Party Like It’s February, 2020

Jump to recipe for spring berry fizz

Back in the social gathering age – you know, the halcyon days of six weeks ago – I used to enjoy theme parties. It’s fun to get dressed up, eat cleverly-named food and play a grownup game of make-believe for a while. Of course, a theme party is never a totally immersive experience. Most are more about nostalgia than they are about authenticity or nuance. Last time I went to Medieval Times, I didn’t get into it with my serving wench about the rampant urban unrest that led to the 1323 peasant revolt in Flanders. I was too busy stuffing my face with rotisserie chicken and rooting for the red knight to pull off the winning horse dance moves.

But that’s the appeal of the theme party – it’s a chance for an escape.

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The Sourdough Diaries: Volume I

I’ve always romanticized bread baking. The process has been handed down through generations of prairie women. My mother taught me how to knead dough by hand when I was little, the same way her mother taught her: fold, shove, quarter turn, repeat. The first time I decided to make bread on my own as a young adult, I pictured myself with my nose adorably smudged with flour, filling my home with the smell of fresh bread and the pride of my ancestors.

In reality, I ended up slumped over the counter with flour smeared in many non-cute places. And I knew that if my ancestors could see my misshapen handiwork they’d be like, “I don’t know her.”

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Sad Child May Overeat

Skip to recipe for homemade toaster pastries

I’m ready to talk about comfort food.

The first recorded use of the term “comfort food” was in an article about obesity, published by the Palm Beach Post in 1966. The headline was, “Sad Child May Overeat.” The article talks about how people turn to the foods they associate with childhood when they’re under “severe distress.” Since then, researchers have explored the chemistry and psychology of comfort food. In a 2015 study, students were asked to tell stories about breakups and fights with loved ones. Then they were given potato chips. There was also a control group of students who weren’t forced to relive any interpersonal trauma, and were just paid to have a snack in a lab. The participants who told the sad stories (and had healthy relationship patterns to begin with) ranked the potato chips as more delicious than the participants who didn’t. This, apparently, is scientific evidence of a link between our feelings about food and our relationships.

This all seems pretty straightforward. You don’t have to do a blind study to know that “sad child may overeat.” The concept of comfort food is so innate and universal that the New York Times asked all the democratic presidential candidates what their favorite comfort foods were, presumably in an effort to humanize them. But then, many of the candidates answered this question as though they had just panic-Googled “normal foods for human mouths.” Answers ranged from vegan cupcakes to whiskey to beef jerky. Cory Booker said “veggies.” So maybe the concept of comfort food is more complicated than it appears.

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Cookbookz for Cool Kidz

Skip to recipe for curried lentil stew with potatoes and carrots

Hey team. Things are pretty terrible right now, and they just keep getting worse, huh? Like many many other people (judging by the fact that the whole internet is out of yeast and flour) I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen lately. Also like many others, I am hungry for ways to connect to the world outside my apartment. So from now until at least whenever the shelter in place order is lifted in Illinois, I’m going to post something in this space every Monday. These posts probably won’t be as long or polished or, well, good as I would like. But they will be something I can keep doing and a way I can keep sharing. Hopefully, if you’re reading this, there will be some ideas you can use or some dumb drawings that make you smile. Also, I would love to see what you are baking (and hear about your kitchen fails) as well!

Anyway, on to the dumb drawings!

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The Frittata Mystique

Hot take: The internet is full of opportunities for you to compare yourself to others and come up short. Especially if you are a woman. If you’re a mom, your Facebook feed is probably full of quotes from your friends’ angel-faced children like, “I love mommy so much! When I grow up, I want to be a doctor/lawyer/social media influencer just like her!” Meanwhile, your little angle interrupts your scrolling to tell you: “I wish I had no mommy like Princess Elsa and when I grow up, I want to be a transformer!” If you’re single, your Instagram is probably clogged with pictures of slender ring-fingers adorned with diamonds the size of Lima beans. The captions read, “I’m so lucky to be engaged to this wonderful man! Boy, I thought I was doing OK when I was single, but that was before he made me realize what a shriveled husk of a person I was! Love fixes everything!” Meanwhile, you’ve just given up on constructing your OK Cupid profile (for the third time) so that you could check Tumblr for the next chapter in a fanfic about if Pride and Prejudice was about Mulder and Scully. (Theoretically. I have heard some grown, single women do this.)

But there is another way the internet is making a lot of women feel insecure that no one is talking about. Except me. Today, I’m going to admit to something that many of us have been afraid to say out loud for too long: I’m stressed about brunch.

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The Blackberry Strain

Opening scene:  4 pm Saturday, The Lab*

Every surface, including my face, is covered in flour. I look at the oven clock. It’s 4:00 pm, then suddenly 4:01. Only 44 minutes before I have to depart for the church picnic. I wipe my brow, smudging it with purple goo. I’m trying to seal the edges of the circular hand pie on the counter, but cream cheese filling keeps oozing out around the edges.

I shout, “Damn it, I’m running out of time!”

Then, more softly but with even more desperation: “Oh God. There’s no time. What am I supposed to do?”

The audience** wonders: How did she end up like this?

*A.K.A. my kitchen

** A.K.A. my cat

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Crouching Baker, Hidden Gluten

I wasn’t totally honest with you about those chocolate chip cookies a few weeks ago. I didn’t lie about their deliciousness (I’m not a monster). I still believe that everyone you feed them to will love them, and you. But when I said they would solve all your social problems, I was exaggerating. The truth is, sooner or later you’ll run into someone – like a vegan, or a person allergic to soy, gluten, dairy or chocolate – who can’t eat them. And then, your Lutheran cookie powers will be useless.

But when that happens, you mustn’t lose hope! There are other powers you can call upon. I’ll show you. I know I may seem like a simple prairie girl: facing the world with nothing but a church cookbook, a few pounds of butter, and a sweet, I-hope-she-doesn’t-realize-I-have-no-idea-what-‘fleek’-is smile. But I have a more sophisticated set of baking skills than you might think. Read More

Substitutions For Common Social Interactions

If you cook – even sporadically – you’ve probably researched ingredient substitutions. Like when you’re in the middle making shortbread, but you realize you used your last stick of butter in a volatile caramel experiment last week (which is why your kitchen smells like an on-fire Werther’s factory). So you take to Google. You type: “Can I substitute olive oil/cream cheese/ I can’t Believe It’s Not Butter for butter?”*

*Do not substitute butter with anything that says in the title “…It’s Not Butter.”

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The Friday Night Cake Log

Disclaimer: I did not have the foresight to take pictures during the events described below. Instead, visual interest has been added in the form of poorly drawn crayon images. Apologies in advance!

You guys know how, on Fridays, you just want to crank some tunes, pour yourself a drink and undertake a long, tedious baking project? Or, wait…is that not how the rest of you guys kick off the weekend?

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