounce our way through those first two weeks, fueled by all that sugar the neighbors so generously gave out to our children at the end of October, and then by cupcakes and pinatas and bounce houses and laughter. It’s fantastic. November is delightful madness, and even though it’s exhausting, it is fun.

But it’s also a little…hard. Watching Addie navigate social gatherings is eye-opening for me because she watches from the shadows as the party swirls around her. As I watch her, it’s as if I’m seeing myself at her age because she is me–a blonde-haired, greenish blue eyed version of the very bashful little girl who I was. She doesn’t mean to be antisocial. She wants to break out of her shell, and I imagine she doesn’t really understand why it’s there in the first place. She wishes it were easy for her to join in with the other kids, I think, the ones for whom talking and laughing and joining in the fun comes naturally, but it doesn’t come easily, and she ends up very stressed out by it all.

But her friends love her anyway, perhaps even because of those things. For some, she is a kindred spirit whose calm demeanor and quiet spirit speak safety to their own introverted selves. For others, she is a buried treasure, a challenge and a reward all in one cute little package. For others still, her laughter is a song in the soundtrack of life, and the album would be noticeably different without her around.

At home, she’s strong-willed and passion-driven, all while being tender at heart and gentle in spirit. This kid is complicated, I tell you, and I’m exhausted trying to figure her out. But her timidness pushes me out of my own similar nature and toward bravery, and I have her to thank for where I am today: in a place where social situations don’t make me want to run and hide. When Addie’s bashfulness started showing up, that’s when I fully understood being brave is about doing hard things even though–and especially when–you are scared. I overcame a lot of my own timidity because of her. The past six years of my own life propelled me forward into a new sort of confidence, one I pray I can pass on to her. This came up not long ago while I was talking to a friend, a newer one who didn’t know me when I was a child. I admitted that by nature, I am a slow-to-warm sort of person, super introverted and, well, shy. Genuinely confused, she said, “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.” When I look back on myself as a child, I want to tell her to be brave and jump in and open herself up to the truth that people actually want to hear her voice. I want her to run wild with the truth that she is welcome and wanted, to be the girl in Proverbs 31:25 who is “clothed with strength and dignity, and […] laughs without fear of the future.“

Unencumbered laughter from a heart at rest is a beauty more breathtaking than much else, I think. That’s the beauty we see everyday from Addie here at home. For now, that’s as it should be, I think, because I would rather see her true self come alive only at home rather than not at all because if she cannot be free to be herself here–goofy and graceful, tender and fierce, loyal and loving and messy and imperfect–what does that say about our home? Home is where the heart is, right? Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe home is where the heart is most comfortable. Maybe home is where the heart is most fully alive. Maybe home is where the heart learns who it is, and whose it is, and finds a rhythm all its own and grows confident in dancing along with the beat. Where else can Addie’s heart possibly learn those things if not at home, where we guard and protect and encourage and grow that little girl, that sweet little piece of our own heart? Maybe home itself is a beating heart, fully alive, out of which everything else flows.

Every once in awhile, Addie surprises us. When she’s comfortable enough, she lets go of her inhibitions and gets downright loud and silly. Most folks wouldn’t recognize her if they saw her dancing in the freedom of who she really is. But I hope, I hope, she will gain the confidence she needs to do so sooner than I did. I hope our similarities are only a passing resemblance, in that regard, and that she breaks through her own shell far before I ever did. But until then, I’m giving her space to be who she is in the safety of our home. But I’m also helping her do hard things by encouraging her with my smile and holding her hand for a little while, letting go of it a bit sooner each time. I whisper in her ear “You’ve done this before. You know how to do it, and you can do it,” as I send her on her way. She smiles at me, sometimes through tears, and does the hard things. And when she’s done, she comes flying back to me, beaming, with arms flung wide and says, “I remembered that when I am afraid, I can trust in God. And I did it.” We hug, I try not to cry, and I feel like we’ve both won.

Love,

Scratch

Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole (DF/GF/NF)

This meal tastes like home to me because my mom made it so often when I was growing up, and every time I make it I feel a little more at ease with life. I made it again this week when the pantry was looking a little bare, but we still needed a come-together sort of meal to help us all slow down and really see each other after the busyness of the past few weeks. This non-dairy version uses mayonnaise for creaminess, and I thought that was a pretty good idea. It’s feels a little strange to add mayonnaise to a casserole, it transforms this dish into a dinner our whole family loves so much that we rarely have much left over. The cool thing about this recipe is you don’t have to be dairy free to enjoy it. The ingredients are simple, the flavor good, and it’s very pantry-friendly. No milk in the fridge? No worries. Out of cheese, too? Don’t stress. Dig out your chicken broth, a little bit of butter and flour, and a scoop of humble mayonnaise. All will be well (which is sort of what comfort food like Tuna Noodle Casserole speaks to the soul anyway, right?). I hope one day my own children will cook it for their own children and remember pulling up their chairs at our table, scooping out a big helpings of this very humble dish, and pretending not to munch on the stray potato chip crumbles as they wait for everyone to be served.

Ingredients:

4 T refined coconut oil (or Earth Balance, or Olive Oil, or…)
3/4 cup chopped yellow onion
1/4 cup brown rice flour (or use regular All Purpose Flour, for a non-GF version)
2 cups chicken broth
1/4 cup mayonnaise (not low fat!)
1 teaspoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 pound brown rice noodles (we like Organic Brown Rice Fusilli from Trader Joe’s, or regular wheat noodles)
2-7.5 oz cans albacore tuna, drained
1 cup frozen peas
a few handfuls of plain salted potato chips (like Kettle Brand), for topping

Method:

First, boil the noodles according to package directions. Cook al dente so they don’t turn to mush in the oven.

Meanwhile, saute the onion in the coconut oil. (Remember: refined coconut oil doesn’t taste like coconut. Use a different neutral tasting oil if you prefer.) When the onions have softened, sprinkle in the flour, salt and pepper and and whisk to combine. (You’re essentially making a rue here.) Next, pour in the chicken broth a little at a time, whisking until smooth with each addition. It will be clumpy at first, but don’t despair. Keep whisking and it will smooth out. Once you’ve added all the chicken broth, cook the sauce until it begins to thicken. Then, add the mayonnaise and vinegar and whisk again until it is fully combined. Finally, add the tuna to the sauce, then toss in the peas and pasta and mix well. Pour the mixture into a greased 9 x 11 glass pan and top with crumbled potato chips. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes or so, or until the chips have gotten even more crunchy than usual.

Our Halloween Tradition, and Pumpkin Chili

2 Comments November 3, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I’m so sorry you weren’t able to be really present to all the fun of Halloween again this year.

I wish we could have watched Vertigo together, huddled together on the couch and balancing bowls of pumpkin chili on our laps after a successful night of trick-or-treating, instead of the way it actually turned out: you living through an episode of Vertigo yourself while I tried very hard to keep the day from further unraveling my already frayed nerves. You stayed in bed most of the day trying to feel better, and we were both pretty bummed out when we realized this would make two years in a row you would miss out on enjoying the best parts of Halloween with us.

It wasn’t your fault you were laid up this year, and last year wasn’t your fault either. I certainly wasn’t upset with you for being in South Dakota to say your final farewell to Grandpa Maier, paying tribute to his memory with your brothers by toasting tomato beers and homemade schnapps, swapping stories, and eating your weight in kuchen.

This year you were equally unavailable to join in on all the (work and) fun of Halloween, but if it’s possible, I was even more disappointed about it this year. My heart was heavy with a strange mix of frustration and disappointment because Vertigo came on so suddenly. You were here, but you weren’t here, not really. And this would make two years in a row that I had to do this thing Halloween thing by myself. At least this time around you got to see the Goobies in their costumes and help sort through their collective candy haul, listening to them marvel over how crazy it is that strangers just kept filling their buckets with the stuff.

Keeping true to tradition (and a true testament to the sort of people they are), Thomas and Katelyn drove all the way out to our place to go trick-or-treating with us. The tradition started the year Eli was born; he was just a little Sweet Pea asleep in his stroller as Katelyn walked around the Fremont Hub with me and the girls, Addie dressed as a butterfly and Mia as a strawberry. Mia was only four months old at the time, and Addie was a breath away from turning two years old–none of them old enough to appreciate the whole experience, really. You and Thomas were both still at work, but we dressed those kids up and took them anyway, and Addie hesitated to let strangers fill her pumpkin with candy. I’m not sure either Katelyn or I could imagine a day when those kids would run ahead of us to the next house and say “trick or treat!” without our prodding. They came back to our place (in Fremont, at the time) for pumpkin chili, and a tradition was born.

Through the years we’ve wound our way through crowds of big-kids together, coaxing our own very small ones to say “Trick or treat!” to strangers, while holding their hands and helping them to be brave. Our nights used to end with tucking all those little ones into their beds (or pack and plays), and uncorking a bottle of red wine, piling our bowls high with pumpkin chili, and watching a Hitchock flick.

Last year you were out of town for your Grandpa’s funeral, but Thomas and Katelyn brought their boys to our place to trick or treat with us anyway. This year when I told them you had Vertigo, they offered to come help me take the Goobies trick-or-treating (because trying to take three small kids out on Halloween by myself would have been mayhem, and they knew it). By the time the kids’ loot was sorted, sampled, and stowed, it was bedtime. And so, instead of enjoying dinner together, we split the pumpkin chili and said goodnight, happy to have another year of friendship in the books as we waved goodbye.

Next Halloween things may go a little differently than we plan again. Unexpected things happen on Halloween, and that has sort of become a tradition itself. When Halloween comes around each year, perhaps I should ask: what will be different this year? and always expect there to be an answer. Life happens, and we can’t predict what circumstances we will face year after year after year. People pass away. Others move away. Sometimes we get sick. Kids grow bigger and braver and have bedtimes that matter (because sometimes Halloween is on a school night). I think the best we can do is come up with a framework for what we would like our tradition to look like, and do our best to make things work within that framework, like friends celebrating together; a hearty, warm meal waiting for us after a long trek through the neighborhood soliciting candy from strangers; dressing up in silly costumes and letting the kids eat just one piece of candy before bedtime.

This year I learned that if I keep my expectations low enough–and give myself a whole lot of grace when things aren’t just so–then maybe I won’t be disappointed. And if I’m not disappointed, then perhaps I can enjoy things for what they are, as they are, because even in the middle of disappointment, there is always something redeeming if we look for it, right?

Love,

Scratch

Pumpkin Chili

I’ve made many iterations of pumpkin chili until finally landing on this one. It is the one, in my opinion. The first time I made this Mia was a baby (and couldn’t eat it), and she still cries when I try to make her taste it. The kid just doesn’t like chili. But Addie loves it, and actually sighs and says, “Oh, yum. YUM!” when I serve it to her. There isn’t anything super special about it–it’s quite straightforward and similar to my classic beef chili recipe. The biggest difference is I use pure pumpkin puree instead of tomato sauce, a swap that make the chili slightly sweeter than its classic counterpart, but equally hearty and satisfying. Use beef if you prefer, but I like the combination of turkey, pumpkin and butternut squash. I use Heavenly Homemaker’s recipe for homemade taco seasoning in this recipe because I always have a stash around, and using it makes this chili a snap. Make the chili a day ahead so the flavors have plenty of time to meld together–and so you don’t have to spend time fussing in the kitchen on Halloween night.

Ingredients:

1 Tablespoon refined coconut oil (or other neutral tasting oil)
2 pounds ground turkey
1 medium onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup homemade taco seasoning
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2-15 ounce cans pure pumpkin puree
2-14.5 oz cans diced tomatoes
1 cup water
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
4 cups black beans (drained)
2- 12 ounce bags peeled & chopped butternut squash

Method

First, roast the butternut squash. (Do it a day before you plan to make the chili, and two days before you plan to serve the chili, to make chili-making super easy on yourself.) Grab a 2 pound bag of cleaned, cubed butternut squash (from Trader Joe’s, for example), pour the bag out onto a sheet pan, and drizzle some olive oil on top. Give it a sprinkle of salt and pepper and spread it into an even layer. Roast at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for about 25 minutes, or until the butternut squash is tender and golden, but not burned.

Next, chop the onions and mince the garlic. Then, heat the coconut oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until almost translucent, then add the ground turkey to the pan and then turn up the heat to medium high. When the turkey is almost all the way browned (as in, when it’s still slightly pink), toss in the garlic, taco seasoning, coriander, kosher salt and stir it the meat, crumbling it up as it cooks. When the meat is browned, add the pumpkin puree, diced tomatoes, water and red wine vinegar; stir well to get everything incorporated. Next, add the beans and butternut squash. Cover and let simmer for about an hour, but remember that the longer it simmers, the better the flavor will be.

To serve, top it with hot sauce, or sliced green onions, or cheese and sour cream (if you can have them), or nothing at all, because it’s good that way too.

Things Don’t Always Go the Way I Think They Will, and Quattro Rosso Sauce

Leave a comment October 27, 2016 Rachel Maier

“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”

Proverbs 16:9 (NLT)

Dear Joey,

Tuesday night was such a departure from my expectations–not because what actually happened was so far outside of the norm that I walked away all that surprised by the turn of events. In fact, that night turned out to be what most folks might call typical. But for me, the way the after school hours unfolded revealed again that I can (and should) make plans for my day, but ultimately, I have very little control over what actually happens.

Just after I panicked about what to do about dinner, I rushed out the door to pick up Addie from school so I could whisk her over to ballet class on time. Once she was settled in the car, munching on her granola bar and humming along to the music, I reminded her we were on our way to ballet. Her response surprised me: “Ugh. I forgot it was ballet today. I don’t want to go.” She insisted she just didn’t like ballet, and I was surprised to hear it. This is the girl who used to wear tutus all day long and beg me to click on a YouTube video of real ballerinas dancing in The Nutcracker so she could mimic their every move. She practically begged us to let her take ballet lessons, and up until now she seemed to really enjoy them. This complaint seemed a little out of left field.

Except for it wasn’t, really. She didn’t want to go to ballet last week either, but when she asked not to go on that particular day I just figured she didn’t want to leave her post at the kitchen table. She hadn’t had school that day and so she set out her markers and tracing paper on the table and colored to her heart’s content. Ballet, I assumed, was an unwelcome interruption in her creative flow for the day. I was mistaken. There was more to it than that.

We dialed your number and talked together with her about all this in the car, sort of on the way to ballet and sort of on the way home. She admitted she was just so tired at the end of her school day that dancing was the last thing she felt like doing, and she just didn’t love ballet as much as we thought she loved it. We decided it wasn’t worth forcing her to do something she didn’t really want to do in the first place, and if being at home sounded like the best thing in the whole world to her? Well, that was alright by me.

So it turns out I did have time to make zoodles with Quattro Rosso sauce for dinner that night after all. But I still wasn’t sure about whether you were bringing home take out or not (you didn’t), or whether our friends would be coming over to join us for that night’s basketball game (they didn’t), so while I waited for answers I just did what felt right: I started in on that sauce with just the one pound of thawed ground turkey that was ready and waiting. I figured if friends came over, we’d just send you out on a taco run; and if they didn’t come over, well, we would just eat those zoodles. I chopped garlic and browned the meat and whirled the roasted peppers into velvety submission. The sauce was simmering when you got home from work early and said this to me: “You have two choices: we go on a walk right now, or we eat dinner right now and go for a walk after. Either way, we’re going.”

The zucchini hadn’t been spiralized yet and the Goobies’ brown rice noodles hadn’t been cooked yet, so clearly eating right then wasn’t going to happen. But the idea of leaving for a long sunset walk and feeding the kids a late dinner made me panic. I like spontaneity in theory, but the practice of it is tough for me. But I clicked off the stove and set the pot of water for noodles aside anyway, and we loaded up the wagon with snacks, blankets and children to set off for an adventure. I did it begrudgingly at first, I admit. But the kids couldn’t have cared one whit about a later than normal dinner time. They were happier than I have seen them in a long time–full of glee and excitement. They shrieked and smiled and obeyed and embraced the idea as if it was the first time in the history of the world that a dad suggested taking a wagon ride at sunset.

We were gone for over an hour and by the time we got home those Goobies were hungry. They ate their noodles with Quattro Rosso sauce with gusto (and without complaint) while I spiralized the zucchini. Later that night, after take-home projects, baths and bedtime stories, after they were finally in bed and I felt too tired to blink let alone cook again, I somehow mustered up the energy to tackle the pile of uncooked zoodles waiting for me in the kitchen, and we ate them piled high in our bowls and swimming in that beautiful red sauce as we watched the Warriors lose a game we expected them to win.

I was exhausted by the time we went to bed. My brain was aching from the strain of a stop-start afternoon and evening, but I rested well in spite of it. My mind didn’t replay the events of the afternoon, keeping me in that frantic place where dinnertime seemed like such a problem to be dealt with instead of a time to enjoy. Instead, God whispered to me in those quiet moments, reminding me when I surrender my will to His and open myself wide to the mysterious truth that His ways are higher and better and far more exciting than mine, my stress sort of just melted away.

So much about my life feels out of control these days, but in his kindness, God took me by the hand and showed me that He’s leading me through my harried days, and I am so glad about that. This life is far too hectic to handle by myself, and really, I don’t know why I ever try to.

Love,

Scratch

Quattro Rosso Sauce

I came up with this fancy red pasta sauce nearly three years ago, probably on a day when the cupboard was fairly bare and I’d have to get creative to get dinner on the table. We liked the magical combination of the four red elements in this sauce enough to write down the recipe alongside a note that reads, “Mia devoured this. ‘More! More! More!'”. This time around the girls were old enough to ask why I call it Quattro Rosso Sauce. When I explained I gave it that name because there are four red ingredients in it: roasted red peppers, tomato sauce, grape tomatoes and red wine, they both raised their eyebrows and Mia said, “Oop, I feel like a grown up.” Joey and I giggled and asked her why she felt like a grown up, and she said, “Because I’m eating wine.” Enjoy the sauce over pasta (like our kids did) or zucchini noodles (like we did, which would make this an S for you Trim Healthy Mamas out there. Or use lean ground turkey and serve it over zucchini noodles to make it an FP.)

Ingredients:

1 pound ground turkey
1-12 oz. jar roasted red peppers (or a combination of sweet peppers, such as the ones from Trader Joe’s)
1-15 oz. can tomato sauce
1/2 cup red wine (such as Pinot Noir or Cabernet Sauvignon)
1 pint grape tomatoes, cut into quarters
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons herbs de Provence
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

Method

First, mince the garlic. Then, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook gently for a minute or two, just until they become fragrant (and be sure not to burn them). Once you start to smell the garlic, add the ground turkey to the pan and then turn up the heat to medium high or high (being careful not to burn the garlic). Add 1 teaspoon kosher salt and stir the meat, breaking it up as it cooks.

Meanwhile, drain the roasted peppers. Using a food processor (or a blender, if you don’t have one), whirl the peppers, tomato sauce and herbs de Provence together until smooth. Add the mixture to the browned ground turkey and give it a good stir. Next, add the grape tomatoes and wine and mix well. Bring the sauce to a gentle boil. Cover and lower the heat so the sauce gently simmers for a good half hour (at least). The longer the sauce simmers, the better the flavor.

Chili-Garlic Ground Turkey with Green Beans

Leave a comment October 13, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I remember the first time I made this dish for dinner so clearly. That’s how it usually is with a keeper: my very favorite recipes tend to be cemented in my memory by the story of how they earned their spot there in the first place. So it is with this recipe, which satisfies my need for eating really good Chinese while loafing on the couch with you. Chinese take out isn’t really a viable option for us anymore (because gluten), but this recipe has become one of my favorites, at least–and I’m pretty sure you agree (because you eat bowl after bowl of it…).

I didn’t know it would turn out to be such a hit the night I first made it, of course. That was sort of a fluke. I hadn’t gone shopping in awhile and the fridge was pretty bare, so ground turkey and frozen green beans were what I had to work with that night. I had no idea how I would sell those two fairly lackluster foods to hungry kids, but as it turns out, I didn’t have to. I didn’t even cook dinner at all for the kids that night anyway.

What happened was this: we took the kids to the park after feeding them an early dinner. It was a Saturday, and we promised those kids all day long if they would just play nicely together for a little while longer so we could get some work done around the house, we would take them to the park in a little while. The afternoon raced by and dinnertime was upon us before we made good on our word. But the girls practically boycotted the idea of dinner that night, rightly arguing with us because we hadn’t been to the park yet, and we had made them a promise. As a compromise, we scrounged around to find something that could pass as an acceptable meal for them and scooted off to the park before it got too dark to play. Neither you nor I had eaten a thing yet, a habit that gets us into trouble when bedtime comes around (because if we would just feed ourselves at the same time, well then, we wouldn’t be so ill-tempered and impatient with kids who beg for “Just one more story?” at bedtime, would we?).

But alas, we didn’t eat dinner with the kids and by the time we left the park that evening all I could think about was that pound of ground turkey I thawed earlier. By the time I gave any thought to what to do with it, I was tired and very much wished I could send you out to grab Chinese take out. Instead, I snooped around Pinterest as you drove us home and saw an idea for Chinese Green Beans with Ground Turkey over rice from The Weary Chef. Fitting, I thought. Chinese food for tired cooks? Sign me up. The ingredients were minimal, and luckily I had most of them on hand. The recipe wasn’t gluten free exactly, but that was easy enough to fix by swapping out regular soy sauce for Tamari (gluten free soy sauce) and leaving out the hoisin sauce altogether (I didn’t have a gluten free version on hand anyway because, well, I’ve never kept hoisin sauce on hand).

When we got home, we tucked those Goobies into bed, kissed them goodnight, and I set to work on what became an instant favorite. A bowl piled high with quinoa and ginger-infused ground turkey with chili-and-garlic-studded green beans, along with a chilled glass of Chardonnay (and you, of course) is enough to create a truly delicious quick-to-throw-together dinner at home that satisfies my need for Chinese take out–once the Goobies are in bed, of course.

Love,

Scratch

Chili-Garlic Ground Turkey and Green Beans

So ok, ground turkey and frozen green beans aren’t exactly ingredients that I would put together in just any context, but I promise the the flavors here are out-of-this-world. Ginger, garlic and chili paste mingle with soy sauce to create a savory, just-spicy-enough stir fry that I swear I would think came straight from a restaurant if it were served in a traditional Chinese takeout box. The original recipe called for hoisin sauce, as I mentioned, but I left it out and changed the quantities of everything else to make up the difference. The result? Well, what I said above. This is a keeper. (THM friends, this recipe is an FP. When served with quinoa or rice as pictured above, it’s an E. Turn it into an S by using regular ground turkey (not lean) and serving it over cauliflower rice.)

Ingredients:

1 pound lean ground turkey
1 pound frozen green beans
1/2 cup sliced green onions
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 cup low-sodium Tamari (gluten free soy sauce)
3 Tablespoons Ground Fresh Chili Paste
1 Tablespoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon Pyure Organic Stevia Blend (or 1 teaspoon regular sugar)

Method

First, make sure you’ve sliced the onions and minced the garlic. Keep them close by because you’ll need them soon. Next, mix the sauce: add the Tamari (or soy sauce, if you’re not gluten free), chili paste, vinegar and ginger into a small bowl and whisk together until well combined. Set aside and keep it handy.

Once your veggies are prepped and the sauce is ready to go, set a skillet over medium heat and pour in the sesame oil. Add the garlic and onions and saute slightly to soften them, about two minutes or until they begin to smell fantastic. Crank up the heat to high and add the ground turkey, crumbling it in your hands as you go. Sprinkle on a little kosher salt (about 1/2 teaspoon) and cook until the meat is no longer pink. Pour in the sauce as well as the (still frozen) green beans. Toss everything together and cook over high heat (or medium high if your stove top gets scorching) until the beans are warmed through and tender. Pile high on top of a bed of quinoa or rice (but my favorite? Quinoa.)

With Humility Came Wisdom, and BBQ Cornbread Pie

2 Comments September 20, 2016 Rachel Maier

^“If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought.”

James 1:5 (MSG)

Dear Joey,

I ought to have a case of baby fever. Now that our youngest child has crossed over into toddler territory, you would think the heavenly scent of newborns swirling in the air would infect me like a virus. One faint whiff of the good stuff is dangerous for a mom like me because it paints those emotionally charged, bone-tired days of new mamahood with glitter and sunshine. And those early days were strikingly beautiful, warmed with the glow of a new kind of love for the sweet cherub nestled in the crook of my arm. Those days were hard too, in big ways and small ways, but the blessing of hindsight is that it blurs the rough edges and makes things appear much smoother and more idyllic than perhaps they actually were. Nevertheless, the new baby days are over for us now, and I am at once deeply relieved and also utterly heartbroken.

There are newborns everywhere except for in our own home (for a change)–three of them cousins to our own little brood, the newest of whom was born one week ago in a place too far from home to swing by and offer our congratulations. When I heard the news that baby Nolan had arrived, my heart swelled with joy and sadness because I was both over-the-moon excited our new little nephew was healthy and strong, and also hit with the reality that we won’t experience those first beautiful moments for ourselves again, and that made me sad. But in the midst of that sadness I realized I have something now I did not have then: the sort of wisdom that comes with experience, and I wished desperately for a way to pass that on to you sister. My sister. I wanted to just be there for her, to linger in the shadows and offer what little I could to help ease the burden of those first weary, bleary-eyed, love-struck days as they all settled into a new reality.

Strangely, all this happened as I cooked dinner for a different new, first-time mom, something I had planned to do before I heard news baby Nolan would be born soon. Even though it was a coincidence, cooking a meal for this other new mom on that same day helped soothe away the sadness I felt for being so far away from our own extended family. As I packed up that dinner and toted it over to her, memories from my own first days of motherhood flooded back. I was surprised and delighted when I realized this time around it was me answering questions about the reality of adjusting to life with babies. I happily answered her with as much truth and encouragement as I could, marveling at the fact that not so long ago I was in her shoes, desperate for wisdom, company, and a hearty meal I didn’t have to cook.

I am in a different place now, feet set firmly in reality and fully awake to the good and the bad and the hard and the easy. When I first became a mother, I was filled with wide-eyed hope that was pure and good, but lacked experience. Motherhood changed me, heart and soul. It brought about something new and beautiful in me, but also revealed the parts of me that are self-centered and ugly. Before I became a mom, I imagined sacrifice would come easy. I thought laying down my own agenda would be a breeze because my baby was my agenda. In some ways, I was right. Instinct took over and the baby came first. But deep down, it wasn’t easy because while the baby’s needs came first, my needs came dead last. And I was ashamed of how that made me feel: jealous, selfish, and guilty because as it turned out, I still cared about what mattered to me.

When I was pregnant with Addie, a trusted friend gently warned me that kids really do change everything, and while it is a good change, it is not an easy one. Motherhood forces you to your knees, she said, and I assumed she meant having kids makes you to pray for your kids a lot. She’s right: it does. Certainly, it does. In hindsight, though, I wonder if she was trying to tell me something else: that motherhood is humbling in a way that strips you down bare, reveals the darkest parts of yourself, parts you either didn’t know were there or wished to keep hidden, and exposes you as you really are: desperate for a savior.

It all starts at delivery, in a very tactile, physical way. Bringing a baby into the world is messy and sticky and for me–humiliating. Spread wide, flayed open, and very much afraid–mothers cry out, desperate for relief. Remember how I cried through that last push that finally delivered Addie into your hands? It ripped me open and wrenched my heart out of its hiding place, finally letting the light of love into places that had never seen it before.

Then when I finally brought my new baby girl home, I wondered how to care for myself, bloody and broken as I was, while caring for my helpless little daughter. Suddenly, I realized how desperately I needed someone to take care of me. I had a child of my own, but I felt like the child who needed tending. I thought I was ready for motherhood: I had read books and talked to friends and stocked the nursery and been praying for this day since I was a little girl. I always wanted to be a mom, and naturally I believed I would be a good one when the time came, beautiful and capable and nurturing and selfless. I didn’t feel like any of those things at first because motherhood didn’t look the way I thought it would for awhile.

In those first few days, friends and family bustled in and out bringing flowers, cards, dinners and cookies, offering support and celebration in beautiful, generous ways. As they marveled at my baby girl, I remember thinking, “What about me?” Even the kindest words meant to build me up weren’t enough to soothe away the feeling that I was a shell of the woman I had been. I dressed my baby girl in pretty little outfits while I wore spit-up stained hand-me-down maternity clothes, my hair disheveled and my still-swollen face bare and stained with tears. I appreciated people coming over and asking how I was, and I also dreaded it. I wanted them to drop food off and I didn’t want them to see me because I still looked pregnant, and I didn’t know that was normal. I wanted to pile my plate high with warm, comforting casseroles and I didn’t want anyone to bring salad. I wanted people to hold the baby for awhile and I also never wanted to let them touch her. I was jealous for her and jealous of her at the same time because she was just so beautiful, and I was a wreck. I was afraid you loved her more than you loved me, and I was afraid your feelings about me had changed in the worst possible way. And in the midst of it all, I felt a sort of love I had never known before, the kind of love that kept me going when all I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and cry.

Things got better, of course, and they weren’t so hard after Mia was born and were better still in the days after Emery arrived. Perhaps I had a bit of post-pardum depression the first time around, or maybe I was just wrestling with the surprising swirl of emotions that come with a new baby. But I suspect by the time I greeted my third baby, humility had done its work and brought about wisdom. In those first few days I felt lost, and so I sought refuge the one place I was certain to find rest. God had already lavished grace upon me, a truth to which we paid tribute in Addie’s middle name: Grace. I had asked specifically for grace when I prayed for this child–pleaded with him for it when I poured out my heart and told Him how desperately I wanted a baby of my own. He heard me then and I was certain He would hear me again. He did.

When Mia was born, I felt far more confident about my role as a mom. I wasn’t afraid of the taking-care-of-a-baby part of motherhood, but I still struggled with selfishness and a tattered self-image. I gained a lot of weight. I was swollen and tired and felt like a very different woman than the one you had married. I struggled to feel good about myself. It was an on-going process that just took time to figure out.

But by the time Emery was born, I knew my still-swollen belly would indeed recede as the weeks wore on. I knew my swollen face would regain its former shape and that the loathed maternity clothes would eventually be replaced with things that made me feel human again. I ate with abandon, not caring one bit what anyone thought about my appetite. I knew your love for me grew deeper and stronger as our family grew. I knew people cared very much about me and that they wouldn’t have come to visit us and see the baby if I didn’t matter to them too. And I knew how to eagerly accept help from people who offered it to me, of whom there were many.

Now, three babies later, I know this: any mother who offers to help a new mom knows how good and amazing and glory-filled and just plain hard these days are.We know how fiercely that baby is loved. We know how a post-delivery body is swollen and painful. We know that nursing takes painful practice, and we know it doesn’t always work out. We know how good a nap sounds. We know how hungry a nursing-mama’s own tummy is for a hearty meal, and we don’t expect her to eat like a bird. We know a slow, warm shower sounds like heaven. We know maternity clothes will continue be the staple of a post-delivery wardrobe for awhile, and we know how much new moms hate that. We know nothing compares to the way it feels to snuggle that precious baby close. We know how freeing it is to let someone else to hold that baby. We know how important it is to be left alone, and we also know how being left alone for too long is isolating. We know the laundry isn’t done and the dishes are dirty and the house is a mess. We know one woman alone cannot possibly be expected to care for herself, her baby, her husband, and her home perfectly (or at all) at the same time. We know a new woman was birthed right along with that baby, and getting to know her is confusing and strange. We know new moms need help. We know, because we were new moms once too.

Falling to my knees in submission to my new role as a mother was humbling, but in his kindness God lifted me up and gave me wisdom, just like he promises he will. And I’m so glad he did because the good stuff is so good. Motherhood is at once more complicated and beautiful than I imagined. The experience of it is unique to each woman, a one-of-a-kind gift to unwrap and enjoy.

Love,

Scratch

BBQ Cornbread Pie

This recipe was inspired by Table for Two‘s BBQ Chicken Cornbread Pie. And ok, really–this is pretty much the same recipe, but I made a few changes based on the contents of my refrigerator and my family’s dietary needs and preferences. I stumbled upon it while looking for a gluten-free-and-dairy-free-but-still-hearty-and-comforting dinner to take to a brand new mom. I remember being hungry in those first weeks (because: nursing), and let’s face it: new moms want comfort food for dinner (right? Or am I alone?). This dish is sort of like Sloppy Joe’s piled high on a bed of cornbread (and drenched in gooey cheese), and it became a fast favorite in our house–especially with Addie, who loves meat (for the win: Mia doesn’t really like meat, but she ate this dinner without complaining, and said she actually enjoyed it). It’s really good with dairy free cheese melted on top (like Daiya cheddar style shreds), but clearly the real thing does the trick here too. If your family doesn’t like bell peppers, leave them out. If they only like red ones, don’t use the green. Add more meat or don’t. Use ground beef or ground turkey. Listen to your cravings and own it.

Ingredients:

For the Cornbread layer

1 cup gluten free yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup gluten free all purpose flour blend
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
pinch kosher salt
2 Tablespoons Vegan Buttery Spread (such as Earth Balance), melted and cooled
1 egg
1 cup unsweetened original Almond Milk (or other non-dairy milk alternative)

For the BBQ layer

3/4 pound ground turkey (or ground beef)
1 medium onion, diced
1/2 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 green bell pepper, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tablespoons brown sugar
1 Tablespoon chili powder
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 cup tomato sauce
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons hot sauce (such as Frank’s Red Hot)
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

For the Topping

2 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese, non-dairy if necessary (depending on how gooey you prefer your cheese)
3 green onions, sliced

Method:

First, preheat the oven to 375 degrees and grease a 9″ pie plate or baking dish.

Now, let’s talk cornbread. Measure the dry ingredients together in a large bowl and give them a good stir. Then, in a smaller bowl, whisk together the egg and almond milk and then add the melted buttery spread. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet, in about three additions, until the mixture is the consistency of cake batter. Pour the batter into the greased baking dish and put it into the preheated oven for 25-30 minutes, or until golden brown on top.

While the cornbread is baking, brown the meat in a glug or two of neutral tasting oil (like grapeseed oil or refined coconut oil). Break up the meat as you go so it gets nice and crumbly. Once cooked through (no pink!), remove the crumbles from the pan and set aside, leaving the drippings in the pan. Over medium heat, toss the onions and bell peppers into the pan and give them a good stir. Let them cook down until soft, about 5 minutes, and then add the minced garlic. Stir the veggies and let them cook until you start to smell the garlic, about two minutes. Add the meat back to the pan and start building the sauce. Pour in the spices and brown sugar and stir to coat the meat and veggie mixture evenly. Add the tomato sauce, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, and red wine vinegar and stir again. Let the mixture simmer for a few minutes until the cornbread is done.

When the cornbread is golden on top, remove it from the oven and click the oven to a high broil. Spread the BBQ meat mixture on top of the still-hot cornbread, then pile it high with cheese. Put the dish under the broiler for a couple of minutes until the cheese is melted and bubbling. Pull it out of the oven before it burns and scatter the green onions on top.

Finding Beauty and Something New at the Farmers Market, and Coconut Lime Beef with Cilantro and Red Cabbage

Leave a comment August 22, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

We finally made it to the Farmer’s Market this summer. It only took us until the first Saturday after school started to make it there. Not everyone was as excited about it as me: Addie crossed her arms and stomped her way to the car, going on about how mean we were for dragging her out of the house and huffing “You said I could color all day” as finally climbed into her seat.

Once we got there, I handed her my phone and asked her if she wanted to take some pictures. It was a desperate move on my part to coax a happy attitude out of her. The last thing I wanted was a grumpy, whiny kid ruining a trip to a place so alive with every color imaginable. Color and beauty speak to this kid and she has a knack for capturing it. Plus, she feels pretty grown up when I let her tinker around with the camera. I knew she’d take the bait.

As we strolled up the deserted aisle, 8:00 in the morning felt early. The tables were still piled high with fruits and vegetables that seemed to glisten in the morning light. Nothing was picked over yet and the sellers greeted us with the sort of smiles I read about in those winsome books about the farm to table movement. I felt like we were part of something big, beautiful and important in those few quiet moments.

I led the girls from stall to stall, pointing out the colors and textures and quizzing them on the names of the things they saw. They swooned over the brilliant red berries, begging to taste as much as they were allowed. They touched and smelled and asked questions as we went. Then, I let each girl pick something special: Addie picked a ruddy heirloom tomato that looked very much like clown lips to her young eyes. Mia picked a pale green bitter melon, a new vegetable for us and one she wasn’t actually keen on tasting after all. But the farmer was so kind to tell us all about it, and his enthusiasm for it must have done its job because she was pretty excited to tell you all about it.

I was not as excited to cook it, to be honest. As I sliced it up, I wondered how I would ever mellow the sharp bite that in my mind screams don’t eat me! But the little mound of scalloped half moons piling up on my cutting board was so pretty I didn’t care about that for a moment: certainly they would just make dinner more beautiful.

They did, and they didn’t. Certainly the colors and textures of that stir fry were far more brilliant than much I’ve made lately, but the sly bitterness of the cute little veggie was not our favorite. Thankfully it didn’t permeate the rest of dinner, because what I came up with was super delicious in its own right.

So hooray for us for getting up and out on an otherwise lazy Saturday morning, for stretching our legs and our culinary muscles and trying something new and different. And hallelujah for a pantry full of ingredients to turn something so-so into something delicious.

Love,

Scratch

Coconut Lime Beef with Cilantro and Red Cabbage

After all that, bitter melon didn’t make it to the ingredient list here, but if you enjoy a challenge (or happen to like bitter melon), it really does work in this recipe. We handled about a half-dozen bites with it until we started plucking the pieces out of our bowls). Like I said before, the bitterness didn’t overpower the flavor of the dish, and what was left was sweet and tangy, mellow and spicy all at the same time. This dish uses Tamari, which is gluten free soy sauce (regular soy sauce uses wheat, a lesson I learned the hard way). Addie likes the beef ok, but the veggies aren’t her favorite yet. Emery liked it all until he got a bite of the bitter melon. And Mia wouldn’t go near this for the life of her.

Ingredients:

For the sauce:

1/4 low sodium Tamari

1/4 white vinegar

5 Tablespoons lime juice (plus more for garnish)

2 T Stevia/erythrytol sweetener blend (like this one) or about 4 T cane sugar

a pinch of kosher salt

For the Stir Fry:

1 pound ground beef

1 medium carrot, jullienned

1/2 medium head red cabbage, sliced (about 5 cups or so)

5 green onions, ends removed and cut into 1″ sections

1/2 medium onion, diced

3 garlic cloves, minced

2/3 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

1/4 cup fresh cilantro, minced (plus more for garnish)

2 Tablespoons unrefined Coconut Oil

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

almond slices, for garnish

Method:

First, prep the veggies and have them cut and ready to go. Next, mix together the sauce; taste it and adjust the sweetness as you go.

Now for the meat: set a large skillet over medium heat. Melt the coconut oil, then add the onions to the pan and cook until they are almost translucent. Next, add the garlic and cook for a few minutes until the it releases its fragrance. Turn the heat up to medium high and add the beef into the pan, squishing it as you go to make nice large pieces of it. Season the beef with the ginger, salt and red pepper flakes.

On to the veggies: crank up the heat to high and add the carrots first, then the cabbage. Cook those two together for a few minutes (3-5) and let them soften a bit. Add the green onions next, then the coconut. Pour in that sauce and let it deglaze the pan. Once the veggies are soft to your liking, add in the cilantro and give it a good stir.

To serve, mound the sweet and spicy goodness into a bowl and top it with more red pepper flakes, a squeeze of lime juice, a sprinkle of cilantro, and almond slices if nuts are your thing.

Finding Beauty and Something New at the Farmers Market, and Stir-Fried Beef with Red Cabbage, Coconut, Lime and Cilantro

Leave a comment August 22, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Love,

Scratch

Stir Fried Beef and Cabbage with Coconut, Lime and Cilantro

Ingredients:

For the sauce:

1/4 low sodium Tamari

1/4 white vinegar

5 Tablespoons lime juice (plus more for garnish)

2 T Stevia/erythrytol sweetener blend (like this one) or about 4 T cane sugar

a pinch of kosher salt

For the Stir Fry:

1 pound ground beef

1 medium carrot, jullienned

1/2 medium head red cabbage, sliced (about 5 cups or so)

5 green onions, ends removed and cut into 1″ sections

1/2 medium onion, diced

3 garlic cloves, minced

2/3 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

1/4 cup fresh cilantro, minced (plus more for garnish)

2 Tablespoons unrefined Coconut Oil

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

almond slices, for garnish

Method:

First, prep the veggies and have them cut and ready to go. Next, mix together the sauce; taste it and adjust the sweetness as you go.

To serve, mound the sweet and spicy goodness into a bowl and top it with more red pepper flakes, a squeeze of lime juice, a sprinkle of cilantro, and almond slices if nuts are your thing.

Comfort Me with Dinner and Kid Friendly Cassoulet

1 Comment August 18, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

This morning when I called Addie into the bathroom to get her hair brushed, she cast a sideways glance at me and asked,”Are you going to cry again today?” I laughed and said, “I hope not, kid. But probably.” The emotion swirling around the first few days of Kindergarten has subsided now, for the most part. We’re off and running now, finding our stride and fully expecting to hit a few bumps along the way.

We made it through the first few mornings of back to school mayhem, and even though it went well, it took a lot out of me. I’m exhausted, aren’t you? Trying to be organized with these three tornadoes swirling around me is laughable. The lazy summer days masked my disorganized self quite well, but the fall semester ripped the cloak right off of me and exposed me for who I am: a disaster. I haven’t showered in two days. (Again. Gross.) and I finally understand what all those moms of school-aged kids meant when they told me to enjoy the pajama-clad, messy-bun days at home with little bitty babies while I could. They were right: those days are a cake walk compared to these new bigger-kid days. Back then the only one who saw me unshowered was you. Now the world sees me as I really am.

Plus, organizing the girls’ schedules and toting them from here to there dressed, fed and on time– with a baby in tow–is tough. Forget getting myself ready: making sure everyone else is ready to go at the same time, with everything they need, while they all still need me to do so much for them is the priority. Add to that my guilt over how much time Emery spends riding in the car now along with the heartbreak that comes flooding in when I scoop him up from his nap on the way to pick Addie up from school, and I have a whole new batch of mommy exhaustion and guilt.

Never mind the fact that I still, somehow, in the middle of all this have to make dinner. For weeks leading up to the first day of school, I had plans to have a big, comfort-food laden meal welcoming us all home and into evening hours with peace and comfort, anchoring us all to each other again after the first of many days ahead spent going our separate ways. By 3:00 that afternoon, though, I still didn’t have the slightest idea what to cook. I let guilt over that taunt me for a few minutes, until the idea of warming up leftover beans and quinoa (again) was too much to handle. So I opened the fridge, poked around, and found a pack of Italian Sausages smiling up at me practically begging to be cooked. I thought about the way Addie inhales deeply, sighing “What smells so good?” whenever I cook them, and I realized Cassoulet was the perfect solution for this unprepared mother’s lofty ideals of a comforting family meal.

I browned those sausages and chopped up carrots and sauteed onions and garlic, happily listening to Addie chatter about her adventures of the day, nodding and murmuring Oh really? How cool! as I did so. A few minutes of this and she stopped mid-sentence, clearly catching a whiff of the magical combination of onions and garlic and asked with a smirk, “What’s for dinner?” Those words make my heart sing because what I’m really hearing is “Comfort me with dinner.”

We actually sat down at the table together on the first day of school–all five of us–and ate the same thing at the same time. There were a few tense moments of course, because our children are normal and young and protest if they are given anything other than noodles. But overall, it was wonderful. It slowed us down and helped us connect. The best part wasn’t even the food: when it was Mia’s turn to share her High Point from her day, she looked up from her plate and smiled, saying, “Right now.”

In those few minutes, I was filled with a new appreciation for what dinnertime could be in the coming years: a daily ritual of comfort, all of us together, connected and fed in more ways than one. What kid wouldn’t look forward to coming home from school to that?

That is, if I can get organized and figure out what to cook.

Love,

Scratch

Kid Friendly Cassoulet (GF/DF/NF)

Addie can’t seem to remember the name of this dish (I can’t blame her. Cassoulet is a sort of tricky word for a 5 year old), but she oohs and ahhs when I tell her I’m making sausage and bean stew, which is pretty much what this is–and an easy one at that. I tend to have the ingredients around most of the time and can toss it together quickly. The food is simple, but the flavors are fantastic, and all my children really do eat this. It is both gluten and dairy free, which makes it easier to get us all eating the same thing. I go easy on the thyme because any more of it overpowers the other flavors for me, but if you love the stuff, then by all means, add more. But whatever you do, don’t leave out the red wine vinegar. It makes all the other flavors come alive.

Ingredients:

6 Italian sausages, uncooked
2-13.5 cans diced tomatoes (juices included)
2-13.5 ounce cans Great Northern Beans, drained
2 medium carrots, peeled and diced to 1/4 cubes or so
1 large yellow onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tablespoons tomato paste
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon thyme
a few glugs of olive oil

Method:

In a dutch oven, warm up the olive oil over medium high heat. Line the sausages up in the pan and let them turn deep golden brown on both sides, about 2-3 minutes per side. Remove the sausages to a separate plate and lower the heat to medium. Toss in the onions and stir them around a bit, coating them in all those delicious sausage drippings. Cook them a few minutes so that they soften and start to turn translucent. Then, turn the heat down to medium low and toss in the garlic. In a minute or two you’ll start to smell the garlic; at that point add in the carrots and cook to soften a little, about 3-4 minutes. Sprinkle in the thyme and salt, then add in the tomatoes, tomato paste and red wine vinegar. Stir everything together and turn up the heat to medium. When the mixture begins to bubble, add in the drained beans and gently stir again. Slip the sausages from their plate back into the pan, along with any juice they’ve left behind, and nestle them in with the beans and veggies. When the stew starts to bubble, put the lid on top and put the whole thing in the oven. Leave it there for 40 minutes. After 30 minutes have passed, take the lid off, but keep the dish in the oven for another 45 minutes or so, until the sauce has thickened up and carmelized.

This would be fantastic served with crusty bread, clearly. But since I haven’t mastered the art of the gluten free loaf yet, we served it with roasted cauliflower and a simple cucumber tomato salad.

Date Night In and Sheet Pan Chicken Nachos

1 Comment August 1, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Date nights for us are a little different now than they were before we were married. In those days, we could act on impulse and just go, destination to be determined.

Remember that night we found ourselves at that cute little corner diner in Palo Alto at 11:00 at night? It felt just a little bit naughty, being out that late on a work night, but what did we care? Sleeping didn’t seem so important as we cradled those thick ceramic mugs of coffee and talked about how out of place we felt surrounded by all those Stanford undergrads.

These days, date nights are far more predictable. Once the kids are in bed, I take care of dinner–easy, because it’s late. Last night: Chicken Nachos, as per usual. You’re in charge of drinks, sometimes tossing me a can of sparkling water and other times serving icy cold margaritas in tall glasses rimmed with salted. We scroll through Netflix together, trying to break out of the norm and choose something new, but more often than not we end up back on The Office, like last night. We’re flirting with boring, I suppose.

But how much fun was it watching Jim and Pam finally find their way to each other, me unsuccessful at stifling my ugly cry, and you laughing at the sight, like you always do? I giggled with you, of course, feeling silly for being so sentimental, but I couldn’t help it. I relate to Pam, how it took her so very long to recognize the depth of her feelings for Jim. Watching her grow and change and take risks until finally the two of them collide? It moves me.

Admit it: you got a little nostalgic too. When Pam’s face lights up after Jim says, “Then it’s a date” you flashed me a silly grin and talked about the way it felt to hear me finally say yes to you after all that time. You put your feelings for me behind you too, just like Jim, and when my heart toward you turned tender, you realized your own heart never changed a bit. You loved me before I loved you.

Can you blame me for the ugly cry?

So what if we don’t go out on midnight drives to find quirky little spots to sit together and talk about stuff? I know it’s not nearly as adventurous, but I think dates at home with you are just as awesome in their own way.

Love,
Scratch

Sheet Pan Chicken Nachos

I can only loosely call this a recipe because there are no real measurements and the ingredients list is flexible. It is the equipment and method that matter here: a sheet pan, broiler, tortilla chips and an endless variety of ways to paint the canvas, so to speak. Shredded chicken with green onions, lime wedges, and Green Dragon hot sauce is our own favorite, but we like seasoned ground beef with tomatoes, too.

Ingredients:

Tortilla Chips, enough to cover the sheet pan
2 cups or so of shredded Mexican Blend Cheese
1-2 cups chicken, already cooked and shredded
3 green onions, sliced
Several dollops of sour cream
Juice from half a lime, or more to taste
Trader Joe’s Green Dragon Hot Sauce — the more the better, of course

Method:

First, click your broiler on to high. This will help the oven heat up and melt the cheese quicker than if the pan goes under a just-turned-on-broiler.

Next, cover a sheet pan with aluminum foil. (This is to ensure a quick clean up. If you like scrubbing charred cheese off of your sheet pans, then skip this step.) Cover it with a good coating of non-stick spray so the nachos don’t fuse with the foil.

Spread tortilla chips over the pan, scooting them together to obscure all the foil. Then, cover with as much cheese as you like. We tend to like about 2 cups. Next, sprinkle on the chicken.

Pop the pan into the broiler and close the oven door–but don’t go away. Keep a close eye on it because it goes fast. Once the cheese is melted and bubbly, pull the pan out.

Scatter the onions on top of the melted cheese, squeeze the lime, and dollop the sour cream. The finishing touch is the hot sauce.

Date night done.