In Jennie's Kitchen

chocolate gingerbread doughnuts {day 130}

Mikey never guessed fatherhood was one of his destinies to be fulfilled. He was diagnosed with a medical condition in his early twenties, which required a form of chemotherapy treatment to help him heal. This was a decade before we met.

At the time, his doctor told him to put some of his "boys" on ice just in case he wanted to have kids one day. When I became pregnant, saying we were shocked is putting it mildly—I was on the pill too. You know that little disclaimer about using backup contraception if you're on antibiotics? Well, it wasn't there back in 2002.

And thank heavens it wasn't.

To think one simple sentence could've changed the course of our lives would've surprised me 130 days. Now, I know how one split-second can change a life forever.

The change that happened on August 7th sucked.

The one that occurred on one day in July of 2002—that was one of the best things that ever happened to both me and Mikey.

Are you listening to mommy Isabella? One day, if you're reading this when you grow up, I want to remind you that YOU are special.

YOU were our miracle.

YOU were our gift.

YOU coming into our lives was the most defining moment in daddy's life.

Loving you helped daddy realize his full potential as a person. You opened his heart in ways I never could've. The love a father and daughter share is a bond that death can never take away.

Today, Isabella and I had to relive the day Mikey died. In watching her talk about the events of the day, and answering her questions, I learned something too—confronting the fear takes away its power. Yes, sadness will take its place, but the fear cannot rule you anymore.

My fears have been many. The last few days I've been forgetful. When I opened the pantry tonight to get some chocolate for a recipe, I couldn't remember where I placed it. This may not sound like a big deal, but it lead to me to start thinking I had a brain tumor and only months to live.

Maybe I'm being dramatic, but forgetting where something I use everyday was stored, unnerved me. It's all about a sense of control these days. The truth is, sleep is something that doesn't come easy this last week. As the holidays draw closer I miss Mikey so much.

I do my best to harness happiness every step of the way, but the quiet nights are not easy. So I retreat to the kitchen and bake at 10:00pm. Tonight I realized I need to confront my fear.

Sharing new recipes with you doesn't make his death permanent. A disease that affects one in a million—literally, is what ripped him from our lives.

One in a fucking million! (pretend you didn't see that if you're still reading Isabella)

My husband had to be the one millionth person in line for Good Pasture's Syndrome?

Are you kidding me?

Tonight I'm giving fear the middle finger. You won't own me.

Tonight I'm going to soak my pillow with tears.

Tonight I will let the sadness take hold, and hope as I always do that Mikey will come to me in my dreams.

But first, I'm going to do something that makes me happy. As I typed that last sentence the tears stopped flowing, and now cling gently to my eyelashes. Just the thought of sharing a new recipe with all of you made me stop and smile.

So many of you say I inspire you, but really it is all of you who give me hope, and for that gift I come bearing chocolate gingerbread cake doughnuts. Wrap your arms around yourself and hold on tight—that's me hugging you, wishing you a happy and merry. Here's to peace, love and happiness—and leaving fear behind as 2011 weaves into 2012.

Chocolate Gingerbread Cake Doughnuts

makes 18

These doughnuts are lovely to eat, and look at, with a simple sprinkling of conectioner's sugar. I couldn't stop there, though, and decided to dip them in some of this homemade caramel sauce I had in the fridge. The gold glitter is always a pretty touch, and can be found at most cake decorating stores.

1 1/4 cup (168 grams) flour

1/2 cup (45 grams) dark cocoa powder (I use Guittard or Valrhona)

1/2 cup (100 grams) natural cane sugar

2 teaspoons (10 grams) baking powder

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) baking soda

1/2 teaspoon (2 grams) fine sea salt

1/4 teaspoon cloves

3/4 teaspoon (2 grams) ginger

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) cinnamon

2/3 cup (175 ml) milk

1 large (50 grams) egg

4 tablespoons (2 ounces/60 ml) brewed coffee, cooled

2 tablespoons (28 grams) butter, melted & cooled

Preheat the oven to 425ºF with the rack adjusted to the center position. Coat three 6-doughtnut nonstick baking pan with cooking spray; set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt and spices; set aside.

In a measuring cup or small bowl, use a fork to beat together the milk, egg, coffee and butter until well blended. Pour over the flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon until just combined and there are no visible traces of flour. Evenly spoon batter into the prepared doughnut pans.

Bake one pan at a time on the center rack for 8 minutes, until the doughnuts spring back when touched*. Remove from oven and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Repeat with remaining filled doughnut pans.

* Really, don’t try to bake two or three at once. They won’t bake evenly, and since the cooking time is so brief, opening the door to alternate trays would throw off the oven temperature. The doughnuts cool enough to release from the pan after about 5 minutes, so you’ll have the third tray ready by time the

Update 12/16/2011: A few people have mentioned they don't have doughnut pans and are wondering if they could bake this recipe in another type of pan. I can't 100% confirm baking times, but do think trying a smaller size pan, such as cupcakes, mini-loaves or even a mini-bundt pan, as one person suggested, would work. If you do try this out in a different pan, please feel free to leave a note in the comments with baking times and serving sizes. Thanks so much!

christmas past, present and...

Around this time last year, I was writing out our holiday cards. I've been designing custom ones since Isabella was born. Back in the one-kid days, I even created calendars with not only custom photos for each month, but a carefully chosen photo of Isabella with each family member to mark their birthdays and every holiday.

Back in 2008, when Virginia was born, I decided it was time for a change. I wanted something more personal that my mom, aunts, uncle and in-laws could cherish beyond the calendar year. I scanned Isabella's artwork from pre-K, and made a book interspersed with pictures of the girls.

Last year was different, though. For some reason I decided to make just one book. Something special for my mom. I put together photos of me, Mikey and the girls, and titled it simply "Perillo Family Memories". She was the only person I gave it too. I didn't order a copy for myself, figuring we had years decades to make books and create new memories.

Now I find myself clinging to everyone that occurred prior to August 7th, fearful that as time moves forward, my memory will get fuzzy. Thankfully Shutterfly saves old projects in your user profile, allowing me to go back in time this one instance. I ordered a copy for Mikey's parents, and one for myself. I hope my mom doesn't mind that her book isn't a one of a kind anymore.

What you see above are our holiday cards for this year—they're also thank you notes for everyone who has helped carry us through these last 125 days. I didn't want to do traditional, somber notes—you know the ones that funeral homes give you. Afterall, I threw one heck of a party to celebrate his life, and as hard on the heart this holiday season is proving to be, we still find rays of sunshine.

Rays like that one of the sun setting on the shores of Cape Cod Bay.

Mikey is with me every step of the way, I feel him, though I'm still not certain he's settled on wherever this next journey is taking him. I sense him lingering around us the last couple of weeks, perhaps not ready to let go of the life and greet the holidays feeling lost and lonely.

I've been wanting to share something special with all you. My first new recipe since posting about cherry slushies on August 4th.

I'm just not there yet. The recipes I've created since then are bittersweet because he never got to taste them. For now, I need to hold them close. You've all been so kind, that it makes me feel rather guilty being so selfish—it's not one of my strong suits, but I'm guessing you all understand.

It doesn't mean I don't want to share some homecooking with you, though. I figured we could take a stroll down memory lane, and revisit some of Mikey's favorite recipes during this time of year. I wish you and yours the happiest of holidays.

Homemade Hot Cocoa Mix

Cocoa Candied Nuts

Mom's Gingerbread

Peanut Butter Bon Bons

Homemade Chestnut Spread

 

How to Make Royal Icing

The First Thanksgiving {chocolate chess pie}

It's funny how I can feel so alone in a crowded room these days. This little place here in cyberspace, though—I never feel alone here. The sincere comments, emails and well-wishes over the last week have only reaffirmed what I've always believed—there are more good people in this world than we sometimes realize.

When I wrote a post asking friends to make a peanut butter pie to celebrate Mikey's life and the love for everyone in their own lives, I never expected the amazing domino effect that would follow. One woman wrote to tell me she has a peanut butter chocolate cupcake on the menu at her cafe in Buenos Aires in honor of Mikey, with the proceedings going to a charity that helps kids in need.

It reminded me of Eric Carle's story the The Tiny Seed, the way the love Mikey and I shared made it's way through the borders of Argentina into the heart of a woman neither of us knew. There are many more stories like this, and they make my heart swell with hope.

Today I have another pie to share with you. I made this pie for Thanksgiving last week, and for most of you this is a new recipe too. I created it about four months ago for Betty Crocker, and Mikey passed away before it was published. I thought about it last Tuesday night as I was planning my Thanksgiving menu. I knew that brown butter apple pie was a definite on my dessert list. Being Italian, though, we're never satisfied with just one dessert. In fact, there's usually a dozen to choose from on Christmas Eve.

I had planned on making a pumpkin pie, but Mikey and I were the only ones who liked it. While I wouldn't get the hairy eye for eating a whole pie by myself, I just didn't want to eat that one without my partner in pie-eating crime. So my mind wandered to that chocolate chess pie.

I first made chess pie for Olga's birthday back in May. It was a more traditional lemon one, and I was in awe of how darn easy it was to make. When Betty Crocker called asking for some new recipe ideas, I decided to try my hand at a chocolate chess pie. I didn't invent the wheel on this one, I just tweaked it really since chocolate chess pie is a common Southern treat.

Last week, I took that tweak one step further. Instead of simply melting the butter, I decided to brown it—I may need a support group for people who brown butter obsessively. I wasn't quite sure if it would make a difference, as the recipe only needs four tablespoons of melted butter anyway, but I decided it was worth a try. I'm happy to report the extra few minutes imparted a subtle toffee undertone to the chocolate filling.

You know what else I love about this pie? It gets better with age. I know this because I served it as dessert four day later. I also had a tiny sliver every night in between, and as the days passed the velvety chocolate filling transformed into a thick, fudgy one. It was seriously like a slice of deep chocolate fudge on a buttery crust.

Oh, and the crust. This is the easiest pie crust you will ever make. I know people say that all the time, but this time it's really true. It's a vinegar-based pie crust, which at first thought, I know you're wondering if it tastes like vinegar. Not a chance. I liberally adapted the recipe from Mollie Cox Bryan, so much so that really it's a new recipe in itself. For starters, I ran out of white vinegar, so I opted for apple cider vinegar. I also swapped in butter for the shortening—big surprise, I know.

A little bit of sugar is essential in any pie crust too, so I added a teaspoon. My last change was adding some cornmeal to the crust for a crumbly, textured quality. This pie crust has character people. You also don't need to chill it before rolling it out. Just make it, roll it out, fit it into the pie plate, then let it chill ever so briefly as you prepare the filling. The recipe is enough for two piecrusts, so I wrapped the leftover piece and used it for the apple pie the next day.

I don't see a need to make any other crust—ever.again.

I know some of you may be feeling anxious about the holidays. Whether you're traveling a similar road as myself, just get blue around this time of year or feel under pressure by all the baking happening around you—it's an easy time of year to want to check out. I love Christmas-time, though, and this year, more than ever, I need it to feel happy and special.

Yes, my heart aches at the sight of his stocking hanging next to mine—at the thought of tomorrow's tree lighting in Rockefeller Center, knowing we won't take the kids together this year, but I do still think it is the most wonderful time of the year. It's a time when dreams come true, and hearts grow ten times in size. I may be too old to sit on Santa's lap, and heaven knows he can't make my only wish come true this year, but this chocolate chess pie? Well, for a small moment in time on day 108 it had the power to heal.

Brown Butter Chocolate Chess Pie

makes one 9-inch pie

There are so many things to love about this pie—ease of preparation, ranking high on my list. It also is best when it has a day to rest, so I tend to make it the night before I plan on serving it. If you want to serve it the same day, make sure you leave as least 4 hours for it to cool completely, so the filling has time to set. Whatever you do, don't refrigerate it—chess pie is meant to be served at room temperature.

One Cornmeal Vinegar Pie Crust (recipe below)

1/4 cup (2 ounces) unsalted butter (directions to brown it)

1 1/2 cups (300 grams) natural cane sugar

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) fleur de sel

1/4 cup (23 grams) dark cocoa, like Guittard or Valrhona

3 eggs

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon (12 grams) yellow cornmeal

Fresh whipped cream, to serve (optional)

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Melt the butter over medium heat in a small, heavy-bottomed pot. Cook until it begins to brown, but not burn; it will smell nutty and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool for 5 minutes.

Gently press pie crust into an ungreased 9-inch glass pie plate. Trim any overhang and crimp edges, using the back tines of a fork. Place pie plate in refrigerator while you prepare the filling.

Pour the melted butter, scraping any browned bits into, a deep bowl. Add the sugar and cocoa and stir with a fork until well blended. Add the eggs and vanilla. Beat, using whisk, until well mixed and it forms a thick batter. Stir in the cornmeal just until combined; pour into the prepared pie crust.

Bake 35 to 45 minutes or until the pie is set and the top puffs up and forms hard crust. Cool completely. Serve at room temperature with a dollop of whipped cream.

Cornmeal Vinegar Crust

Makes two 9-inch pie crusts

inspired by this recipe by Mollie Cox Bryan

1/3 cup (50 grams) yellow cornmeal

1 1/2 cups (200 grams) all purpose flour, plus extra for rolling out

1/2 teaspoon (4 grams) salt

1 teaspoon (6 grams) natural cane sugar

1 cup (8 ounces) very cold butter, cut into 16 pieces

1 large egg

1 1/2 teaspoons white vinegar

2 tablespoons ice cold water

Add the flours, salt and sugar to the bowl of a food processor. Pulse 1-2 times to mix well. Add the bits of butter and pulse a few times until it forms a sandy-looking mixture. Add the egg, vinegar and water. Pulse until it forms a solid ball of dough, about 8 to 10 one-second pulses.

Dump the ball of dough out onto a well-floured counter or smooth surface. Divide the dough in two equal pieces, wrapping one of them if you're only make a single-crust pie. Roll out in a circle large enough to fit your pie plate. Proceed with directions for whichever pie recipe you are using.

spiced scented cranberry sauce {day 106}

Thanksgiving preparation has officially started, and I wasn't sure what to expect as I set out to make the cranberry sauce. I'd bought the cranberries last week, and there they sat in the fruit drawer of my fridge. I'd stare at them each time I opened the door, and think "maybe tomorrow the mood will strike to make it".

Well, Thanksgiving is only three days away, and this year I'm blinking in disbelief at how fast this fall has gone by. I go to bed each night thinking of how I found him when I heard he had collapsed. I replay this scene over in my mind before I go to sleep to remind myself that this is really my life, my reality.

I've written about being thankful, and I encourage the girls every day to remember how fortunate we are in spite of this sad truth. For now, my goal is a short term one—get through Thanksgiving. A reader who has also suffered this kind of loss, commented that the anticipation leading up to the "day", be it an anniversary, birthday, or holiday is sometimes harder than the day itself. I've hit two big "days" so far, and I believe that to be true too.

So, I'm glad I didn't turn my back on Thanksgiving this year. As I poured the cranberries into the pot and measured out the spices, I felt normal. I felt like the old "Jennifer". The one who did these things without blinking an eye before August 7th.

Spice Scented Cranberry Sauce

Makes about one quart

A few of you asked about my recipe, so I figured I'd share it with you again. I created it two years ago, and it was featured on the blog I used to write for Relish Magazine last November.

One 12 ounce bag fresh cranberries, rinsed and picked over

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup granulated sugar

3/4 cup packed brown sugar (light or dark is fine)

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/8 teaspoon allspice

1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Add all the ingredients to a heavy-bottomed 2-quart pot, and stir to combine. Cover pot and bring mixture to a boil over medium-high heat (keep a close eye because if it boils over it'll make a mess of your stove—I speak from experience and too much multitasking!).

Remove lid, reduce heat to a simmer and let cook, stirring occasionally, until thick and jam-like, about 15 to 17 minutes. Let cool to room temperature or chill before serving. May be prepared and stored in a glass container 3 to 4 days in advance.

day 104 {brown butter apple pie}

It's the seemingly little things that throttle me back into the harshness of my reality. Tonight I was folding laundry, and when I came to the dinner napkins there were only three of each pattern. Everything about a meal at home makes me ache for him, but the napkin thing especially tugs at my sense of balance.

I always bought napkins in sets of four.

Now I only need three on normal evenings.

That fourth, lonely napkin sits cast aside in the drawer until it is needed every third day. By the third day there are three mismatched napkins, longingly waiting to be put to good use.

Those mismatched napkins remind me everyday that there is a piece of our family missing. They gather in the draw, and seem to scream at me every time I open it—"he is never coming back".

Then the third day comes, and all is as it should be—napkins in sets of four, together again. Of course, our life doesn't go back to normal. Mikey does not suddenly reappear. But the napkins are in order. Something is in order, and as it should be for a change.

Those moments are the sense of control I crave.

I gave much thought to Thanksgiving this year. Should I go far away? Should I cook? Should I go to a friend's nearby? In the end, I realized I needed to retain some sort of control. If I chased myself from the kitchen, that would solve nothing.

I'm worried how it will feel to roast the turkey, knowing there is no one to shoo away from the crackly, golden skin. Hopefully I'll get the spice scented cranberry sauce going tomorrow—he would sneak into the fridge and eat spoonfuls of it. The stuffing is something Mikey always lovingly prepared, and I'm not yet sure if I will make it. I'm going to make that call closer to Thursday.

Last year, I made a new dessert for Thanksgiving and Mikey loved it. Todd and Diane can vouch for it too, since they made their version of it recently. It was a brown butter apple pie, and yes, it's as amazing as it sounds—plus it doesn't require much more effort than a regular apple pie. You just brown some butter to add a warm, toffee-like flavor to filling. I'm going to make that pie again, but perhaps adjust the salt, since I'm sure they'll be a few tears in the filling too.

being thankful {day 102}

The last few days people near and far have reached out to wish me strength and peace as the Thanksgiving holiday approaches. It will be tough, no doubt, and if you want real honesty, I'm terrified of waking up that day.

Not because I'm afraid of the tears that will be inevitable.

Not because of the heartbreak I carry as if the Grand Canyon has settled in my chest.

I'm worried because I know I need to be strong to preserve the beauty and love that my girls have come to expect during what has always been one of my favorite seasons. Every year I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with them, and try as I might, there is no holding back the tears that slide down my face as Santa's sleigh pulls into Herald Square.

Silly for a grown woman to admit, I know.

I believe that kindness outweighs the misery in the world, and something about that dude in the red suit, tiny specs resting on his cherry-red nose fills me with comfort and calm. It renews my belief that we are all born good, it just depends on the chances we are given, and take, as the layers of our life unfold.

As we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner, instead of focusing on what we have lost, I will remind the girls of everything that enriches our lives. I will remind them to be thankful for the new warm blankets we just bought, for the apartment we now call home, for the love of friends and family.

And I will remind them that as cheated as we all feel, we must be thankful for having had Mikey in our lives, no matter how short the time felt. It will be hard for them to understand, I know. Heaven knows I don't "get-it" yet myself.

This year, as you plan your Thanksgiving meal, I'd like to ask everyone to take a moment and think about everything that you feel fortunate for in your life. Then, think about the millions of voids that will be on Thanksgiving tables around the country.

It may be someone like me, struggling with the loss of a husband or wife, but with the added worry of bills piling up. The Liz Logelin Foundation is there to help them.

Perhaps it's hope that someday, hopefully soon, a cure for pediatric cancer will be found. Join Gretchen and her family in honoring their son Liam's memory—the Glad company is matching donations up to $100,000, to Cookies for Kids' Cancer.*

And then, there are the empty plates that many families face because they cannot afford to feed themselves. For those men, women and children, I am very thankful that places like the Los Angeles Mission exist. I learned of it last year, when Diane and Todd created a moving video to highlight the work they are doing to help create more than just a meal—they are creating hope and a reason to keep on going each day. A donation of just $38.57 can help 19 people.

For those wishing they could help ease the heaviness in my heart this holiday season, please join me in making the world a better place. If you have a blog, write a post similar to this one, letting your readers, friends and family know how they can help make a difference.

Happy (early) Thanksgiving, and thank you for being such kind, caring people and joining me in my journey the last 102 days.

Disclosure: While I have no affiliation with Glad, I have been compensated by their parent company, Clorox, for my work as a spokesperson on the Love Your Veggies campaign.

Italian easter bread

Last night I hosted a Passover seder for my in-laws. Today my Easter Bread recipe is featured on The Washington Post. It's a poetic juxtaposition of the two worlds I float between.

But I have Kim in my head, whispering "be happy for the moment". So I will let my quandry of how to raise the girls with a spiritual guidance rest for just a few minutes.

I will push that feeling of limbo, my wonders of what really happens in the afterlife—if there is an afterlife, to the recesses of my brain for a few moments and enjoy what I have worked hard to achieve.

Sure, I've been published before, but this Washington Post article is something special. When I was in college, I subscribed to the paper. I figured what better way for a local gal, studying journalism at Brooklyn College, to start taking her craft seriously.

Why did the Washington Post feel more important than the gospel of my hometown, The New York Times?

Maybe it was because it represented a wider world, someplace further from where I grew up and settled for college—my mom and I knew nothing about scholarships back then.

I took courses day and night to fit in three jobs so I could pay for college. Between classes I was a nanny to a child model and actress, tutored ESL students at the campus language lab and was a stock girl at the Gap on nights and weekends. I even pushed a popcorn cart at the local movie theater during one summer.

There were no silver spoons. While it may seem easy now, looking in on my daily life, peeking to see what simmers and stirs in my kitchen, my story is truly one made from scratch. The memories of my past serve as sustenance to keep me working towards my dreams for tomorrow.

And little bursts of sunshine like this one in The Washington Post are an important reminder.

Almost 20 years later, after a very winding, and sometimes uncertain path, it looks like I really am gonna make it after all.

Italian Easter Bread

Makes one 12-inch ring

I've noted the ingredients here by weight, so everyone can enjoy this recipe. For the full directions and to read my article, please visit The Washington Post All We Can Eat blog.

4 teaspoons (17 grams) active dry yeast

6 cups (900 grams) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon (4 grams) kosher salt

1 cup scalded milk, cooled to 110º

8 ounces butter, softened

1/2 cup (4 ounces) sugar

4 egg yolks

1 teaspoon lemon extract

4 to 6 eggs, optional

1 egg white beaten with a splash of cold water

1/4 cup simple syrup, to glaze

Multi-colored nonpareils, to decorate

gingerbread muffins

I went against my better judgement last week. When the singed mufffins came from the oven, I berated myself with "I told you so" at least a dozen times. Without this error in judgement, though, the world wouldn't be as sweet a place. At least my world wouldn't, and yours too, once you make this.

I set out to make gingerbread muffins for Isabella's school holiday party. After baking a test batch and being quite satisfied with the results, I set out all the ingredients the night before so I could wake the morning of and bake them fresh. Day old muffins just would do.

Thinking I was all that, being ready to go and effortlessly mixing together the batter, I filled the muffin tins. Then I paused, knowing full well I should bake them in batches. While many recipes say you can bake trays side by side, the outcome is never as it should be. I know this, but the night before I decided the 20 minutes extra sleep were more important as I set my alarm.

As expected, the muffins didn't bake evenly, and all the outer ones had burnt edges. Now I really dug a hole for myself. I suppose I could've just showed up with nothing, but the perfectionist in me wouldn't accept failure. I had eight muffins left from the test batch I made the day before. Not enough to bring to a class of 26 kids plus parents, but just enough to make a small tray of bread pudding. I'd been thinking about making one with these muffins the moment I tasted them. No time like the present to wing a recipe, right?

I proceeded to cut them into cubes, then whisk together some egg yolks, cream, milk, sugar and vanilla extract. I spooned it all into a baking dish and set in the oven, then said a few Hail Marys. I walked out the door to bring Isabella to school and told the Mr. to take it from the oven when the timer went off, and let it cool before packing in a container I'd left out. On the way out the door, I grabbed some homemade vanilla bean caramel sauce from the fridge.

Then I waited for the Mr. to arrive, cake container in hand.

We settled in to watch Isabella's holiday chorus recital. Her last elementary school one, I should add. The tears flowed freely.

Then the moment of truth. We got to Isabella's class. As I opened the Rubbermaid container, I was about do something I'd never done before—serve something I'd never tested, let alone even tasted. While the class sang Happy Birthday to one of their mates, I poured the caramel sauce on top. Then dug into with a spoon, figuring I could toss it in the garbage before anyone saw it if it was horrid.

To my delight, it wasn't just acceptable. It was amazing, and it was all the result of one failed recipe. Proof that in every failure lies something good, be it a lesson or inspiration to do better next time. Perhaps being more forgiving of our mistakes is the best New Year's resolution.

mom's gingerbread

I recently came across the most amazing gingerbread cookie recipe. The spices almost slap you in the face, in a good way—exactly what gingerbread should do. It reminds your tastebuds they are alive.

This is a recipe that will leave sugar and butter cookies quivering in their tins. I know it's made me rethink my choice if I could make only one cookie during Christmas. Perhaps even the rest of my life.

To think this little recipe has been sitting under my nose all these years. It's my mother's, and for years was cast aside as a supporting character to her gingerbread houses, merely a vehicle to hold candy decorations.

Until now.

Today there will be eight kids running through the house. Homemade hot cocoa will be flowing freely, and there will be plenty of gingerbread men to dunk.

homemade chestnut spread—two gifts in one

I love winter. Having grown up in NYC, I don't fear these frigid temperatures. I just wish they would stay consistent.

What I do detest this time of year is the darkness that descends come 4:30pm. By five o'clock all chances of decent photography are totally eclipsed. I prefer natural lighting, so all my photos are at the mercy of Mother Nature.

Why does any of this matter? Well, I was going to share some peanut butter bon bons with you all, but there was no time to get a good shot today. It will have to wait for another day, though I promise before Christmas, so you can spread some yummy peaunt butter cup inspired, no-bake cheer with friends and family.

There is a very acceptable consolation prize, though: homemade chestnut spread. A friend gave me a can she bought back from France, and I'm embarrased to admit it sat on the shelf of my pantry for months since I had no idea what to do with it.

Then one day, while peeking through the cupboards for inspiration, I spied the can. I decided to make a variation on Molly's grandmother's cinnamon toasts. The anticipation of the first bite of a new recipe is one of my favorite parts about cooking in general. I imagine the drumroll as I taste to see if my idea was a success or will send me back to the cutting board.

The chestnut orange crisps transformed a very humble, albeit wonderful, recipe for toasted bread into something extra special. So special, in fact, I decided to add them to my gift-giving list this year. Hesitation gripped me, wondering if people would think I'd lost my mind, giving away little rectangles of toast. I dismissed it, knowing these were no ordinary crisps, crackers, cookies, call them what you like. Come tea time, any doubt would be replaced with cravings for more.

While running errands I happened to pick up some chestnuts on Sunday. We were decorating the tree that night, and though there was no open fire to roast them, 20 minutes in a 350ºF oven would do the job nicely.

Then it happened as I was peeling them. I wondered why not make my own chestnut spread to use on the crisps? No one else would know besides me, but sometimes that's just enough.

After peeling the chestnuts, I simmered them in some water and sugar, then pureed them. Not only was it a resounding success, at $3.99 a pound for the chestnuts, it was also much less expensive than the little $10 can I saw at the local gourmet market.

And yes, I intend to put up some chestnut spread in jars and give that as gifts too.