THM S)

1 Comment January 10, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

After I so rudely introduced a new favorite chocolate chip cookie to our household, I’m cutting us off for awhile. Into the freezer they went, ready to give to the Goobies as a treat every once in awhile, but out of reach enough to not be tempting anymore.

I admire your willpower, Josef. You make up your mind about something and ding! It’s done. Over. No wavering. Me? I’m easier to sway, particularly when it comes to food.

Maybe that’s why when I first suggested trying out that Trim Healthy Mama plan, you were confident while I was resistant. Giving up sugar? Really? I think it was the lure of bacon that convinced you this diet plan might be worth a try. Bacon doesn’t move me the same way it moves you. Give me big bowl of buttery popcorn or a bar of dark chocolate and I’m your girl, but bacon? Meh.

Nearly two years ago, I latched on to the idea that the Trim Healthy Mama plan would be the ticket to ridding my body of the dreaded baby weight–four weeks after giving birth. I presented the idea to you, mainly because if I was going to start the plan, I needed your support because otherwise I’d cave in to my buttery popcorn cravings far too often if I didn’t have you keeping me accountable. Lucky me, you were so supportive that you even wanted to start the plan yourself.

A week into the thing I was snippy, ravenous, and mean. It might have had something to do with cutting out sugar, true: but I think it may have had something to do with being five weeks postpartum, nursing, and sleep deprived. Trying to figure out this new diet plan pushed my already emotional self into an even deeper level of desperation.

But I started to shrink. You did too.

Maybe it had something to do with having just delivered a baby (because bodies have a tendency to shrink after that…), or maybe it had something to do with nursing around the clock (because bodies have a tendency to shrink because of that…), or maybe it had to do with choosing to feed myself in a new way. To be honest, I’m still not sure.

What I do know for sure, though, is that once the ball got rolling, the baby weight (and then some) did indeed come off–for both of us, actually. Pretty soon this new way of feeding ourselves was all you could talk about. I remember watching people’s faces as you tried very hard to explain exactly what we were doing to cause such a shift in our food life and pant size: their eyebrows would furrow with disbelief even as their lips twisted into a bemused smile when you admitted both healthy fats and good carbs were central tenets to this particular way of eating. The Hot Mama Diet, you called it, a name both playful and totally wrong. I’d laugh and correct you: Trim Healthy Mama (THM). And others would go on their way with real information to look up on their own time.

Since then–almost two years ago–I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the plan, and so have you. The lingo of THM bothers you (which is part of why you started calling it the Hot Mama Diet–that, at least, makes you chuckle). You also love the way the food tastes, the way it fills you up, and how you leave the table satisfied and well-nourished. I love the way THM promotes whole, unprocessed, real deal superfoods. I don’t love the way it relies heavily on very processed supplements (like glucomannan and psyllium husks) to make low-carb renditions of foods that in my own opinion aren’t exactly “bad” in the first place (like pudding. And bread.) I love that it encourages us to fuel our bodies with both healthy fats and good carbs, both. I don’t love that it makes us separate them to be able to lose weight (but…it really does work). I love that once weight loss is achieved, a smear of butter (or Earth Balance, these days) melting into a sweet potato doesn’t do any harm at all.

For the most part, we’re pretty devoted to this way of eating. We don’t freak out about having a few grams of sugar here and there in our regular every day diets (like the little bit that’s in our almond milk coffee creamer), and we most certainly eat nachos piled high with cheese and sour cream late at night on weekends while the kids are sleeping and the Warriors are playing, because that’s just how it goes around here sometimes.

Our tenets of the Hot Mama Diet are easy: eat healthy, real, not scientifically fabricated foods instead of junk. Use alternative flours (like almond flour and coconut flour) when we can, but don’t stress out to much about using gluten free whole grain flour blends for baking (because really, the kids eat most of the muffins around here anyway). Limit sugar (and use stevia or stevia blends instead). Go easy on good fats in a carb-heavy meal (like this super light Herbed Chicken and Quinoa Salad and Cucumber Ribbons), and vice versa for richer, more decadent meals, like that Cilantro Lime Ground Turkey with Cauliflower Rice that swims in thick, creamy coconut milk.

Our “diet plan” isn’t really so much of a set of rules as it is a way of thinking about food and choosing to feed ourselves well. And so, in celebration of a new year and renewed commitment (and your success this week), I’m going to keep your favorites coming. It’s an easy way for me to stay motivated because let’s face it: food is my love language. Well, that and words of affirmation, and when I make food that makes you lavish praise upon me? I’m smitten.

Love,

Scratch

Cilantro Lime Ground Turkey (GF/DF/NF/THM S)

One of Joey’s Top 5 Favorite Meals Ever, this is a simple dish that is, again, very quick to throw together. The possibilities here are endless, because these flavors–while fantastic just as they are–could also act as a canvas against which you can add your own finishing touches. Toss in some snow peas and carrots if you want to. Sprinkle in a little ginger and see what happens. Have some curry paste? Sure, throw it in. Serve it over cauliflower rice to be THM approved, or lavish it over brown rice and don’t beat yourself up about it. If you want to lighten it up a bit, use light coconut milk instead of full fat. Either works just fine, of course–but we prefer the full fat version.

Ingredients:

1 Tablespoon coconut oil
6 green onions, sliced (diagonally, if you’re feeling fancy)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound ground turkey
1-13.5 oz. can full fat coconut milk
1/4 cup fresh lime juice (the juice of 2-3 limes, depending on size)
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
zest of one lime
red chili flakes

Method:

Melt the coconut oil over medium heat, then add the green onions and saute for two minutes or so, until you start smelling the onions and they begin to soften. Add the garlic and cook for another minute or two, again–until they’re soft and fragrant, but not golden.

Next, turn up the heat to high and immediately crumble in the ground turkey. Sprinkle in the salt and cook, tossing together with the onions and garlic until the meat is no longer pink. Lower the heat to medium high and pour in the coconut milk, lime juice, and cilantro. Stir it all together, scraping up any brown bits from the bottom of the pan as you go. Once combined, toss in the lime zest and red chili flakes (about 1/2 teaspoon or so, more or less depending on how much heat you like). Turn the heat back up to high and cook the sauce for a few minutes–maybe three or so, so that it begins to reduce and thicken slightly.

You may stop here, if you like, and ladle the sauce over steamed rice, cauliflower rice, or even rice noodles–but you may want to thicken the sauce a bit before you do. If that’s you, read on.

You have a couple of choices about which way to thicken the sauce. If you want to use what I will call the “approved” THM method (meaning, a method of thickening a sauce without adding any carbohydrates), sprinkle glucommanan little by little directly over the sauce while it’s still warm and in the pan, and whisk well after each addition. But, if you’re like me and think glucomannan makes food just a little too slimy, go the Hot Mama route and use a little bit of corn starch, for goodness sake. Mix 1 Tablespoon of corn starch* with cold water, pour it right into the pan, and whisk quickly until the sauce thickens (it will go fast!). Cook another minute or two, and then serve.

*There are only 7 carbs in one tablespoon of cornstarch, and if that’s all I’m using in the whole recipe? I don’t stress about it. Neither should you.

What Soup and Silence Have in Common, and My Mom’s Taco Soup

Leave a comment January 8, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I keep trying to come up with something to say, something whimsical and deep about how moved I am by the sound of raindrops outside our window and how it makes me want to make a big pot of soup, just like my mom used to do.

The words just aren’t coming today. I am met with silence instead. And so, instead of forcing words to bend to my will, I will bend to theirs and go lay down for a few minutes.

I will not worry about a dinner yet uncooked (and, ahem, unplanned). I will not let mental list-making hijack the quiet. I will not feel guilty about leaving the laundry alone for a few minutes, and I won’t beat myself up about the Goobie girls spending a little time on their Kindles. I won’t pester you while you watch football or The Martian or whatever it is you currently have on the TV, and I will not feel like a bad mother for not having a pot of soup simmering on the stove on a rainy, gray day like today.

Instead, I will rest. We will all be in our separate corners for a little while, recharging our batteries in our own little ways, and we’ll all be a little better for it.

Though nothing soothes like homemade soup, a little peace and quiet can be powerful in its own way–maybe even just as healing.

Love,

Scratch

My Mom’s Taco Soup, Reimagined (GF/DF/NF)

This is one of the tastiest, easiest, I-don’t-miss-the-dairy-one-bit recipes I’ve got in my arsenal. I based the recipe on my mom’s recipe for Taco Soup, one of my all time favorite meals — when served with gooey cheese, sour cream and corn chips, of course. My mom’s original recipe relied on condensed tomato soup and cream of mushroom soup (both allergy offenders in our house), a big can of Ranch Style Beans, and a packet of taco seasoning. The perils of pre-packaged, overly processed foods weren’t nearly as wide known when I was a child, but gosh did those ingredients make this soup an easy one to throw together (which is why I imagine this recipe calls for them–it was a quick-to-throw-together crowd pleaser). I craved the soup a few months ago, so I set out to recreate my mom’s recipe on a rainy Sunday afternoon much like this one, using ingredients my whole family could eat. The recipe that follows is dairy and gluten free as written, but of course shredded cheddar cheese and sour cream takes it from delicious to YUM. Throw in some corn chips if a little junk food doesn’t bug you–that’s the way we ate it when I was growing up, and my oh my, how I loved it.

Ingredients:

Grape seed oil (or refined coconut oil or canola oil)
2 medium yellow onions, diced
2 green bell pepper, diced
2 pounds ground turkey (or ground beef. Either works.)
1/2 cup homemade taco seasoning (like this one from Heavenly Homemakers)
6 cups beef broth
2 cup unsweetened, unflavored rice milk (or dairy milk works too)
2-13.5 oz. can tomato sauce
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
2 cans black beans, drained (or pinto beans, or great northern beans– whatever you have)
1 cup frozen corn

Method:

Over medium high heat, gently warm up a couple tablespoons of oil or so in a big soup pot or large dutch oven. Add the diced onions and bell pepper and cook until softened but not carmelized, about 5 minutes. Add the ground turkey (or beef) to the pot, right on top of the veggies, and then toss in the taco seasoning. Stir the veggies, meat and spices together, cooking as you go. When the meat is no longer pink, add the broth, rice milk, and tomato sauce, along with the red wine vinegar, salt and sugar. Stir to combine. Bring the soup to a boil, then simmer about 30 minutes or so to let the flavors mingle. When just about ready to serve, add the beans and corn and simmer for five more minutes until they warm through. Top with cheese and sour cream if you like. (Emery particularly enjoys his with shredded Daiya cheddar style shredded vegan cheese.)

On Transitioning to a Gluten Free Kitchen and My Favorite Gluten Free Flour Blend

6 Comments January 4, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

It’s a new year, and I am inspired to make life a little easier on myself. I felt frayed and scraggly by the time we said goodbye to 2016, and I don’t want to continue to live that way in 2017. I’m ready to usher in a little peace around here.

One way I plan to do that is to get honest about what works for me and what just makes things harder–you know: that whole work smarter, not harder sort of thing. I wish I could say I did a major overhaul of our household and got totally organized and efficient in the course of a few days, but that’s not even remotely true. What I have done, though, is make a decision to make things easier on myself in the kitchen, to start with. Since I spend such a large portion of my day there, it makes sense to start there I think.

Up until a few months ago, we had a mostly gluten free kitchen, but a not completely gluten free kitchen. Let’s face facts here: this is a drag. Using two knives to make almond butter sandwiches at lunchtime–one for the wheat bread and another for my gluten free bread–got tiresome. Also, I noticed the kids started requesting the gluten free crackers I bought for myself–and stopped eating those golden little circle crackers they used to love so much. They didn’t notice when I switched everyone over to gluten free pasta, nor did they care when corn tortillas started showing up on their plates on taco night.

So I made a big decision: for the most part, I kicked gluten to the curb for everyone else a few months ago, and I didn’t breathe a word of it to you until now. Wouldn’t you know it? No one even noticed or cared. (Do you think the same would be true if I switched to only buying Emery’s beloved vegan cheese? If only. ) I admit when the end of the month comes and the cupboards are bare, I have been known to grab a loaf of regular old wheat bread so I can still send Addie to school with a sandwich. But overall, switching everyone over to a gluten free diet is working for me. For us. And so, it is going to continue well into 2017 and beyond.

So today, in celebration of setting myself up for a less-harried new year, I’m sharing the recipe for my favorite gluten free flour blend. I used to buy pre-mixed bags of overpriced, not-super-great combinations that didn’t yield reliable results, but now, I only ever use this mix. It works great for everything: muffins, cookies, pizza dough, biscuits–the list goes on. Maybe it’ll help another family discover going gluten free isn’t quite as difficult as they thought it might be. And making life easier? I’m all about that this year.

My Go-To Gluten Free Flour Blends

Here it is: the recipe I use to make my own gluten free flour blend at home. This blend originates from Kelli and Peter Bronski’s Artisinal Gluten Free Cooking, the book that educated me and empowered me when I first hobbled my way around a gluten free kitchen. Their original flour blend calls for corn starch, potato starch and potato flour, but offers arrowroot starch and tapioca starch as substitutes, options I always use when blending my flour. I use Bob’s Red Mill Brand for all the flours–they’re easy to find and aren’t terribly expensive, though they are more pricey that wheat flour. The original recipe didn’t give weight measurements for arrowroot flour or tapioca starch, but I’ve provided those measurements below because it makes whipping this blend together faster and more efficient for me, and I need a lot of faster and more efficient in my life right now.

Equipment:

Flour keeper (like this one, which I have and love) OR a large airtight container in which to store the flour blend
Large mixing bowl (unless you have a flour keeper like the one above)
Balloon whisk
Digital kitchen scale with metric function (like this one, which I have and love)

Gluten Free All Purpose Flour

Ingredients:

625 grams / 5 cups brown rice flour
350 grams / 3 cups sorghum flour
220 grams / 1 3/4 cups arrowroot starch
160 grams / 1 1/3 cups tapioca starch
14 grams / 1 Tablespoon + 1 teaspoon xanthan gum

Before You Begin:

Make sure you have the right equipment to make and store the flour blend before you get down to the business of measuring and mixing. None of the equipment I’ve listed above is particularly fancy–but all of it helps make quick work of an otherwise messy, tiresome process.

I mix the flour blend right inside of my flour keeper, but you can mix up a batch in a big bowl and then scoop it into another large, air tight container too. Also, I use a digital kitchen scale to make sure my measurements are accurate. If you don’t have one, use regular measuring cups and measuring spoons (and ask for one for your next birthday).

Method:

Place your flour container on top of a digital kitchen scale and switch to the metric measurement setting. Pour the flours into the container one by one, stopping when you reach the correct measurement for that particular ingredient. Press the “zero” button on your scale before adding each subsequent ingredient so that the weight shown is only for the ingredient being added. Once all ingredients are in the container, whisk well. Tightly close the lid and shake well too, so as to evenly distribute all ingredients. Store in a cool, dry place.

Gluten Free Cake Flour

Ingredients:

975 grams / 8 cups white rice flour
220 grams / 1 3/4 cups arrowroot starch
160 grams / 1 1/3 cups tapioca starch
14 grams / 1 Tablespoon + 1 teaspoon xanthan gum

Follow the same method as gluten free all purpose flour above.

A New Year’s Eve Tradition and Mema’s Green Chili Cheese Dip

Leave a comment January 4, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I think we made a good decision when we chose to put off our own New Year’s Eve tradition in favor of letting the Goobies stay up a little bit later than usual to get a taste of what New Year’s Eve is all about.

We usually make Shrimp & Grits and kick off our annual Harry Potter movie marathon on New Year’s Eve, a tradition we started a few years ago when it became clear we were the sort of people who used to go out on New Year’s Eve, but have traded in our party shoes for slippers. (Things really changed once we had kids, didn’t they?) It occurred to me on New Year’s Eve morning this year that our kids didn’t really know what New Year’s Eve was, let alone realize it was that same day. I tested this thought at the breakfast table, excitedly prodding them, “Who knows what today is?!”

Blank stares.

“Saturday?” It might have been Addie who asked this, but I don’t remember. I do remember thinking I was right. How can they not know what New Year’s Eve is? What kind of parents are we that we haven’t even mentioned this before?

“Yes, it is Saturday. But it’s also….NEW YEAR’S EVE!”

More blank stares.

Mia tentatively asked, “So what do we do to celebrate?”

And it was that question, right there that wriggled its way between my excitement over Harry Potter and my deep desire to cultivate a culture of celebration in our family. These kids are young, yes–but aren’t they too old to send to bed without marking the occasion in some small way? If we don’t show them what New Year’s Eve is all about this year, we will have to wait a whole year to introduce it, and Addie will be seven years old by then. I felt it grow inside, that pesky feeling that I had to act now or miss my chance, and that the opportunity to weave another strand of tradition into our family life was there right then, and really? How long do we have until these Goobies want to spend New Year’s Eve with their friends, and not us? The time is now, I thought.

So we threw together a plan for our own family New Year’s Eve party–nothing fancy, but different enough from a normal night to make it feel special and fun. Central to this party was the idea of tradition–something that connects us as a family to our collective past and forges a bridge into our future, a bridge that we’ll keep building as we grow and change and step into the first few days of a still-hazy 2017.

Maybe that’s why your mom made sure to keep her New Year’s Eve offerings consistent every year: bridge building. Her traditions led you from one year to the next, first then and next, now. Maybe she knew that all that time ago when her her Green Chili Cheese Dip and Sweet and Sour Little Links showed up at the table while that funky 1960 rendition of H.G. Well’s The Time Machine flickered on the TV. Those things were constants for you then, and perhaps that’s why it felt right and good to make the same party snacks for our family this year–because traditions connect our individual pasts with our collective future.

Logistically speaking, cheesy dip is sort of a nightmare to serve with a kid who has a dairy allergy. But Emery was sick on New Year’s Eve and he took a nap straight through the dinner hour–a serendipitous coincidence that allowed our girls to enjoy that dip without any of us having to worry about Emery being around it. We taught the girls how to play Charades while we knelt around the coffee table and nibbled our way through dinner. By the time Emery woke up, we had all had our fill of dinner snacks and Emery joined in the fun of making s’mores around the fire and watching the Peanuts movie (which we had to explain to Mia wasn’t really about peanuts at all). All five of us piled on top of each other on our too-small-for-us-all couch and giggled our way through the evening. By 8:30, everyone was in bed but us, and we toasted to the new year in our pajamas, watching Food Network reruns while the fire petered out.

And so, we said goodbye to 2016 in peace, not feeling guilty or pressured, soaking up the joy of what we had right around us, and in the process, I think it’s safe to say we started a new tradition. Perhaps it’s not flashy or exciting, but it’s ours–and that’s what matters the most.

Love,

Scratch

P.S.–We collapsed on the couch with big bowls of Shrimp & Grits last night instead–on New Year’s Day after the Goobies were in bed. They crashed early, after being up late the night before and in preparation for going back to school in the morning. We turned on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and geeked out (well, I did, at least), and fell asleep right as Hermione Granger is figuring out who Nicolas Flamel actually is, and totally missed midnight. I think we’re both ok with that being our new tradition, too.

Mema’s Green Chili Cheese Dip

This is the dip my mother in law made every year for New Year’s Eve–and still does, if I’m not mistaken. It’s a constant in Joey’s memory of the way he spent New Year’s Eve as a child: eating dip and little smokies while watching the 1960 version of H.G. Well’s The Time Machine, so it’s no surprise this is what he requested when we talked about starting a New Year’s Eve tradition for our own family. I admit this recipe deviates from the original a bit, meaning mainly that this one is gluten free. That famous national brand of Cream of Mushroom soup (you know the one) is made with wheat flour, which poses a problem for people like me. But Pacific Foods makes a fantastic gluten free version that works just as well as that other brand, and it’s made with organic ingredients, too. Use mild cheddar cheese — it melts beautifully into the soup and stays creamy. Add more cheese if you like it even cheesier, but Joey gives the amount listed here two thumbs up. Also, this dip is mild as can be, so add hot sauce if you want things to be spicy.

Ingredients:

2-12 oz. boxes Pacific Foods Organic Cream of Mushroom Soup (or 2-10.5 oz. cans conventional cream of mushroom soup, such as Campbell’s)
2-4 oz. cans fire roasted green chiles
1 cup milk (we used 2% milk, but use what you prefer)
12 oz. shredded mild cheddar cheese

Method:

In a large saucepan over medium-high heat, mix together the soup, chiles and milk. Heat for a few minutes, until warm and steaming. Add the cheese, about a cup at a time, and whisk until melted and combined. Heat thoroughly–the dip will bubble up around the rim of the pan when it’s ready to pour into a serving bowl*.

*Joey says his mom always serves this dip straight out of a small crock pot to keep it warm and gooey, but we fared just fine using a regular serving bowl. You might need to reheat the dip a bit as it sits, but it stays nice and smooth at room temperature.

Joy Glories in the Mess, and Joey’s Kettle Corn

Leave a comment January 2, 2017 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

The new year came quickly and I wasn’t ready, like a friend called suddenly to say they’d be over in five minutes and I still had yet to shower. This isn’t a good time, I wanted to say. Can’t you give me another week or two? The answer was of course, No. I’m already on my way.

And now the new year is here and I’m tired. The past several weeks took a lot out of me–how about you? Christmastime is the season of peace and joy, but as we entered into it, both eluded me at first, and I tried hard to construct the illusion of joy for our kids, because I didn’t want them to miss Christmas just because I was feeling funky, you know? The further into the season we got, though, I realized that joy doesn’t suddenly show up when the Christmas lights begin to cast a magic spell over the neighborhood. It isn’t a decoration to dig out and put on display for a few weeks, only to be tucked away again for the rest of the year. It’s not a knickknack to or an ornament or a garland or a star–because joy isn’t an exterior embellishment. Joy lives underneath it all, swirls around it and flows out from beneath those things, like caramel. Real joy pours out of a heart deeply moved by and secure in the love of God.

Two weeks ago, I lost sight of all this again. It was already the middle of December and Christmas was only 11 days away and we had only just started ticking things off our long list the day before. I spent that day running, quite literally, from sun up until sun down, showing up with a smile and spreading myself too thin in the process, perhaps. I forgot to set my alarm that morning, which means I didn’t take a shower before slipping on yesterday’s jeans, throwing my hair in a bun and running from one thing to the next. I pushed and ran and hurried and kept smiling, singing Christmas songs at the top of my lungs while I zigzagged across town with Emery in tow, both of us hungry and on the verge of grumpy.

Of course, in my rush to get out the door that morning I forgot to feed myself. I had snacks for Emery at least, but graham crackers and apple squeezers get tiresome, I imagine, especially when all the other kids are eating pizza and cookies and cake. After wrangling the poor kid away from all those allergens, I realized I’d need to feed him somehow before we headed over to Addie’s party later that afternoon. And so, I ushered us over to Costco because I could both squeeze in an errand and get him a hot dog. When we pulled into the parking lot, I gave my mom a quick call and launched question after Christmas question to her, trying to figure out details and make the words from my mouth catch up with the words in my brain, until I had to stop mid sentence to say, “Hang on. I have to lick frosting off of my purse.” My mom laughed, and it woke me up, I think. It broke the tension inside and helped me remember that sometimes, the right thing to do is to slow down long enough to taste the sweetness of the what surrounds me.

Boy, was that day a mess. And gracious me, how sweet it was too. Back to back Christmas parties with our girls, the freedom to celebrate the birth of our Savior, the permission (and encouragement!) to bring Emery along with me, the warm beds waiting at the end of the day, and just-as-worn-out-faces of friends who had to pull double duty that day too. Walking this harried road is a whole lot less lonely when there are people walking with me, because they are a safe place to be honest about how I have to choose joy because it doesn’t always show up on its own. More often than not, I live in a state of panic, afraid that my strained efforts at nurturing joyful kids will return void. I am afraid I am failing.

The choice I had to make in the middle of that messy, tiring day was whether or not I would let the joy spill out in the middle of the mess. Would I focus only on the imperfect world around me and keep my joy locked away, hidden because I was tired? Or would I let it free to leap out of my heart, wild and beautiful and ready to be shared? I chose joy, I’m happy to say, and what’s even better? Peace came too. The two settled in with us and beckoned us to play with them for the rest of the Christmas season, and so we played outside on a cold, icy morning.

We made popcorn and gingerbread houses and played Ring Around the Rosie in Sausalito and ate fancy Macaroons at Miette.

We baked Spritz cookies first thing on Christmas Eve morning–a last minute decision that was beautiful, delicious, and totally worth the mess.

We crammed family around our tiny kitchen table for leftovers and pie.

We shaped pizza dough into a snowman, a candy cane, a Christmas tree, and a star to celebrate the star of this whole show–Jesus.

On Christmas morning, we ate a store bought breakfast off of dollar store plates so we could get to church without fussing in the kitchen first thing in the morning.

And we spent the day ripping open presents that remind us of the greatest gift that’s ever been given.

The joy and peace we sing about all season long–it came, it lingered, and I pray it stays. There was rush and there was scurry, along with doubt and disappointment, but there was also stay and play, rest and enjoy. Immerse yourself in joy, the season seemed to whisper, because that’s what it’s all about. Isn’t that what the Angel said, all those years ago when Christmas first began? “Don’t be afraid!” he said, “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people”(Luke 2:10). I was afraid, but then I found joy. Not feigned or forced–but real, true joy.

Christmas isn’t about constructing the illusion of joy. It’s not about spreading ourselves thin chasing a fantasy of what we think Christmas should be, sacrificing the reality of what we have at home in the process. Shielding the kids from disappointment or pushing them to smile just one more time so we can get a flawless picture is nonsense. Joy glories in the messes of life, after all.

Sometimes the message of great joy is wrapped up in messy buns and rumpled jeans. Sometimes joy bursts out, bright and shiny by licking frosting off your purse instead of freaking out over an empty sleeve of wipes. Sometimes it’s making a double batch of kettle corn and watching a gaggle of kids break into song, dancing and proclaiming the glory of the baby king. Sometimes, choosing joy looks like disappointment at first, like saying no to a fancy night out and staying home, pajama-clad and tenderly rocking a feverish child to sleep instead. Saying no to fear, to the sense that all is not well within me, and instead saying yes to the idea that joy is mine when I accept the gift of Christmas–the gift of Jesus–that’s when joy starts to leak out.

Joy is always best put on display when the story of the Christ child that dwells inside of a heart tender to Him swells and spills over out into the world He came for.

Love,

Scratch

Joey’s Kettlecorn

Joey and I host House Church in our home this year, and our little group has more food allergies than its fair share (but at least misery loves company, right?). We made a batch of Joey’s kettle corn one Sunday because everyone could eat it–and happily, everyone did. Our group can go through two batches of the stuff and still wish there was more around, but when it’s just Joey and I, a single batch suffices. He came up with this method years ago and it’s still one of our favorites. You can use coconut oil instead of canola oil–just warm it a bit before pouring it into your measuring cup. Joey prefers to use canola because it’s easy, so that’s what I’ve written here. Also, if you don’t have a Whirley-Pop, I don’t know how to help you, except to say that we love our funky red one and have been using it every single week since we got married, so it’s worth a small investment to get one if you really love making popcorn at home. House Church Family, this one’s for you. We wish you a merry Christmas (and a happy new year!)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup popcorn kernels (we like Trader Joe’s organic popping corn best)
2 T canola oil
granulated sugar (a little more than 1 Tablespoon)
kosher salt, to taste

Method:

First, get your equipment ready. Put a Whirley-Pop on the stove–lid open please–and make sure you have a big bowl close by. Next, measure 1/2 cup popcorn kernels and set aside. Then, measure 2 Tablespoons of canola oil in an angled liquid measuring cup (like this one from Oxo, which I have and love) and spoon granulated sugar into the same measuring cup until the oil reaches the 3 Tablespoon mark. At that point, stir the oil and sugar together, mixing it up into a slurry.

Next, turn the stove onto high heat and pour the oil/sugar mixture into the bottom of the pan, followed by the unpopped popcorn kernels. Close the lid, and wind the handle, spinning it round and round so the sugar and kernels don’t burn. Keep winding the handle, and have patience. Before long, the kernels will begin to pop–keep winding the handle until the popping slows down and you can count two or three seconds between pops.

Pour the hot popped corn into a large bowl and promptly sprinkle with salt. Fiddle around with it a bit–sprinkle some on, toss, and taste. If it’s not salty enough for you, sprinkle a little more on, toss and taste, and so forth until you reach popcorn perfection.

Walking Hand in Hand, and Ms. Joni’s Shrimp Cocktail

1 Comment December 2, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

Remember that sweet elderly couple, the one that always holds hands while walking the long stretch of sidewalk that hugs the hills? I used to drive by them on my way to drop the girls off at preschool, and they were always there, at 8:00 sharp. Forget the clock: I could tell whether I was running late or not by how far down the street they were by the time I passed them. The closer they were to Walgreens, the later I was. I haven’t seen them in awhile.

I mentioned this to you on our way to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving this year. I miss seeing them, partly because their absence made me wonder why they weren’t walking together anymore. At their age, it’s hard not to wonder if they are putting feet to the “in sickness” part of their marriage vows, or more difficult even–the “until death parts us” part. Every time I saw them walking hand in hand, I smiled and thought of my grandparents and how happy I am they still do that sort of thing, and as I watched the familiar sweethearts walk every morning, I saw my grandparents walking and my own parents walking and us walking, still happily hand in hand even after all those years.

Since it was Thanksgiving, I assumed we would go for a walk, because that’s what we do on Thanksgiving. We don’t have much in the way of Thanksgiving traditions — not yet, at least, except for Ms. Joni’s Shrimp Cocktail and the walk I’ve come to count on. You whisk me out of the chaos of the kitchen, taking my hand and strolling with me on a long walk toward nowhere in particular. Where the sidewalk takes us doesn’t matter, really, as long as it leads us home again.

We usually walk along the same street I walked when I was younger, the one that led me through my childhood, really. That long stretch of Glenview Drive runs between my family’s old house, the first home I remember, and the new one that really isn’t new at all now. My parents have lived there for nearly 25 years, and I with them for most of those years. The road between those two homes connects many smaller streets, the ones that saw countless summertime bike rides to Fremont Market for ice cream cones, the garish blue bubble-gum flavor being a perpetual favorite. They pass through the place where the old El Patio restaurant used to be, along the grassy park that encircles the neighborhood pool; just past the elementary school where my dad went to Kindergarten. The same magnolia trees are still on the corner of Rodgers Avenue and Glenview Drive, and every time we walk beneath them I think about the day I watched dozens of high schoolers huddled beneath them painting posters for Homecoming, and how I wondered if I would ever be as grown up as they seemed.

And now, somehow I’m even more grown up that those teenagers I used to long to be, and I’m still roaming the same streets I used to as that child that wanted so much to grow up. I never would have guessed I would find myself lumbering up and down Glenview Drive with my very pregnant belly leading the way. In those days, with you by my side, I wondered whether our baby would walk up and down those streets along with us some day, or if we would move out of my parents’ house into a neighborhood of our own, a place where the path back to our own home would eventually become etched upon our hearts.

In all the years we have walked those streets, at Thanksgiving and otherwise, I admit I didn’t exactly like walking along the same sidewalks I used to walk as a child. At first it was sort of nostalgic: I probably bored you to tears with the sheer amount of detail you did not really ask for when you asked what it was like when I lived there as a kid (That’s the house Mary Ellen mom grew up in. That’s where you turn to go to Molly’s grandma’s house, the one with the pool and the freezer stocked with ice cream. This is the street took when I rode my bike to school all by myself–with my mom following close behind me in the station wagon. In High School, we called this street “Cute Boy Way” because Cari had a crush on one of the boys who lived on that corner. Richmond Avenue was where the rich people lived, so you knew you’d get the really good candy if you trick-or-treated there. There’s Anna’s house, that crazy old lady who shoved a swim cap on my head and tried to sell cheese to my mom.)

I know I should feel more connected to that tangle of streets and perhaps I ought to love them more than I do. These days when I walk them, I’m not filled with the sense of connectedness I always assumed I would feel for them as an adult. Instead, I feel so very disconnected from the people and places I used to know in my youth. Kids grew up and people moved on, leaving the illusion of sameness in their wake in the houses and streets that remain largely unchanged.

The trees are bigger, new flowers have been planted, and the homes themselves have gotten a new coat of paint. But the lawns are still well-manicured, a few people still go for walks in the evening, and believe it or not–newspapers still dot the driveways every now and then, and the sound of dogs barking as the sun quietly tucks itself in for the night echoes through the streets. Every so often I catch a bit of laughter carried on the breeze, a sound that reminds me someone else’s childhood is here somewhere amid the tangle of streets that saw me through my own.

Maybe I’m just getting old and grumpy and am feeling a little displaced. Or maybe I’m feeling sad because I don’t know what became of that sweet couple that I used to watch walking around our new neighborhood. Maybe I’m just ready to plant my feet in one place and stop moving already. Maybe I want to start walking our own neighborhood’s sidewalks ragged with our own family walks. Or maybe I just wish I was from a smaller town that doesn’t change the way a bigger town like this does. I don’t know. But this year–this year we didn’t take our annual Thanksgiving walk, and I missed it. I missed watching the crisp air clear your head and inspire you; I missed hearing you vent and dream and plan and laugh, and I missed the way your hand steadied my steps and led the way.

With so many walks behind us, I realize over the years our footsteps forged a new history of that place in my heart. I hope very much that we’ll pick up our tradition again next year. Maybe we’ll walk along the same streets we always do, or maybe we will find ourselves walking a new path. As long as I am holding your hand along the way, I will be content wherever we end up walking.

Love,

Scratch

Ms. Joni’s Shrimp Cocktail

For Joey, it’s just not Thanksgiving without Ms. Joni’s Shrimp Cocktail. Joni Lyons (and John and Christy and Adam and, and, and…) walked closely alongside Joey and me before there even was a “Joey and me.” They held our hands and led us through those murky days when we were still trying to find our place in the adult world. Joey often showed up at their holiday gatherings, and Joni’s Shrimp Cocktail won his heart the first time he tasted it. He would eat bowl after bowl of the stuff at the Lyons’ house, caring not a whit about turkey or mashed potatoes or any of the more traditional Thanksgiving day fare (except for the pumpkin bars, clearly. This is Joey we’re talking about). After we got married, at some point, he started requesting that I make it on Thanksgiving, maybe because its presence at the table connected him to the people who were very much his family before I even was, or maybe because it’s just so yummy. Either way, in true Joey style, he knew it would become deeply entrenched in our traditions long before I ever did, but I’m so glad I feel the same way about it as he does now. I don’t really know why I never asked Joni for her recipe; maybe I just wanted to see if I could recreate the thing on my own. In any case, this is my rendition of Ms. Joni’s sort-of-like-ceviche Shrimp Cocktail. (Thank you, Joni–for this. For everything. We love you dearly.)

Ingredients:

2 pounds bay (salad) shrimp, thawed and drained
1-4 oz. jar prepared horseradish
2 1/2 cups chopped celery stalks
1 medium sweet onion, chopped (about 1 cup)
3 avocados, cubed
2-14.5 oz. cans tomato sauce
1-12 oz. bottle chili sauce
3/4 cups pure cane sugar
3/4 cup white vinegar
juice of two lemons (or 1/2 cup)
zest of 2 lemons
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire Sauce
2 teaspoons onion powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

Method:

First, make sure you have a large mixing bowl. Next, thaw the shrimp in the refrigerator overnight, then rinse and drain well.

Next, prep the veggies. I always start with the horseradish because it’s sort of a pain to deal with and I like to get the hardest part out of the way. Use a sharp knife and remove the bark-like peel from the ragged root. Finely grate the white part of the root (beware, your eyes will water). Then, chop the onion and celery and set them aside.

Move on to make the sauce. Combine the grated horseradish, tomato sauce, chili sauce, sugar, vinegar, lemon zest and lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, onion powder, and salt; mix them up well, then taste. Adjust as you see fit.

Finally, gently stir in the shrimp, onions, and celery. Put a lid on the bowl and put it in the refrigerator until you’re ready to serve (at which point, cube and add the avocados).

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.

The Great Birthday Cake Dilemma and the Only Chocolate Cake Recipe I Will Ever Need (Top 8 Allergen Free!)

1 Comment November 8, 2016 Rachel Maier

Dear Joey,

I bet you’ve never panicked about a cake before, but I have. I still do.

The only time that cake might have sort of caused a bit of a concern for you was when we sat down with the Cake Lady to discuss our wedding cake. Perhaps you wondered how a dedicated chocoholic like me and a plain white cake with buttercream boy like you would ever find enough common ground in the flavor department to place the order at all. (I know I was.)

Cake made me nervous then and it makes me nervous now. In hindsight, finding a way to compromise on a flavor was a walk in the park compared to what we deal with now. These days, I have much more pressing concerns than whether you’ll coax the kids to insist upon a flavor other than my beloved chocolate.

When I plunged into the gluten free world, baking a cake from scratch went from a pleasant way to spend an afternoon to a risky ordeal that was often not really worth the trouble. Cakes are temperamental anyway, but throw in the fact that it had to be gluten free, and baking a cake became a precarious endeavor. I figured it out eventually, of course, and have been baking cakes without much fuss since then–until lately. Now we have an almost-two-year-old (!?) with a dairy allergy who can’t be hoodwinked out of his fair share of cake, too. And so, baking a birthday cake became a problem.

Addie’s 6th birthday is tomorrow and we had a bunch of her friends over to help us celebrate a few days ago. We’ve been planning on this party for several weeks now, but I put off figuring out the cake part until last week, when suddenly I realized I didn’t have the time or wherewithal to spend a bunch of time in the kitchen experimenting with gluten free, dairy free cake recipes. I almost just bought a box of that Pillsbury Funfetti cake mix and called it a day. Except that I don’t bake with wheat flour anymore, and I didn’t want to contaminate all my baking gear with gluten. I thought about getting the gluten free version instead, but then I realized Emery wouldn’t be able to have them because that mix contains dairy. And so, I took a deep breath and bought an expensive box a gluten free cake mix because it was dairy free too–and easy.

I spent the money and walked out frustrated and pressed for time and a little thrown off by the fact that it was Halloween that day and you had Vertigo and all I wanted was just to bake my daughter a birthday cake that our whole family could eat and you know, enjoy, and I didn’t want to have to go through this frustrating process every time a birthday came around. I wanted a yummy cake recipe, a go-to cake recipe. I wanted to find THE cake recipe, the one I would turn to again and again and again through the Goobies’s childhoods, the one that would be so familiar I could bake it in my sleep if I had to (and I imagine there will be years ahead when that exact scenario will be necessary). But instead, I bought a cake mix.

Overwhelmed by all this, and very disappointed in the only sort of ok chocolate cupcakes the mix turned out, I decided to whip together a gluten free version of Smitten Kitchen’s Red Wine Chocolate Cake and enjoy a slice with a glass of wine after everyone was down for the night. You know, because I deserved it. (gag). The original recipe isn’t gluten free or dairy free, but I made a few substitutions and tweaked it a little to fix that problem. And you know what? It was fantastic.

As I sat savoring that piece of delicious cake, I realized the Red Wine Chocolate Cake recipe was really just a riff on Smitten Kitchen’s Everyday Chocolate Cake, and I figured if I could transform the Red Wine cake into a gluten free/dairy free version, I could make a non-red wine cake for a crowd of kids. My suspicions were right: you even liked them, despite the fact that they were chocolate. You sneaked a cupcake after the party was long over, and said to me in your very serious voice, “These are really good, Rach.”

You like that these cupcakes are dense like a brownie (and laden with your mom’s famous not-really-butter buttercream frosting–recipe below). I like that they’re moist and actually have flavor (and that the cupcake wrapper effortlessly peels away from them without tearing the cupcake apart). The Goobies like them because they all get to eat them. I like that part too.

It’s safe to assume you’ll see these chocolate cupcakes again and again over the course of our children’s childhoods. And yes, I promise to figure out a vanilla cake cousin for these little beauties. Your birthday is coming up next, after all.

Love,

Scratch

Chocolate Cake Cupcakes

I hesitate to come out and say these are the best chocolate cupcake I have ever made because it is free of so many allergens and I doubt anyone would dare believe me. But I wouldn’t be paying this cake its due if I held out on you, now would I? So ok fine: these are the best chocolate cupcakes I have ever made, good enough to dupe you into thinking there must be one of the top 8 allergens in it. If you opt to use a banana instead of eggs (which is a very wise decision if I do say so myself) they are indeed free of dairy, eggs, wheat, soy, tree nuts, peanuts, fish and shellfish . Thick and moist with a tender crumb–deeply chocolately, yet not too sweet. This is chocolate cake perfection, food allergies or not. This recipe makes enough batter for 24 cupcakes or 2-8 inch rounds. The cake is done when a wooden toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. For two 8″ rounds, check the cake at 30 minutes–which is the perfect amount of time in my oven. I used Joey’s mom’s recipe for basic buttercream frosting (recipe below), but you can frost it as you like.

Ingredients:

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks or 6 ounces) Earth Balance Soy-Free Vegan Buttery Spread, softened OR 6 oz softened refined coconut oil (not melted)
2 large eggs (or for an egg free version, substitute 1 very ripe medium banana, well mashed, to equal 1/2 cup*)
1 1/2 cups packed light brown sugar*
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups unsweetened original non-dairy milk beverage (we prefer Good Karma Flax Milk)
1 1/2 Tablespoons white vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 1/4 cups gluten free all-purpose flour (homemade or Namaste brand)
1 cup + 2 Tablespoons cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoons kosher salt**

*If using banana instead of egg, reduce brown sugar to 3/4 cup

**If using coconut oil instead of Earth Balance or butter, increase salt to 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt.

Method:

Start by preheating your oven to 325°F. Then, line your cupcake pan with paper cups. (Bonus if you have a 24-cup pan!)

Next, sift together the gluten free flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt together, and set aside to add to the wet ingredients later.

In a large bowl of a Kitchen Aid (or similar electric mixer), cream the softened Earth Balance until it’s nice and smooth. Turn the mixer off, dump in the sugars and beat them together until they get nice and fluffy. Turn the mixer off again, add the eggs and vanilla and turn the mixer back on, making sure to whip the batter together well. Turn the mixer off.

Pour 1 1/2 Tablespoons white vinegar into a 2-cup liquid measuring cup and add the flax milk (or rice milk) into the same measuring cup until you reach the 1 1/2 cup mark. Pour the vinegar/flax milk mixture to the batter, turn on the mixer again and mix well. The batter will look a little clumpy, but that’s ok. Turn off the mixer and dump in the dry ingredients. Turn the mixer back on (again!) and mix well, beating together until the batter is smooth and luscious.

Scoop the batter (about 1/4 cup per cupcake) into the prepared pan and bake for 20-25 minutes or so, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of a cupcake comes out clean (mine were perfect at 22 minutes). Cool the cupcakes in the pan for about 5 minutes, and then pop them out and let them cool completely on a wire rack. Frost with whatever you desire, but we use my mother in law’s buttercream recipe, which I happily share below.

Mema’s Buttercream Frosting

Ingredients:

2 pounds powdered sugar
1 teaspoon meringue powder–omit to keep the frosting egg-free
1 1/4 cups all vegetable shortening, such as Nutiva Organic Shortening
1/2 teaspoon table salt
2 teaspoons clear vanilla extract
1/2 cup water
food coloring, if desired

Method:

Mix first six ingredients together with a spoon, then beat with an electric mixer until smooth. Add the food coloring and mix again, adding more color as needed.

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.