When I first sat down to write this post, the world had just been stunned by the mass murder of schoolchildren in Uvalde, Texas. I was still personally reeling from the shooting in a Buffalo supermarket, a horror scene that happened a mere hour from where I grew up. Since that time, there have been more mass shootings—at a nightclub in Chattanooga, a busy downtown section of Philadelphia, a graduation party in South Carolina—wait, am I missing one?
The good old U.S. of A. has seen 246 mass shootings so far in 2022. And it isn’t even the Fourth of July.
We may still have time
we might still get by
Every time I think about it, I want to cry
With the bombs and the devils
and the kids keep coming
Nowhere to breathe easy. . . no time to be young
Ann & Nancy Wilson
The truth is, I’m starting to feel numb about it, and I hate that. As much as it hurts to learn of yet another senseless slaughtering of innocent lives, I don’t want it to become normalized. I don’t want to dismiss it as just another headline and then scroll down my news feed to see who wore what at the MTV Movie and TV Awards or what adorable thing the British royal grandchildren did this weekend or 12 fun cocktails to usher in summer. It feels wrong and entitled to look the other way, and is it even safe to do so, when it very well might be you or me that is gunned down next at the grocery store?
The stress takes a toll on all of us. For me, stress has stalled my creativity, almost as if my brain is stuck on idle. I feel like my every attempt to move is just revving the engine but going nowhere. Ask my husband how many times in the past couple of weeks I’ve texted him at the day’s end, asking him to pick up takeout on his way home from work.
This is not normal because—c’mon, say it with me— nothing is normal anymore.
It isn’t that I’m not trying, or that I don’t have time to make food for us. It’s more that I’m distracted and frantic inside, and my creative efforts in the kitchen have been equal to those of an artist who randomly flings paint every which way in hope that a beautiful portrait will appear. Without focus, the outcomes of my experiments have been, well, “meh.”
Studies show that when people are under heavy stress, they gravitate toward the familiar rather than the new. We need comfort and soothing in times like these, and at mealtime that might mean grilled cheese sandwiches, pizza, baked beans or ice cream. I have made all of the above recently and I look forward to sharing some of them with you, as soon as I figure out how to calm the hell down. The yearning for familiarity has also brought to mind favorite music from my younger years, and one song in particular has been on auto-repeat in my subconscious.
“Crazy on You,” by Heart, is a classic rock standard, and though it is mostly a raucous love song that has endured for its from-the-gut vocals and that astonishing acoustic guitar intro, there is one lyric that stands out most to me—“Nowhere to breathe easy, no time to be young.”
I recently watched a YouTube interview with Ann Wilson, frontwoman of Heart, and she recounted the story of co-writing that song with her sister, Nancy, way back in 1975, when I was the same age as many of the Uvalde shooting victims. It was on the heels of the Vietnam War and amid gas shortages and civil unrest and so many other uncertainties, and it seemed to her that the world was ending.
“It’s very stressful when you’re in your 20s and you don’t see a good future,” Ann said. The only thing that kept her going during that time, she explained, was the fact that she was in love, and could pour all of her energy into her relationship and her music. And so she did.
Please bear with me, dear readers, as I hope to find a way to do that in the kitchen. Soon.
You know the feeling, I suspect. For months, you plan and look forward to a vacation—whether it’s a full-blown trip or a quick driveaway—and you can’t wait for the rest and relaxation that comes with it. And then you get home exhausted. You need a vacation after the vacation.
That’s how it has been for my husband, Les, and me in the aftermath of an almost-weeklong getaway to celebrate our 5th anniversary. Our fun getaway started with the Jimmy Buffett concert that we bought tickets for way back in 2019, before the entire world stalled to a halt because of COVID. It was the first time Les had seen a Buffett show, and we had a fun time, even imagining how we might plan next time to do some hardcore tailgating on par with some of the other “Parrotheads” we encountered in the parking lot. The tropical vibe of the evening seemed like the perfect introduction to a few days of relaxing at the beach, and we couldn’t wait!
The countdown to our getaway was expected to coincide with completion of our master bath remodel project, which started in mid-March, and we looked forward to coming home for a nice, hot shower in our beautiful new space. But, well, that didn’t happen. Getting a straight answer about the timeline of the project hasn’t been difficult, but getting a true answer has, and we ordered the work suspended during our vacation because the ruckus is very stressful for our pets. But at least we would have a break from the noise and commotion that has consumed our home for the past six weeks.
We kept our eye on the prize—a peaceful escape to a rental home we’ve enjoyed before, and we yearned for the calm, quiet rest that awaited us. We’d sip wine or bourbon every evening and enjoy unadulterated views of the beach from our oceanfront deck, and we’d slumber with the sliding glass door cracked a few inches, allowing the calming sound of waves crashing ashore to invade our dreams, with no alarm clock set and no pets clamoring for 3 a.m. potty breaks.
Only it didn’t quite happen that way.
Nobody mentioned to us—and when I say nobody, I mean the rental company that happily took our money for the condo stay—that the federal government had funded a significant renourishment project along the coastline we were visiting, or that the work would occur all day and all through the night, with the incessant beep-beep-beep that signals the backup of heavy equipment, and a constant clanging of enormous, rust- and barnacle-covered pipes that spanned the beach directly in front of our rental and down the beach as far as the eye could see.
This is important work. The renourishment is necessary for preservation of the beachfront, not just for the enjoyment of tourists, but for the conservation of the coast and the ecosystem around it. We could deal with this for a day or two. At least we would enjoy dinner in nearby Wilmington and walking the boardwalk and grabbing a Britt’s donut—a must-have when you are in Carolina Beach (except, they were closed). And we could still enjoy our planned beach day. Thank goodness we had arranged for an umbrella rental, which they promised to place in a safe spot. Well, kind of.
I’m not complaining; I’m just pointing out the irony of our “getting away” to a new place with equal-or-greater commotion than what we left at home. Yep, it was still full-on ruckus, only with a change of venue. We did enjoy some incredible food (and drinks), and I look forward to recreating some of that—and sharing it with you in the months ahead.
The whole “vacation” experience reminds me of our wedding day, which was the basis for our celebration now, five years later. Les and I were supposed to be married outside, beneath a sweet little white pergola at the entrance of our neighborhood. The homeowner’s association even moved up the date for painting the thing so it would be fresh and perfect for our big day and our very small wedding party of five (plus us and the rabbi). But you know what they say about the best-laid plans, right?
On that day, we threw together a last-minute plan to exchange vows in the loft of our home, a decision that led to some precious and humorous moments with our pets, who decided they should be in on the action. At the end of that day, we were married, so we accomplished the main thing. Everyone assured us that rain on your wedding day is “good luck,” which is some brand of Southern nonsense that falls easily out of the mouths of people whose weddings were not rained out. Les said the wedding day weather was apropos, because life ahead would bring plenty of storms, so this was just good practice. We had a lovely time with friends and family despite it all, and we still think of our special day when we climb the stairs up to the seldom-used room.
I’m convinced that amid the curveballs that come at us all the way through life, we either get better or worse at rolling with the punches, and we get to decide which it will be. I’m grateful to be married to a man who has perfected the art of “let it go,” thankful for the experiences we share—rain and ruckus and all—and if a vacation turns out to be simply a change of venue in which to experience the chaos of life, well, I guess that’s a blessing, too.
I can almost feel all the eyebrows lifting out there, and I’m sure it sounds contradictory coming from someone who has posted—ahem, 257 recipes in the past two years. But here goes, anyway. I don’t like recipes, and they are not my friend. Whew, that was tough to admit. Despite the immense collection of cookbooks in my kitchen, home office, attic storage, garage and the new one that I just bought two weeks ago, I don’t like recipes. The reasons are many, but I have boiled it down to a few, and they all point to the same issue: recipes hardly ever teach you anything, and they can even set you up to fail. Kind of like the way GPS can get you more lost than you’ve ever been.
When I clicked “publish” on my first Comfort du Jour post—exactly two years ago today—it was my mission to share ideas for elevating classic comfort foods and demystifying more extravagant dishes to make them more approachable for the home cook. My hope, of course, is that cooks of every skill level will find something interesting on my blog, something worth trying themselves and perhaps with a few changes to make one of my dishes their own. Inspiration—that’s my goal. Short of having you literally join me in the kitchen, however, some of my ideas might leave you with more questions than answers. And that’s the problem with recipes.
Like almost everyone I know, I have successes and failures in the kitchen, and some of them are spectacular on both ends of that scale. In my opinion, it is better to work toward developing one’s own skills in the kitchen rather than following recipes, because understanding techniques will carry you through any new dish. As I embark on my third year of food blogging, my new (or, I should say, additional) goal will be to help explain how I have honed my cooking skills so that learning or trying new dishes feels natural and fun.
With that in mind, I offer what I consider to be the top 5 problems with recipes. Rebuttals are welcome, of course, as are your own recipe peeves and observations. Here we go!
5. Recipes can be too vague or too detailed
Have you ever tried to follow a recipe that seems to assume that you graduated from culinary school? This happens to me when I look at many older cookbooks, and even some of the cookie recipes left behind by my own dear grandmother. What if I didn’t know, for example, that “mix all ingredients together” really means to cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy, then add the eggs one at a time, blending after each, then stir in the vanilla and then stir in the flour? When my Gram passed away in 2019, I was startled and saddened to realize that I only had four of her recipe cards in my collection—four! But my panic quickly turned to relief when it dawned on me that I have a whole backlog of memories to guide me. During all the afternoons I spent in her kitchen, she taught me her techniques, and that is worth a million recipes.
On the flip side of that, too much detail in a recipe can be just as bad as not enough. If the author of the recipe assumes that you have zero cooking abilities, you may have trouble following all those words. And if you should happen to need to double or half a recipe like that? Ugh, forget it. I have literally wrecked the simplest of recipes because the wordiness made me lose my place or second-guess my own instincts. It is embarrassing to admit, but I lost my mind a little bit because I couldn’t figure out when to add the toasted pecans to a carrot cake in the Bobby Flay book. The recipe literally did not address it, but I should not have needed it in writing. When I lose my confidence in the kitchen, I also lose my joy. Don’t let this happen to you! 🙂
4. Ingredient lists that are too long or don’t offer substitution ideas
A dish needs what it needs, but one that uses a miniscule amount of every condiment and spice in my kitchen isn’t going to happen. This is exactly why I have never made pad Thai—a fantastic dish, but 25 ingredients is too darn many for me! And if you can’t find two or three of the ingredients, does that mean you can’t make the dish? There is a substitute for almost everything in the world of food, and the more unusual the ingredients, the more likely you’ll need to know what those substitutes are. This is also true for those with food allergies or sensitivities; understanding how a substitute ingredient will behave in the recipe is as important as knowing how it will taste. Gluten-free flour cannot be substituted evenly for wheat flour in a yeast bread, but it may work fine in a pancake recipe. The protein in dairy milk might play a role that can’t be handled by almond or cashew milk. Aquafaba, the liquid in a can of chickpeas, can be a vegan substitute for eggs in one dish (if the eggs are primarily a binder) but you obviously cannot scramble it up into an omelet. A perfect recipe would describe how to adjust for substitutions but spelling out every possibility will lead back to the problem of the recipe being too detailed.
3. Recipes with steps that are based on time
I recently bought the book, Beat Bobby Flay, because my husband and I are somewhat addicted to watching the competition show on Food Network. One of the first recipes I checked out made me shake my head because it described cooking a mixture for 5 minutes, adding an ingredient and cooking 2 more minutes, adding something else and stirring constantly for 2 minutes. And I wondered to myself, how does Bobby know how long it will take on my stove, with my pans? There are so many variables from one cook to the next—everything from your stove to your cookware to the ambient temperature in your kitchen can shift the cook time on a recipe. Even the various burners on the same stove will perform differently, so unless the recipe also describes the visual cues to watch for, don’t trust the time marks. Bobby Flay is a very accomplished chef (and one of my favorites), so this is not a slam against him—just a reminder that knowing how to cook is a prerequisite for using recipes. The clock has very little to do with it, except for planning what time to get started.
2. Recipes that sound too easy to be true
With the advent of social media came the prevalence of recipes that have not been tested prior to publishing, and there seems to be a newfound fascination with recipes using the least number of ingredients (which is a joke, given that each “ingredient” has its own lengthy ingredient list). I’ve seen some flat-out crazy things on Pinterest, and some TikTok users get their kicks by posting impossible recipes—I suppose just to see if people will click on it so they can go viral. If you honestly believe that self-rising flour and mashed sweet potatoes will produce the fluffiest dinner rolls you’ve ever seen, and that they can be baked in the microwave, then you might also be interested in buying some oceanfront property in Kansas. Not to discourage experimenting, of course, but trust your judgment. If a recipe smells like a scam, it probably is, and I hate wasting food.
1. Recipes are made for the author’s taste, not yours
If you don’t believe this one, just look at the online “reviews” for any recipe. It won’t take more than a minute for you to find a review that gripes that the dish is too salty, followed immediately by another review that says the dish has no flavor and needs more salt. This is not a problem with recipes as much as it is a reminder that taste is subjective, and the more you are able to understand and adjust a recipe on your own, the happier you’ll be with the finished dish.
So let’s hear it. What are your thoughts on recipes, and what makes them better or worse for you?
And speaking of recipes, get ready for some more inspiration from me, including—you guessed it—some new dishes I’ve been cooking up in the Comfort du Jour kitchen. I’ll do my best to avoid these common recipe pitfalls as I describe the techniques behind my creations.
The new year is off to a slow start for me and Comfort du Jour, but it isn’t for lack of trying. I have begun at least five times to write an introduction to our beautiful new kitchen, and here’s the thing—I just have too many favorite features to put it into words!
If I could invite you all over for dinner (or breakfast, brunch, lunch, coffee, cocktails), which would be my preference, we could demonstrate all the cool things we like about our new space and you could touch the textured backsplash tile and try out the features of the faucet and we would have a grand time. Until that is an option, and without trying to use so many words to explain what I want you to see, I am going to do the big reveal mainly in pictures. There are a ton of them ahead, and I would like to recommend that a computer, or at least a tablet, is a better way to view this post than a smartphone. You will see the detail better and the captions will not cover the photos. If you typically visit my site on the WordPress Reader, I recommend that you use this link to visit my actual page for a better experience as well. The slideshows do not translate as well in the reader.
Dear friends, you were terrific about supporting my husband, Les, and me as we stumbled through those awkward weeks of renovation, and we thank you for your comments, suggestions and “been there, done that” empathy. As we all know (or at least as the Bible teaches), God created the world in six days, but you can count on a minimum of six to eight weeks for a new kitchen. It was quite a ride, and well worth it in the end.
Here we go!
When we sat down with Matt (our general contractor) back in June 2021, Les and I discussed with him three primary trouble spots in our tired old kitchen: not enough counter space, poor traffic flow and lousy lighting. We asked for storage solutions, reworking of some of the existing layout, premium materials, under-cabinet lighting and a few fun bells and whistles, and I am pleased to report that we got everything we asked for and more!
Let’s begin with the layout, which mainly affected the sink and fridge side of the kitchen. You would think, with a 22-foot length, space would not be an issue. But things were not arranged well in the original design.
The changes to the stove side of the kitchen are less dramatic, but still noticeably improved. We went for symmetry on this side, swapping out a standard base cabinet for drawers to match the other side, and each side was increased by 3 inches. You’d be amazed at the difference that made in the big picture.
We worked with a designer to select our cabinets, countertop and hardware, and we were intentional to choose as many American-made products as possible. Our cabinets were made in Minnesota byLegend Cabinetry, and we liked the sleek, Shaker-style doors with light gray stain over birch hardwood. The color is warm, but fresh, and the movement of the grain is evident underneath.
We invested in a few splurges, including the Kohler sink, which I call the “Queen of the Kitchen.” We paired it with a Kohler faucet, primarily because both are made in the U.S. and also for the special features it offered.
The apron front, cast-iron sink has been on my “dream kitchen” list for years and I love it. This kind of sink may not be for you, especially if you stand taller than me. It is deep to begin with; being mounted underneath a slab of stone makes it seem even deeper. Even I, at 5-foot-5, find myself stooping at times to clean the dishes. I don’t mind it, but it is something to keep in mind if you are considering a remodel.
When I first spotted the plugmolds (on Pinterest, of course), I got so excited! Part of my frustration with outlets on the backsplash has been pure vanity; I didn’t like them photo-bombing my food photos for Comfort du Jour, and I cursed them every time I tried to get a good image. But my blog is not for profit, so that was not the only justification for our splurge on this unusual item. We need all the counter space we have, and our appliances do not live there permanently (well, except for my coffee grinder, which uses a very small footprint in one corner). The plugmolds keep cords and charger cables up and out of the way when we use our small appliances, and there is nothing to obstruct the view of our gorgeous subway tile when we don’t. We like the clean look very much, but if you prefer always having appliances within easy reach, or always plugged in, this may not be for you.
Also, the plugmolds do not afford the convenience of a ground fault interrupter, so all the kitchen outlets must be on a breaker box circuit. If we get crazy and trip a breaker, we will need to trudge to the garage to reset it. So far, so good, as that hasn’t happened. Had this been explained to us on the front end, I would have agreed to one GFCI outlet in the kitchen, right there in the space where my coffee grinder lives.
The microwave cabinet was under discussion from selection of our materials all the way to installation. We wanted to move the microwave from its previous position above the range, where it not only obstructed my view of the back burners but created havoc when Les and I worked in the kitchen at the same time. He could not warm leftovers or give our breakfast bacon a quick zap to rewarm it without bumping into me as I finished an omelet.
Many people choose to place a built-in microwave above a wall-mounted oven, but that was not an option for our kitchen footprint. Our house is on a slab and we were not interested in the enormous expense of moving walls or plumbing to make room for wall ovens. And for sure, we did not want to lose counter space to a microwave. We chose the GE Spacemaker microwave, which is low-profile and only 12 inches deep, but housing it remained a challenge.
Our cabinet designer, Molly, presented the terrific option that we chose—she ordered from the cabinet manufacturer a 24-inch depth microwave cabinet (the same kind that would be used for a standard built-in), and her cabinet technicians modified the cabinet to a 15-inch depth and added a secure shelf for our microwave, leaving space below for storage of our cutting boards! There is plenty of space around the microwave for ventilation (this was confirmed by the microwave manufacturer as well), and if we should ditch the microwave in the future, the shelf will be perfect for displaying our favorite cookbooks.
The butcher block countertop makes my baking station feel special—even the lighting seems warmer reflected off the wood tones—and I love the surface for bread dough and pasta dough. The water-based finish is every bit as smooth as our lovely quartz countertops and does not require any special maintenance. We ordered the block with a greater overhang than what is standard, and that gives me plenty of space to attach my pasta machine to the counter—something I could not easily do on our other counters.
Finally, the special little touches that give our kitchen pizzazz. We wanted the former dinette area to feel cozy and inviting, so we did not choose to have bright wafer lights in this part of the ceiling; rather, we changed out the frazzled old fixture with a beautiful piece that was handmade from recycled glass, by Bicycle Glass, a company dedicated to sustainability, and you know how much I like that.
We also added a uniquely handcrafted table that was made locally, and we now refer to this region of the kitchen as “the bistro.” 🙂
The end of our remodel means the beginning of a new chapter of food adventures. We have already enjoyed our first holiday season in the new space, and many more fun meals will be served up soon, so stay tuned!
In my radio days, I had a co-worker who proclaimed that every month had a color. March was green, July was red, October was orange and January was (as if we couldn’t guess) gray. It couldn’t be truer, right? The twinkly lights are all packed away, the parties are over (or in the case of the past two years, they never even got started), the festive music is no longer playing 24/7 on the iHeartRadio station and it’s back to work as usual. One of my least favorite things about the holiday season ending is taking down the Christmas tree. This year, our tree made it clear that it, too, was “over it,” and it did so by drying up and dropping all its needles into the corner of our living room. Dry and gray.
The month is already off to such a gloomy start that I have procrastinated more than usual on writing up something for Comfort du Jour, though I have been busy in the kitchen. I have made soup and baked bread and used up leftovers. Most of our meals have been from the archives, so there isn’t much new to share. More gray.
As if the month of January is not already dismal enough, I made a reluctant decision to participate in the no-alcohol-for-a-month event known as Dry January. The concept has plenty of appeal, with the lure of better sleep, reduced inflammation, higher productivity, likely weight loss and improved overall health. All of those things sound great, but in January? What in the world was I thinking?
Could it have been the complete absence of having anything to wear when we rang in the new year last week? It’s true that none of the cute things in my closet even come close to fitting me because of the weight I’ve gained in the past two years. Leave it to me to choose an international lockdown as the time to both begin a food blog and go through menopause. So, yeah, that was part of it. And it didn’t help that in the middle of December, I got reckless and went shopping for a new bra (because none of those fit me anymore either) and found myself stunned and disgusted by the semi-naked figure gawking back at me from the full-length mirror in the try-on room. I knew the calories from all of my food and drink experiments would add up, but when did Mrs. Doubtfire’s costume team take over my body?
I would say that this Dry January commitment was a spontaneous opt-in, a last-minute positive peer pressure kind of thing, but that wouldn’t be true. I have considered it in previous recent years; I have friends who have done it and found it cleansing and rejuvenating after an indulgent holiday season—but I always made excuses about doing it myself, from a desire to use up the lingering champagne from New Year’s or to keep mid-month brunch plans with a girlfriend or just to give myself a distraction from the boredom and low-grade depression that always hits me after Christmas. I even considered it last year, for about five seconds, but no way was I going sober for a month under the grim circumstances of COVID without vaccines. This afternoon, when we reach the one-year anniversary of the insurrection, I will probably be rethinking this whole thing again. Would Democracy be safer if I have a cocktail in my hand?
But this year, my decision was intentional, and though I am reluctant, I am curious to see what I may learn about myself this time. A good number of years ago, I entered a voluntary period of total sobriety for about eight weeks—long enough to drop 16 pounds without even trying, and long enough to find the courage to confront inexcusable abuse from my childhood. I was only 27 then, and it was an important emotional exercise for me at that time. Perhaps I am overdue for a personal revelation, or maybe I am finally finding the maturity to realize that my body needs a break from all this “moderation.”
Either way, I won’t be doing it alone. It is estimated that 1 in 7 people participate in Dry January, and when I casually mentioned it last week to my supportive husband, he instantly said, “Yeah, I’ll do that with you, Babe.” Thank goodness only one of us overthinks everything.
No matter your religious leaning or background, this time of year is meant to inspire joy and wonder. It is inevitable as the new year approaches that we take stock of the year that is almost done, and we will begin to make plans (if we haven’t already) for the next one. As if our best-laid plans really set the course for anything these days. I can barely get things off the ground for a weekend, so I dare not even look ahead to the coming year just yet.
As the year closes, I find myself as frazzled and worn out as I always seem to be this time of year, and though some of my exhaustion is my own doing, the rest is the culmination of a busy season at my job, preparations for the holidays and confusion in the wake of our kitchen remodel (I still can’t find everything). I am convinced that peace does not come from getting everything done, but from letting things go.
We put up our tree last Friday night, an endeavor that always seems to provoke passionate differences of opinion. My Jewish husband (who only began erecting Christmas trees a few slight years ago when he hooked up with me) had some unconventional ideas about how to stabilize the wobbly tree in our cheapo plastic Christmas tree stand. And I (of course, being me) provided a fair amount of pushback on his helpful suggestions. To some degree, I admit my resistance to Les’s ideas was result of my perfectionism, but mostly, I was having flashbacks of Christmas trees past, toppled over in the middle of the night, with microscopic shards of glass splayed in every direction. This is no fun, especially with pets in the house, and given that our tree is adorned with special, impossible-to-replace ornaments, some of which I have had since I was a child.
After several rounds of shouting over the problem of stabilizing the tree (obviously, that didn’t help anything), I did what any reasonable (and utterly exasperated) person would do. I asked the internet if anyone, after all these centuries of decorating indoor trees, had yet discovered a better way to prop the damn thing up. Lo and behold, a German-based company has cracked the code on Christmas tree stands with a carefully engineered cable-and-lever system. So we shoved the half-steady, strung-with-lights tree into the corner and made a run to Ace Hardware the next morning to get this stand, which has an ingenious method for securing the tree, and even alerts me to the water level. Best $79 I’ve spent so far this Christmas. To be fair, since I haven’t yet begun my shopping, it is the only $79 I have spent. But this tree stand is not playing.
As we began digging through our box of whimsical ornaments, including the one we picked up in Asbury Park at the end of our summer vacation, we realized that it had been exactly two years to the day since we lost our sweet cat, Zoe. This little girl looooved Christmas, especially lying beneath the tree, and she even knew which stocking was hers. I still miss her so much. When she left for the Rainbow Bridge, I had printed her sweet face onto a sheet of vellum paper and inserted it into a glass ornament tied up with ribbon.
Placing her precious kitty face in the best, most prominent spot on the tree was a reset button on our moods, and we spent the rest of the day reminiscing over the stories behind our eclectic ornament collection and eventually lighting the menorah on that seventh night of Hanukkah. And a short-lived peace fell upon us.
I have been reflecting on a message that our rabbi shared in his Hanukkah message, pondering the miracle of the oil. It is easy enough to understand what made the overall event of Hanukkah miraculous—the oil being enough to keep the eternal lamps going for eight nights, despite the fact there was only one night’s worth of oil in the jar—but what was the big deal about the first night, for which the oil was already sufficient? As Rabbi Mark put it, the miracle of the first night was that the people had faith to go ahead and light the lamp. They had no idea what would happen on the other nights, but they trusted that things would work out, and that it wouldn’t be by their own figuring or planning or careful conservation of oil. Without their faith on that first night, the miracle would not have been realized.
This is a good message for me. During the holiday season (and any other time I feel overwhelmed), my default mode is to freeze up and fret about whatever it is I’m running short of, and it’s always something: time, resources, strength, faith, help, extension cords. This year feels particularly rough—we had no sooner returned from our fabulous, much-needed vacation, and it was time to dismantle the kitchen for six weeks of remodeling, which wrapped up (mostly) at the start of what was literally the busiest, most hectic two weeks of the year for my day job. Amid the chaos of long workdays, Les and I had to move everything back into the kitchen, then it was time for aesthetic adjustments to the new cabinets just two days before Thanksgiving. Whew. Not 72 hours later came Hanukkah, and now here we are staring down the Advent season and barreling toward Christmas. Yep, I’m pretty well frozen in terms of getting things done, including sharing any of it here on Comfort du Jour. But another thing happened last weekend to give me pause and put my priorities under a microscope.
On Sunday, Les suggested that we take our dog, Nilla, to her favorite downtown brew pub for a relaxing afternoon. Nilla knows everyone at Fiddlin’ Fish, it seems, and we love watching her soak up the attention of the staff, fellow patrons and other dogs. It was a beautiful day and we should have gone. But we stayed home because I felt strangely obligated to follow through on making more latkes (using parsnips, carrots and purple sweet potatoes). I wanted to get that done and posted on the blog while it was still Hanukkah, as if it made any difference. My day in the kitchen did not end well, and if I could go back to that afternoon, I’d make a different decision. Our Nilla turned 13 at Thanksgiving and one (hopefully far away) day, we will have to memorialize her sweet face on the Christmas tree. Doing something together that is fun for Nilla brings joy, and I hate that we gave it up for lousy latkes. This weekend, we will be there.
It is not only the Hanukkah miracle that has been on my mind. There is a well-known story in the Bible’s New Testament about two sisters entertaining Jesus in their home. One of the sisters, Mary, sat at Jesus’s feet, enthralled at every word He spoke. And the other sister, Martha, was busy as a beaver in the kitchen and she complained that Mary was not helping and that she had to prepare the meal by herself. Jesus gently informed her that Mary had the right idea. Martha was missing out on the wonder.
When I’m doing Martha’s kind of “busy,” I can be robbing myself of peace, and when I am caught up in all the self-imposed trappings of the season, I do miss the joy and wonder. What I want most of all is to be fully present for the holiday season, and I will be thankful to see people face-to-face rather than on Zoom calls. I want to experience the pleasure of simple things like sipping hot cocoa by our chiminea on a cold December night. I want to make Christmas cookies—not for the blog, but just because I love making them and never seem to make the time. And this year, for the first time by myself, I’m going to make “crub,” a traditional Norwegian dish that was always on the table at my great-grandparents’ tiny little house on Christmas Eve. It is not a photogenic dish and I may or may not post it later, but it is special to me and tastes like home. Great-Gram, whose crub recipe is scattered across the country with her descendants, had words of wisdom for times like these. She’d say, regarding things that went wrong or didn’t get done, “a hundred years from now, nobody will ever know the difference.” It’s funny how that comes back to me now, and I’m grateful that I knew her.
Les asked me the other night if I was ever going to post the story from our vacation about the fantastic VIP tour I experienced at one of the nation’s top-ranked pizzerias. I’ve been sitting on it for three months now, and yes, eventually I will share it. Others (maybe even you, dear reader) have wondered, “Are you ever going to show us your kitchen?” Yes, and I’ll be excited to do it. But I am busy actually using the kitchen for Christmas and I don’t want to stop to tidy it up for pictures just now. But I promise, soon.
We will always fall short of something at the holiday season. This year, I want to fall short of stress, and I want to open the door for joy and wonder to enter. I hope the same for you! ❤
We are heading into Week 5 of our “life without a kitchen” project, and remodel fatigue is officially hitting me. I have been restless, tired, sleepless, pessimistic and flat-out grumpy over the smallest things, and biting off my husband’s head for having the audacity to relax on the sofa for five minutes after a long day of listening to his counseling clients’ problems.
Caution ahead: this post has a lot of pictures, but they tell the story so please bear with me. 🙂
At least we’re cooking!
I am dealing OK with the cooking-without-a-kitchen side of things—better than I expected, to be honest. It helps to have a few multi-purpose appliances, and I don’t mean Instant Pot. No, we are relying on old-school appliances we already had. The slow cooker that my husband, Les, used to make the thick and meaty bison chili posted yesterday also saved the day for me last week when I made a batch of from-scratch chicken soup, which began with an overnight roast of a whole chicken. A few days before that, I used the slow cooker to make a recipe that caught my eye on my blog buddy Bernadette’s site: PASTA FAGIOLI WITH KALE – not a love story – New Classic Recipe. I had to make a few minor substitutions, but it still turned out terrific—I’ve linked it here, in case you’d like to try making it in an actual kitchen. We have also employed our Cuisinart Griddler for hash brown waffles, panini sandwiches and bacon.
Thankfully, Les and I have both focused on cooking foods that provide ample leftovers, and that has saved a lot of time and effort during these kitchen-less weeks.
Where did all these dirty dishes come from?
But the other concessions we have made to realize our dreams of a better kitchen are, quite frankly, pushing me to the brink.
For example, doing dishes in the bathroom has proven to be the single greatest pain in the ass. I had the presence of mind, at least, to purchase a plastic dish pan that travels to and from the dining room, on a schedule not unlike the trains moving in and out of Penn Station. That was one of my best under-$5 purchases ever. But even that has a couple of downsides—first, the dish pan never seems to be in the location where I most need it, so I am trudging back and forth to opposite ends of the house to retrieve it. Plus, the thing only holds about one meal’s worth of dishes at a time, and that means I am washing dishes three times a day, or else struggling to wash what is in the dish pan because it is too full.
Thank goodness we are using disposable Chinet plates for most of our at-home meals, so the only things to be washed are pans, silverware, mugs and glasses, but I’m astonished at how quickly those things accumulate. It doesn’t help that it takes approximately five minutes for our water to heat up at that end of the house, but that’s another story.
Let me out! Let me in!
The long-term effects of the kitchen commotion on our pets remains to be seen, but we know the daily impact because we are constantly responding to their physical needs (or whims, in the cat’s case) to go outside. All doors to the kitchen are taped off in protective plastic so the doggy door is not available as usual. Even when the remodel crew is not working, and we are able to roll up the temporary plastic doors, the appliances are situated so that the door still isn’t easy to use. What this means for Nilla, who has enjoyed free, on-demand access to the backyard pretty much since she was a puppy, is that she needs to come find one of us (usually me, given that I work from home) when she needs a potty break. Bless her 13-year old heart, she has only had one incident that she couldn’t wait until her daddy got the leash on and the door opened. That girl is a team player.
And Taz, our sweet-but-demanding calico, is also missing the luxury of doggy-door, but in the opposite way. She enjoys being outside when the weather is nice (and it has been, for the most part), but she will spend hours surveilling the cul-de-sac and exploring the front garden beds, only to clamor at the front door to come inside, so she can use the litter box. As one of my friends put it, “she has standards.” We have only had one nasty thunderstorm since the kitchen project began, and when Taz scurried to the back door looking for protection that day, I had only one choice—to rip off the plastic door, lift the heavy blockage and get that baby inside, much the way someone might experience an emergency surge of adrenaline to lift a Volkswagen off their child. In further demonstration of Taz’s “standards,” this spoiled kitty refuses to drink pure, filtered water from an etched crystal bowl. No, she will only drink directly from the faucet in the bathroom sink—which, of course, is filled with dishes.
Thank God our discussions for getting a puppy this year did not come to fruition.
At least there’s takeout
We have, of course, taken advantage of the many take-out opportunities available to us, and for the most part, we have done so from a few of our favorite local places. But leave it to me to take a simple solution and push it into ridiculous territory. I could have called up a local sandwich shop that makes a perfectly good Reuben, but nooooo. I had to get online and place an order with Katz’s Delicatessen in NYC, paying through the nose for this package, “A Taste of New York,” delivered to my doorstep in huge, insulated boxes.
The shipment included a pound each of Katz’s incomparable pastrami and corned beef, a package of Kosher beef frankfurters, six New York bagels, a loaf of Katz’s deli rye, plus sauerkraut, mustard and full-sour pickles. It did make us smile, because we didn’t have enough time to visit Katz’s on our visit to N.Y. a couple of months ago. The only thing left from the Katz’s delivery is an enormous Kosher beef salami, which we will probably save for Super Bowl entertaining, and that will be here before we know it.
Trial runs in the kitchen
Our first meal from the Katz’s box gave us some disappointing, but helpful, information about the installation of our undercabinet lighting. Without intending to post any pictures of it, I plated up a pair of corned beef on rye sandwiches, along with the giant deli pickles. These pictures were not about the food, but about the orientation of the light strips that are supposed to be helping me with presentation of recipes on Comfort du Jour (not to mention cooking). What do you see here, besides the best corned beef this side of Manhattan?
Shadows. Lots of shadows. After two grueling days in the kitchen, the electrician had installed the under-cabinet lights at the back of the cabinets, rather than in the front, where the action is. Maybe that works for some people, and it would certainly illuminate the backsplash, but in all our discussions of under-cabinet lighting, we had emphasized that we needed task lighting.
On the same weekend, I intentionally decided to make breakfast pancakes on my large, dual-sided griddle, and we set it up on the counter in the kitchen so we could test another feature. The pancakes—made with browned butter, applesauce and cinnamon—were delicious, and so was the bacon we cooked on the Griddler, but I’ll share that recipe another day because the food isn’t the point. The plugmold outlet the griddle was plugged into, which was intended to help us keep cords out of the way, also was not configured correctly and the cord was dangling out into the middle of the counter rather than down from the underside of the cabinet. Plus, the “in-cabinet” lighting strip, which was supposed to be concealed inside the glass-door cabinets, wasn’t. Strike three. We put in a call to Matt, our contractor, to let him know we needed to pump the brakes and fix a few things before we could move forward. That was a rough (and sleepless) weekend for me.
Les and I are reasonable people, and we don’t complain for the fun of it. Thankfully, Matt heard our concerns and even agreed on several of our points. I’m pleased to report that all the lighting and under-cabinet problems were corrected within the week.
And now, the good stuff
We are getting excited to have this project behind us in plenty of time to get organized and start cooking for our favorite holiday—Thanksgiving. With the electrical concerns covered, things are beginning to move quickly. The drywall has been repaired, soon to be sanded for a fresh coat of paint. The overhead wafer lights have been installed, throwing even more light onto our situation, and covering all the task zones of the kitchen. I am especially excited about the between-stud cubby that will host my most-reached-for cooking oils and my salt and pepper mills. And please, for goodness sake, have a look at this backsplash in the works!
Kinda makes that pile of dirty dishes in the bathroom a little more tolerable. 😉
Controlled chaos. That was the scene inside the enormous white tent just outside the northern West Virginia factory where Fiesta Ware has been produced since 1936. It was the moment I had been anticipating for weeks, and as I stood among so many other Fiesta fans who, unlike me, knew exactly what they were doing, I realized all at once that I was in way over my head. I couldn’t articulate what I had expected at the annual Fiesta tent sale, but it definitely wasn’t this.
Before I overwhelm you, dear reader, allow me to back up to explain how this most colorful adventure began. For many months, even before my husband and I began our kitchen remodel project, we had discussed ideas for buying new dishes to replace my beloved “Garden Harvest” pattern. The dishes you have seen so many times here on Comfort du Jour have seen me through some interesting times, and I was ready to bring in something new. I have been enamored of Fiesta dinnerware for as long as I can remember. My grandmother had some random pieces of it (from the original collections, no doubt), alongside a garage gallery full of Depression glass, some of which she used regularly in her kitchen and for serving guests. I loved the idea of bringing back a classic, I especially love the cheerful colors and Fiesta fit the bill for our “made in America” kitchen commitment.
When I started searching out the dishes online, I was quickly overwhelmed by the variety of colors and dish styles. Choosing a color became a near-impossible task, and amid the COVID crisis, availability was spotty with the usual online retailers. There are a couple of places in town that I could see and touch the dishes, but their options were also limited. Why not go straight to the manufacturer’s website, I thought, and see if their selection was better? That’s when I discovered that the Fiesta Factory has an annual “tent sale” at the manufacturing facility in West Virginia, and it was only a few weeks away!
I’d have to drive, I reasoned, because I would need to transport my purchases home. But my husband, Les, would not be able to accompany me, and going alone would not be as joyful. And that’s when a miracle happened! It was just after I had posted the Mexican street corn hash and eggs for Better Breakfast Month, and my friend, Peg, had commented on the dish, and the dish! It made me happy to know that someone else appreciated the Garden Harvest dishes that had been part of my cooking journey for so long. We connected on the phone and Peg was thrilled at my offer to pass along my Garden Harvest collection, and even more thrilled at an invitation to accompany me to the Fiesta tent sale. We would turn it into a girls’ getaway weekend!
Our journey led us across many state lines, as the Fiesta Factory is located at the tippy top of West Virginia, in the skinny finger of land between Ohio and Pennsylvania. We found accommodations in cozy Steubenville, Ohio, a stone’s throw from Newell, W.V., where Fiesta is headquartered. The town of Steubenville is anchored by the Franciscan University, which was across the street from our hotel, and it enjoys a flood of visitors every holiday season when it hosts the annual Nutcracker festival. Steubenville also happens to be the birthplace of Dean Martin, and so Peg and I set out on our first night to find a nice dry martini and raise a glass to the crooner.
Our best bet on that first night was a Bennigan’s, right in front of the hotel (the cocktail was just OK), and then we settled in, hoping for a good night’s sleep before we crossed the bridge (again) into West Virginia, where the Fiesta madness would begin in earnest, come daylight.
And that’s where we return to the colorful scene where this story began—the Fiesta Factory tent sale, an annual liquidation of factory “seconds,” perfectly good dishes—all with some miniscule blemish, and I can attest that it is difficult to find any problem with most of the pieces in the tent sale. When I originally learned that the tent sale merchandise was not first quality, I recoiled. But I got over that quickly, in part because I spent a little over a year in ceramic wheel-throwing classes, and I know that minor imperfections don’t have to ruin an otherwise beautiful dish. I learned to call that “character.” The other incentive to consider the “seconds” was the price list. As an example, a perfect medium-size Fiesta canister with lid is $59.99. I bought two of them, for $20 each! It just took a little digging.
Some of the dishes I bought had a tiny dot of an incorrect color. Others may have had a slightly lighter-than-standard amount of glaze, and so the color was not a perfect match to its companions. Another has a nearly invisible spot where the glaze didn’t completely adhere, and it is honestly so small that I must take off my glasses to inspect the dish. And that is after I had already found the spot previously. I could live with these imperfections, but the scene was still overwhelming, with frenzied shoppers with grocery carts everywhere and stacks and stacks of dishes, but not particularly organized.
The controlled chaos I described turned to fun as Peg and I began to follow the lead of more experienced Fiesta scavengers. We met people who have been attending the tent sale for as many as 17 years, and one shopper, when I mentioned how impressed I was at her knowledge of the colors replied gleefully, “Are you kidding? I’m obsessed!”
Though we had already spent several hours looking at Fiesta ware, Peg and I couldn’t resist stepping into the Fiesta Factory Store, which was filled to the brim with all the perfect-quality pieces you’d ever hope to find. It was absolutely gorgeous, and I bought a few more pieces inside, including two deviled egg platters, which I can’t wait to fill up at Thanksgiving and Super Bowl. It just makes me happy to see all those cheerful colors! 🙂
Almost three hours after we arrived, we pulled away from the Fiesta factory with a trunk full of darn-near-perfect dishes, and I found myself contemplating whether to attend next year’s tent sale. But I’ll need a better plan (and perhaps a larger trunk), so I’ll work on that and share it here for any fellow Fiesta lovers who might be up for an adventure. Who’s with me?!
Things are getting real over here. Yesterday at exactly 9:16 am, a crew of three guys arrived at our front door, ready to start work on the kitchen remodel we’ve been dreaming about for so many months. And I will admit that on Sunday night, when my husband, Les, and I emptied out the final few things, there was a moment (OK, maybe half a moment), when I felt a little sad.
Not sad to have our project underway, mind you. We are ready after so much planning, and I have been getting a little antsy about the timeline following several delays on delivery of the new cabinets. We were firm about not tearing things out until we knew for sure the new cabinets were delivered and correct. It has been a classic case of “hurry up and wait,” but well worth it because we are investing in American-made products, from the cabinets to the countertops, sink and faucet, and even the new dishes we will be getting to replace the ones you’ve seen so many times in my blog photos.
What made me sad was my reminiscing over some of the things that have happened in this room we are overhauling. All the Thanksgiving meals, Super Bowl parties, family gatherings and romantic meals for just the two of us. Of course, there will be more of all those things when the new kitchen is installed, but not exactly in this same space where our memories as a couple began. It’s bittersweet. I fought hard to hang onto it this week, even baking one last loaf of sourdough bread on Sunday night, mere hours before the crew showed up to tear it down.
And then, just like that, the feeling passed. Because, yay! A new kitchen!
It’s going to be a little wild over here, and for the next week or so, please bear with me as I’ll be focused on the well-being of our pets, who are plenty confused with the state of things. We will be doing a lot of take-out this week, and then I will dive into the new challenge of cooking “kitchen-less.” In between, I have some catching up to do, with recent welcome-to-fall recipes that I’ve made, and more food stories and recipes to bring to the table from our vacation, including an authentic Puerto Rican comfort food dish, a couple of fab pizzas inspired by our visits to the amazing pizzerias in New Haven, Connecticut and (of course) a few fun cocktails that I’m sure you’ll enjoy! Here’s a little taste of what’s to come.
It will be weird to continue seeing and posting pictures showing the kitchen as it was, while at the same time I will be watching the transformation into what it will become—a bright and beautiful, made-in-America kitchen! There will be some frustrations, I’m sure, but we are looking forward to the finished project, and even the extreme kitchenless cooking we will do.
If you have done a full kitchen remodel, please tell me in the comments, what got you through the rough parts? Because here they come!
On Memorial Day weekend this year (the unofficial start of summer), my husband, Les, and I enjoyed a few craft beers at our favorite local brewpub, dreaming up fun things to do for a late-summer vacation. We were hoping to make good on some travel plans that we had to cancel last year, and our decision to drive rather than fly gave us a lot of flexibility for how to spend a week away from home. We knew that we wanted to visit the Northeast, through New York and Connecticut, and we were game for just about anything.
On a whim that afternoon, my husband looked up the concert schedule for one of his favorite Jersey-based bands, and would you believe it? —they were scheduled to play on Labor Day weekend, right at the end of our planned vacation time! Our spontaneous decision to hit the “buy it” button on those tickets turned out to be one of our best moves ever. We counted down the months, weeks and days until our trip, and now the vacation that we had so eagerly anticipated has ended and it feels a bit blurry. The experience of time is an odd thing, and even more so after having spent nearly a year and a half not going anywhere. We are safe at home, exhausted, and still reeling from all the incredible adventures we had over 10 days and across more than 1,800 miles.
During our getaway, which was conveniently timed to coincide with Les’s birthday, we enjoyed visits with family and old friends, made new friends and met a few others face-to-face for the first time, including Bernadette, one of my blogging buddies that I met here on WordPress, and our musician friends, Glenn Alexander and Oria. Those experiences gave me joy that I cannot quite put into words. We also had some of the most incredible food, including pizza at three of America’s top-rated pizzerias and some chicken wings in Connecticut that were, quite frankly, better than any wings I have had from my time near Buffalo. Les and I walked more than 7 miles in one day in NYC, including lunch at Chelsea Market and happy hour at a classic tavern in Greenwich Village, mere days before the record-setting rainfall that wreaked havoc on the city and parts of New Jersey and Long Island, all locations we stayed during our trip. We visited a legendary music venue made famous by Bruce Springsteen, attended a fabulous outdoor concert by a favorite band, and did I mention all the terrific food?
I’m still trying to get my arms around these experiences, and also trying to resume the routines of work-from-home life, and it is a little overwhelming, but I promise more details are coming. Here’s a glimpse of what is to come in the weeks ahead, as I aim to replicate or re-invent some of the culinary experiences we had along the way.
Nearly every leg of our journey was tied in some way to Comfort du Jour, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the many ways starting this blog has changed my life for the good.
We are happy to be home, sleeping in our own bed and loving on our precious pets. It is back to business-as-usual status around here, but not really. This action-packed vacation was a pre-emptive strike against stress, as our kitchen remodel is finally about to begin, so brace yourself for some new posts that will probably be a bit chaotic at times. We still have a lot of pantry items to use up, and Les will be giving me a new “Chopped” basket this evening, and it will be the last one I am able to navigate before the kitchen is dismantled. And then we will have a new adventure, perhaps named “The No-Kitchen Challenge.” Oh, these are the good times!
Thank you, dear reader, for hanging on for the ride. ❤