In Jennie's Kitchen

six months, and a birthday {day 183}

Tomorrow is your birthday.

The first February 7th without waking to your beautiful brown eyes. Gosh, how I miss your unibrow. Remember how I teased you incessantly about it early on, and then you finally let me tweeze it? That's true love, I know that now.

...from the first birthday card you gave me in November 1999.

What I would give to feel the sharp clash of your toe nails against my ankles under the covers. Why is it you never took my advice on using a nail file to soften the edges? No matter now, right? I had this thought today while driving home from your mother's house. Rather than be sad about your birthday, I want to celebrate it, be thankful, for if you'd never been born, then my life would have been less full, less worth living these last 16 years.

If you hadn't been born, our daughters wouldn't be here. They are my daily reminders of the love that blossomed.

Everyone has an end date. Your's just came to soon. When I wake on Tuesday, I will celebrate your start date, the moment you came into the world, and was destined to change mine forever. This is what I would've written in your card:

 

A glance—

becomes a gaze.

 

A kiss—

leads to a caress.

 

And with time,

like grows into love.

 

It is tested...

with kids,

with work,

with responsibilities.

 

But it survives,

because all it takes is a glance

to remember how it all started.

-Jennifer Perillo, February 7, 2012

 

I hope you're finding peace wherever you are honey. Your soul still seems restless to me. I know this reality is hard to accept, but try to do it any way. We will meet again, that is one thing I am most sure will happen. I just know it to be true. You may not be Mikey. I may not be Jennie. But we will have a moment, deja vu of sorts, where we feel as if we've known each other our whole lives. Go find peace, and do something special today my love. Happy birthday baby.

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chocolate pistachio madeleines {day 182}

My first attempt at making madeleines was only recently, just before Mikey passed away actually. I relied on a trusted source to guide me, and while the batter tasted amazing, and the finished product was quite good too, my madeleines looked like they'd been through a war. I broke a sweat trying to pry them from the pans with my offset spatula. Figuring I didn't use enough butter or flour to coat the pans, I immediately started a second batch. Mikey looked at me like I was nuts, but he knew my drive for perfection was ceaseless and I wouldn't give up that easily.

Then my second batch came out of the oven.

They seemed to stick to the pan, again.

So I did what anyone insane baker would do, and moved onto batch three immediately. This is where you'd add the explicatives because, yes, those little bastards still stuck to the pan. I went to bed tired, annoyed and feeling defeated.

I talked to my girlfriend the next day who's from the South of France. She grew up making madeleines the way we Americans are reared baking cupcakes. She asked me if I tapped the pan on the counter. I told her yes, gently, but nothing happened, so I had to practically chisel them from the pan. She then told me, no, not gently, give it a good bang on the counter.

And that's when I realized maybe making madeleines wasn't for me. Marina makes amazing ones from scratch, and there are two bakeries nearby that could cure any cravings. I just didn't have the courage to attempt a fourth batch. Banging is something we don't normally do in baking. We punch dough down, though really, a gentle knead, and sometimes no knead at all, will do. But that's about as forceful as we get when it comes to the delicate, precise nature of baking.

I brought home some madeleines after having coffee with Marina at Colson's last week. Along with the cakes, I brought home determination. I would conquer madeleines before the week was over.

I went back to the first recipe I attempted last summer. It was a stop and start affair, pre-empted by no less than three tantrums EACH from Isabella and Virginia. A few doors slammed, time outs were given, and all the while my friend Rosemary quietly read and didn't cast judgement on my parenting style, or lack of it at that moment.

Meanwhile, my eggs had been beaten until thick and creamy, and rebeaten as I was sure they deflated a bit during the girls' episodes. More than an hour after I started out, my madeleines emerged from the oven, along with a pit in my stomach—it was time to give the pan a whack. Honestly, I had enough frustration with the kids to get out, and fear has pretty much been stripped away since one of my worst came true on August 7th.

I gave the pan a bang against the counter, and two madeleines broke free. They were perfectly unharmed and intact. Another bang, and a few more joined the rest, magazine worthy, picture perfect on the cooling rack. Two or three more whacks and voila!—one dozen madeleines, ready to enjoy with our afternoon tea. The recipe was mostly fine all along, it was just missing the most crucial direction—bang the damn pan to release the cakes.

Tantrums subsided, Rosemary stayed for dinner, and once the girls were bathed, tucked in and Rosemary back in the comfort of her own apartment, I went back into the kitchen.

My intention was to make another basic batch of madeleines, but then I started thinking about Valentine's Day and what I would've made if Mikey were still alive. He loved pistachios, and since they're a great pairing with chocolate, it seemed only natural to create a new recipe for him—chocolate pistachio madeleines.

It was this time that I learned another little trick—let the batter rest a few minutes before filling the pans. The first batch, I only bake one tray at a time, was very delicate and the flavor was good but not as chocolatey as I'd hoped. I figured I'd go back into the test kitchen and tweak the cocoa-flour ratios. They were also missing the infamous "bump", but even Marina says hers don't always come out with one, so I didn't stress about it. When the second batch came out of the oven, not only did they have a better shape, but the color was deeper, more dark cocoa-looking than milk chocolate, and the flavor more intense. So, two cardinal rules of madeleine making—patience and aggression, an odd combination, don't you think?

I'm going to make these madeleines again come Valentine's Day. My main squeeze may not be here but I have two little sweethearts that will surely love them. As crazy as they drive me— single parenting a 3 and 8 year old is a non-stop marathon, they are the other loves of my life. Until, of course, the next tantrum.

Chocolate Pistachio Madeleines

makes 24

You want to chop the pistachios very fine, into a grainy, sand-like consistency. You can use a mini-chopper for the job, but I find it very therapuetic to do it by hand. I also only have one madeleine pan, so I just wash it as soon as the first batch is done, then dry it thoroughly before greasing and flouring for the second batch. It sounds like more of a pain than it is in actuality.

16 tablespoons (6 ounces) unsalted butter, plus more for greasing pans

4 large (200 grams) eggs

Pinch of fine sea salt

2/3 cup (135 grams) granulated natural cane sugar

1/3 cup (41 grams) raw pistachios, chopped very fine

2/3 cups (96 grams) flour, plus more for coating pans

2 tablespoons (14 grams) good-quality dark cocoa powder

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Confectioner's sugar, for dusting (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.

In a small pot, over medium-high heat, melt the butter until it becomes brown and fragrant, but not burned, about 10 minutes. Remove from the burner, and set aside to cool while you proceed with the rest of the recipe.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the pistachios, flour and cocoa until well mixed; set aside.

In a stand mixer or deep bowl, beat the eggs on high speed until they are thick and have tripled in volume, about 4 minutes. With the mixer still on high speed, slowly pour in the granulated sugar. Once all the sugar has been added, beat for 2 more minutes.

Lightly sprinkle the flour mixture over the egg mixture. Using a rubber spatula, fold until the batter is just mixed. Pour in the melted butter and gently fold, just enough to mix the batter until there are no pools of melted butter. Let the batter rest for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, generously grease the madeleine pans with butter—I mean really generously, get into all the grooves as well as the top rim of the pan. Coat with flour, tapping off any excess.

Gently spoon batter into one of the prepared pans, filling the molds about 2/3—do not overfill. Bake for 14 minutes, remove from oven and vigorously tap (code for bang) pan on the counter, which will release the madeleines from the pan. Set on a wire rack to cool completely.

Fill the second pan with batter, then bake and remove from pan as directed above. When cool, sift Confectioner's sugar over the madeleines, if desired, before serving.

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and then there was soup...{day 179}

All I wanted to do at 7:51 pm on Wednesday was crawl under the dining room table and curl up in a ball. Yet another dinner alone with the girls. It was a lovely meal, complete with spinach & cheese ravioli with brown butter, creamy, fresh mozzarella, tomato salad, eggplant dip and a crusty baguette.

Can you guess what my kids ate? Yep, bread and butter. The morsel of ravioli Virginia nibbled at didn't count. The three pieces Isabella forced down her throat meant nothing either. We'd just come off a major tantrum over her not wanting to do homework. She would've eaten a slab of cement to gain my approval at that moment.

The scene that played out perfectly sums up my answer to an exercise we did in group therapy this week. We had to write down a parenting challenge and parenting strength on slips of construction paper. I didn't get to share mine with the group, as it's pretty big and some people there are talkers.

On that pink slip of paper—I wonder did they purposely choose pink, as in pink slips, I wrote down "I hate being a single parent". That is my biggest parenting challenge. I hate walking this path alone, and not just because there's no one to help steer the ship in moments of unrest and tantrums. I miss someone to share my meals with, to share in the little victories and joys.

I miss someone to look me in the eye, and reassure me that I'm not doing a horrible job.

I miss my husband, and the ache is settlng in deeper, as each day passes.

The picture above is a sneak peek from City Girl, Country Kitchen. It's an Italian soup from Tuscany, called a ribollita. Bryan and I slurped it up for lunch today, steaming bowlfuls, and damn it was good. Isabella surely would've turned her nose up to it, kale being her arch nemesis these days. But as I ladled the soup into bowls for me and Bryan to taste, all I imagined is how much Mikey would've love this soup. Beans, vegetables, in a thick, flavorful broth, that hearty slices of country bread seemed to just melt into.

This soup is something I would've been proud to serve Mikey. And somewhere, I really do believe he's looking down wishing he was here to share in it all too.

things i like {winter 2012}

First of all, thanks for the kind words and encouragement for the week ahead. I'm still undecided about the whole birthday cake thing, and know I just need to see how I feel once the day approaches. Maybe I'll be in a cake-making mood, maybe I won't. What I will do is follow my instincts at the moment, and go with the flow.

Before you all begin thinking life is filled with nothing but gloom around here, though, rest assured I have many moments throughout the day that bring a smile to my face. I try to hold those moments close, and wish I could capture them in a bottle to save for a rainy day. In fact, sometimes I really can preserve the moments—thanks for the inspiration Heidi. So, I thought I'd share some of my favorite things of late with you all. Putting this little list together was a welcome distraction for me, and it's always nice to share a good find with a friend.

• Citrus Salts from 101 Cookbooks. It's no secret that I love everything Heidi cooks. Sometimes I even imagine what it would be like to be her neighbor, and have the chance to hang in the kitchen together. Take a peek at her recipe for preserving citrus zest to see why. I gave them a go this weekend, and took it a step further by adding some fresh chopped herbs to mine (the photo above is oregano citrus salt).

• I can't say enough how much I love my new bread boards from Our Vintage Home Love. Diane introduced me to them a few weks ago, and I immediately ordered a set. The kids adore having their own individual boards at night. They've also become spoiled with their own ramekins of seasoned olive oil for dipping. Dorm life is going to be a rude awakening.

• It's funny how it's been months since Olga and I have seen each other, insane actually, because we only live 10 blocks from each other! Alas, life gets in the way of face-to-face time, but our minds were both on the same thing a few weeks ago: parsnips. You'll have to wait until the second book comes out for my recipe (sorry), but go give her parsnip leek soup a try until then. Her recipes never disappoint.

• I have a handbag obsession, and once you see this one I've fallen for from Pietro Alessandro, you'll understand why. The leather is so soft and subtle, and they're made right here in NYC. I bought mine at a local shop here in Cobble Hill, but they also sell them online—I have this brownish-grey one which pretty much goes with anything.

• Breville gets my vote for the best hand mixer ever. While testing for the cookbook I wanted to use a hand mixer, since I know not everyone has a zippy 800-watt stand mixer. This little 200-watt powerhouse beat the socks off two other top brands. I love that the beaters are sturdy, not flimsy wire whisks like most other hand mixers nowadays. Making a batch of chocolate chip cookies took less than 10 minutes. For the record, this wasn't a freebie—I paid for this baby out of pocket, and it's well-worth the $80.

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clementine rosemary marmalade {day 175}

Week 24 kicked my ass. There's no way to put it nicely. It's as though a storm cloud settled over my emotions when the first snowfall came a week ago, and it took the better part of the week to dig myself free. I've undoubtedly had many moments the last 175 days that have tested my resiliency, but I'm generally good about shaking them off, rolling up my sleeves and tending to the work at hand.

Not this week.

Mikey's birthday is weighing heavily on my mind. On February 7th, he should be turning 52.

Should, but now his ashes are ageless. No wrinkles to be seen. No more flecks of silverish-grey to slowly weave their way through his dark brown hair.

I thought my birthday would be the tough one, but the thought of his passing is more crushing. At least I was alive for my birthday. I've thought about making a cake for him, as I always did, but I feel like it's silly. I also know it would be tough for the kids to see me doing that. I figured plan B could be I make a cake, take a bite, cry profusely, then toss it in the garbage before they come home from school.

But, that's borderline irrational, and a waste of good ingredients. I'll have to face his birthday head-on, and we already have plans to spend the evening surrounded with friends who loved him too.

The cake still confounds me, though.

As I felt the blues tip toe into my soul last Sunday, I decided to make something he loved so much—marmalade. He loved eating it anytime, but especially when he wasn't feeling well. Toast with marmalade and tea. I was always amazed at how he could down a cup of blazing hot tea in minutes. By time it was cool enough for my first sip, he was putting the kettle on for his second cup.

I needed to find a way to be close to him last Sunday, and all I had around was a bag of clementines. I'd picked up fresh rosemary at the farmers' market the day before, and thought the two would be a good pairing. When I was done I realized I'd gone a little overboard for someone who doesn't eat a lot of marmalade. I'm more of a berry girl when it comes to things of a jammy nature. So the jars sat on my counter, almost laughing at me, reminding me he was gone.

As the week went by, I found new homes for the marmalade—one of my best friends, my sitter, my other sitter, and finally one of my other best friends. Now, just one lone jar sits atop my counter, like me, wondering what exactly its fate will be.

Clementine Rosemary Marmalade

makes about three pints

I used my recipe for meyer lemon, ginger & mint marmalade as a base for the ratios. As with that one, I'm going to try stirring a spoonful into some boiling water for a homemade herbal tea. A nice way to use up all this bounty, unless you decide to share a few jars with friends too.

Testing note: when I made this I added the rosemary needles whole, but after eating it for a week now, I realize I'd rather have chopped bits of rosemary in it, rather than whole needles, so I've tweaked that part of the recipe for you.

8 clementines (725 grams)

6-inch sprig fresh rosemary, needles removed and chopped

3 cups (600 grams) natural cane sugar

3 cups water

To prepare the clementine, cut off each of the ends. Slice the clementines in half lengthwise, then cut the halves into very thin slices—you should have about 5 cups worth.

Add the clementines, rosemary and water to a deep pot. Bring to a rolling boil over medium-high heat, and cook for 30 minutes until the rinds are very tender. Add a few splashes of water to the pot if the level falls too low and starts to dry up too much.

Stir in the sugar and bring back to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and let cook until it thickens, 60-70 minutes.

Spoon the marmalade into clean, sterilzed jars and store in the refrigerator or process in a hot water bath for long term storage.

 

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whole wheat chocolate chip cookies {day 169}

My mind feels about as soft as the cookie dough I've been obsessed with the last two days. It is a swirl of activity, and some days focusing feels so out of reach.

January 25th, this Wednesday, marks 14 years since my father died. 1998—what an intense year it turned out to be. I hadn't even thought of my real dreams until that fateful year. Nothing like your dad dying rather suddenly at the age of 49 to rock your core.

He was a Michael too, and all these years later the image of him taking his very last breath is still engraved in my memory.

I was 24 back then, and couldn't have imagined the domino effect his death would have on my life. It was the push I needed to follow my dreams, but that's a story is for another time and place. After he died, I decided some personal housekeeping was in order. Mikey and I had been together three years at that point. It had been a roller coaster ride, in many ways because he was 35 when we started dating—I was only 21, still in college, in fact.

We broke up a few months after my dad's death, but stayed very close friends. I knew I loved him from our first date, but I was still very skeptical about the benefits of love. Growing up, I only saw the detrimental, sometimes harmful effects love can have on a person and a relationship. So, I walked away. 

I was supposed to go to Italy that year, having been wooed by a friend's George Clooney doppelganger cousin to go visit him in Turin. The temptation continued with a trip to Sardinia. I spent that summer on the phone, trying to remember if Italy was six hours ahead, or six hours behind.

All the while, Michael and I remained in constant contact, He knew I loved him, I knew he loved me. But after three years of battling about our differences in just about everything, the puzzle pieces felt like we were forcing them to fit.

He was a punk rocker, I grew up with 80s music.

He read contemporary fiction, I'm more a Tolstoy and Chekhov gal.

He loved Indian food—I'm not a fan of curry.

On paper we didn't make sense, so I booked my plane ticket to Italy. All the while we continued to talk and see each other. We were supposed to go to Napa Valley for a wedding the same time of my trip, and in the eleventh hour, Mikey called me to ask if we I would consider cancelling Italy. He couldn't imagine his life without me.

It took three years, a death and a break up, but he finally realized all those differences were nothing compared to what we had in common. This would be the first of many hurdles our love would have to soar past, yet it was a monumental baby step.

Hell, it was a leap. A leap of faith that love didn't have to be the same kind my parents shared. It didn't have to hurt all the time. It would never be perfect, but it would be real, genuine.

That summer feels so long ago, and yet like yesterday. Time can be kind when you're counting the years pass together, then swift-handed and cruel when you're watching the days float away since you last held each other.

The picture above is from a walk I took over the Brooklyn Bridge a month or so after Mikey died. I'd been admiring the bright moon, full in the deep blue night. As I neared the Brooklyn side of the bridge, I looked up, and there it was, life summed up perfectly in just 19 characters "Uneven Surface Ahead".

It was uneven then, it's uneven now, and it's sure to be uneven again, even after this year of firsts is far behind me. And yet, I remind myself every day it has to get better. I remind myself I want to be happy, and even if I'm not today, I will be again someday.

Until then, I'll settle for what I do know—how to make cookies. I was at one of my best friend's houses this weekend, and walked in to find her making a batch of my favorite—chocolate chip. Can you believe it's been months since I made a batch myself? The last time is when Penny arrived in New York, back in September.

I watched Erin mix the dough with her wooden spoon, and the thought of warm chocolate chip cookies was akin to curling up in a comfy blanket and fuzzy slippers. It only felt natural to make them myself when I came home yesterday feeling blue. All the Perillo Girls were blue, having experienced the first snow fall without Mikey.

And how our moods all changed as I took out the chocolate chips. Virginia squealed, Isabella jumped up and down, and my heart fluttered a bit, feeling like it was alive, not just beating because it had no choice.

All that emotion from a humble cookie.

Tomorrow I'm visiting Mikey's old office for one last time, before BET packs up and moves to the Times Square area. I went to say hello a couple of months ago, but couldn't bear to pack his office then. Now it's the eleventh hour, again, and while his boss has offered numerous times to pack his things and send them to me, this is something I need to do. It's slowly closing one more chapter to the amazing life he lived.

Tomorrow will be a chocolate chip cookie kind of day, no doubt.

Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies

makes 48 three-inch cookies

I like to throw a generous amount of chopped nuts into my chocolate chip cookies, so feel free to toss a cup or two of toasted nuts into the batter with the chocolate chips. On this last batch, I decided to add walnuts and pecans. I was worried for a moment that this might be too much, but me and my little taste testers agreed that the combination was just right.

This is a riff on my original chocolate chip cookies, which has quite a devoted following in the twitterverse. I usually "dry-age" my cookie dough, you can read about the why and when in the original post, but desperate times call for cookies stat! I also swapped out all the white flour for whole wheat pastry flour and love the extra nutty-note it adds to the flavor. I'm even going to convince myself they're healthier so I can indulge in one or two extra.

4 cups (490 grams) whole wheat pastry flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon fleur de sel

2 cups (400 grams) granulated natural cane sugar

2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

2 tablespoons (30 ml) molasses

3 large eggs, at room temperature

1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

12 ounces chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350º. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda and fleur de sel.

In a separate, clean bowl, beat the butter, sugar and molasses until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and vanilla extract. Beat until well mixed. Add the flour mixture and mix on low speed until just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Scoop or gently form dough into 1 1/2 to 2-inch balls and place 2 to 3 inches apart on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes on the center rack of the oven. Remove from the oven and let cool on the pan for exactly 2 minutes. Transfer cookies to a rack to cool completely, or at least until cool enough to eat without burning your the roof of your mouth or tongue.

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slow-roasted tomato soup {day 166}

This past week, we started group therapy with a "feelings check-in". I said mine are a never-ending game of ping pong. Sure, I've had some very good, downright funny, moments throughout the days, weeks and months since Mikey died, but at the core lies a gaping hole where my deep-rooted happiness used to gently simmer.

I was anxious about starting group last week, but decided to take the leap because I convinced myself it was more for Isabella than myself. The group is organized by a non-profit called A Caring Hand, and is first and foremost to help children understand and manage their grief. Obviously, parents have a great impact on how their kids handle a traumatic event like this, so while the kids are in smaller groups, by age, the parents talk about parallel issues the kids are working on that week.

I went into group feeling confused. I really didn't think I had anything to offer anyone, since I barely know how to help myself on some days.

Yes, I dress. I make my kids breakfast, pack lunches and most days get them to school on time.

I do all the things I have to do to survive "on paper". But the broken bits of my heart—I don't know how to fix that. It often feels like my body is on life-support, the difference being I have compleyte brain function, and instead it's my heart that is being sustained so the rest of my body can function. And the whole "time heals" phrase, please just don't say it, because the further I get from August 7th, the further removed I am from when he was a living, breathing, magnificent man, friend, father and husband.

it's all happening...{day 155}

I look at this photo of us, sharing a kiss during a Cape Cod sunset, and it reassures me he was happy. People have a way of losing themselves in parenthood. It's a constant juggle, and often one half of the couple is left feeling they have more than their fair share of balls to keep in the air.

We were no exception.

But the way his eyes are closed in this picture, the way his lids rest gently on his lower lashes, they tell me he found peace with me. The same deep brown eyes that, when open, spoke volumes when not a single word was being uttered—they do the same thing in this moment captured, but they are closed.

Months after Michael and I started dating, I remember snuggling my head in his chest, and saying it was my favorite place in the world. I continued to tell him that as days turned into years, and the other night I found myself burrowing my head into his pillow, in search of the warmth that crook of his chest gave me for 16 years.

A few days after this past Thanksgiving, an email came from my literary agent. The subject was simple, with just two words—"an offer". My breath stopped momentarily. Then a tingling sensation spread to my fingertips. I happened to be in our old apartment at the time, working while the sitter was at our new home with the girls.

It felt very fitting, and surreal to call Stacey back and talk about the offer. That kitchen was where it all started, the seedlings of an idea nurtured, Michael's words always encouraging me to dream big. Now, I have the chance to move forward on my terms.

For the next two years, as I write two books for Running Press, there will be an invisible tether between my two lives—the one with Mikey, and the one without. I think these two amazing projects will allow me to weave a bridge with words to eventually feel like a whole person again.

I've been working on the cookbook proposal for two years. It is a part of the life we shared together. Mikey is even the one who came up with the title City Girl, Country Kitchen. I racked my brains for countless hours, and then in one five minute conversation I explained my goal for the book to him and the words City Girl, Country Kitchen rolled off tongue with such ease, I was envious.

Mikey, this is what I would've had waiting for you when you walked in the door as a toast to this very big dream we both shared. I love you baby.

The Celebration

serves one

I've been on a non-alcholic cocktail spree for a week now. I love how a drink can be complex, and filled with layers of flavors but nary a drop of liquor. Go for "top shelf" ingredients here, as you would if making a boozy elixir.

Freshly squeezed juice of 1 blood orange

1/2 teaspoon good quality maple syrup

2 dashes of orange bitters

Seltzer, to top off the glass

Burnt orange peel, for garnish

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add the juice, syrup and bitters. Seal the top and shake vigorously until beads of sweat form on the outside of the shaker. Pour into an old fashioned cocktail or martini glass, garnish with the burnt orange peel to serve.

 

How to make a burnt orange

Just before serving the cocktail, light a match, or use a lighter, to release the essential oils from the orange peel. Do this by holding the peel with the white, pith side up, and waving the flame underneath over the outer skin of the orange peel.

toasted vanilla bean muesli {day 149}

I'm sitting here, pounding away at the keyboard when I should be sleeping. It's not too late, just shy of 11:00pm, but I had two back-to-back baking flops, and don't take defeat lightly.

I've also had muesli on my mind, and figured I could go out on a high note with a no-cook recipe before showering and tucking in.

But then I decided to toast the muesli, so there went the no-cook idea. Truth is I tried to like muesli a year ago, last January in fact. I decided to start 2011 on a healthy note. It was more about listening to my body—it was in need of a makeover. I decided to get more daring with whole grains thanks to inspiration from galleys of Heidi's Super Natural Everyday (that cookbook, by the way, is a must own). I began with an oat soda bread, wet my feet more using whole wheat pastry flour in these brown butter pear and meyer lemon muffins, oat ricotta pancakes, and cheddar rye muffins. I even started an affair with kale which is going strong to this day (this soup is still one of my favorites, and the girls love it too).

I spent the first quarter of 2011 eating vegetarian. I simply no longer craved meat, and lord did it drive Isabella crazy. The girl's first love, next to her daddy, is bacon. I still cooked meat, and bacon, for Mikey and the girls, I just made sure to include lots of vegetables and sides to satisfy my own tastes.

I also started waking up early to meditate and go running. In order to do that daily, it meant going to bed early, long before my night owl Mikey lay his head to rest beside me. I felt really good then, I remember it so clearly. It's as though someone had stuck a bobby pin into the reset button hidden in the recesses of my mind and body.

I've had this nagging feeling lately, and I know I need a jumpstart like that again.

Except everything is different now.

And yet I can still stay in control, right? I just have to shed the "all or nothing" attitude. I need to accept just because things are fundamentally different, I don't have to give up on that energizing, centering feeling I captured a year ago, albeit with a much heavier heart.

I know the meditation will be good for me. My nerves are a mess these days, and I often feel like I will burst at the seams. There is a lot going on right now, more than I want to share or burden your thoughts with. Some of it not so great, but the truth is some of it is really amazing. The only way I can manage it all is to take deep breaths—it's meditation my body is craving. My inner core needs to find a place of peacefulness since it was plunged into the unimaginable on August 7th.

For now, I'm not going to beat myself up for staying up too late, again. I'm going to give myself a break because writing here offers me so much peace and solace. You may not realize it, but if I had more hours in the day I would answer every one of your emails and comments personally. It pains me to see how you all take the time to care and check in, yet I don't have the moments needed to say two simple words personally: thank you.

I can see a glimmer of my old self peeking out in this post, as I've completely digressed from I what I set out to do—share a new recipe, so back to the muesli!

Tried as I might last January, I couldn't fall hard and fast for muesli—it was meh, compared to granola or poached eggs. But still, it's been on my mind, and as I was reading through some of Heidi's older posts, I came across one with a recipe for toasted muesli. The recipe was from Michele Cranston's The Essential Guide to the Kitchen, and while it sounded intriguing it had too many ingredients.

I need simple right now, and my mind needs easy. The recipe did give me an idea, though, on how I could change my muesli from meh to magical—toast the oats and nuts, well seeds in this case. It was an easy step, but I had a very good feeling about it.

Hard to believe, but my pantry is in need of restocking, so there was no fancy dried fruit to use. My choices were a pitiful amount of dried cherries, which would've been my first choice, cranberries or raisins. Since I love a bowl of hot oatmeal with plump raisins, I figured they'd make a nice pairing with my muesli—I fully intended to add some steamed milk to it in the morning.

On first glance, this seems like a humble bowl of oats, pumpkin seeds and raisins, an oddball combination really. A little flare in the form of vanilla bean, cinnamon and fleur de sel, give this muesli street cred, though, and in my book it's a good first step for finding the old me under the new circumstances.

Toasted Vanilla Bean Muesli

makes 4 cups

made on Tuesday, January 3, 2011—day 148

Feel free to make this based on what you have on hand or like. Swap in an equal amount of your favorite nut or seed for the pumpkin seeds, and same goes for the raisins. Next time, I plan on adding a tablespoon of flax seed too, and sesame seeds would no doubt add a nice crunch.

Oh, if you wondering how muesli is different from granola, it wasn't obvious to me at first either. Then I realized a key difference is sweetener. Granola is usually sweetened with syrup, honey or sugar. Muesli relies on the sweetness from the dried fruit and a little drizzle of maple syrup or honey when you serve it, usually with milk or yogurt. Most muesli recipes don't toast the oats either, but we already know how I feel about that approach.

One last note, if you want to make this dairy free or vegan, then try swapping in canola or grapeseed oil for the butter, and skip the melting step. While I haven't tried it this way, I'm pretty confident it'll work well (and leave a comment if you do, so we can all learn together!).

4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter

3 cups (319 grams) old fashioned oats (not quick cooking)

1 cup (141 grams) raw pumpkin seeds

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) fleur de sel

1/2 teaspoon (2 grams) ground cinnamon

1 cup (130 grams) raisins

Turn the oven on to 300ºF. Place the butter into an oven-safe ramekin or small pot and place in the oven to melt while it preheats; remove and set aside.

In a deep bowl, combine the oats, pumpkin seeds, vanilla bean seeds, fleur de sel and cinnamon. Stir to mix well. Pour the melted butter over the mixture, and stir until well coated. Spread the oat mixture onto an 11" X 17" rimmed baking sheet.

Bake for 25 minutes, stirring once halfway through. Remove from oven, stir in the raisins, and set pan on a wire rack until completely cooled. Store in a tightly sealed jar for up to one week.

what lies ahead {day 144}

It seems fitting to talk about pizza on this very last post of 2011, for it's how I started 2011 when it dawned almost a year ago. Pizza is something we take very seriously here. Years ago, I started the tradition of Pizza Fridays. It seemed we always ordered on Fridays, and as cooking from scratch became an obession, it just made sense to start making it myself too. It was never about taking a break from cooking, it was about creating more family time.

Our usual routine was to curl up on the couch, pies strewn across the coffee table as we settled in for a movie. In the last year, Mikey often came home from work as the movie was winding down, but his first bite of pizza always elicited the same reaction. He'd close his eyes, take a deep breath, then sink his teeth into the crispy crust. Next came an exhale, then he'd open his ebony eyes and say "damn, how do you do it!".

I miss him more than I can ever convey with mere words.

This past week, I've felt numb and in shock all over again. I stare at his pictures, desparately remininding myself that our life together wasn't a dream. How is it in just 144, he seems so far away. We spent more than 5,000 together, yet each one that passes since August 7th feels like someone is slowly taking an eraser to the blackboard of my life.

It's like a slow, painful shake of an etch a sketch, as I scramble, trying to cling to each moment of every memory, knowing they have to last a lifetime.

In my most desparate moments I retreat to the kitchen. It is the only place I feel normal and in control of my life.

On Christmas morning, I set my mind to making Mikey a cake. A glorious coffeecake flecked with bits of pear and adorned with an allspice pecan crumb topping.

This morning, I had a challenging day ahead of me, so I set out to make a breakfast Virginia and often enjoyed. Nothing fancy, just poached eggs, toast and apple slices. Okay, maybe the fresh squeezed blood orange juice upped the fancy ante, but anyone can make orange juice. The point is, this simple homemade breakfast nourished more than just my belly.

When Mikey was alive, he used to walk Isabella to school while Virginia and I got a slow start to our morning. We'd watch The Cat in the Hat while poking at the yolks on our poached eggs. She remembers those mornings vividly, and recalled them today as we sat at our new table and dipped toast into the pools of yolk.

Mikey is not here in the physical sense anymore, but we can continue to live many parts of our lives as we did before. The challenge is not to focus on the gaping hole in every memory.

I thought I had that under control until Hanukkah and Christmas came along. I know I will get back on the saddle come January, but right now I just want to stomp my feet like a toddler. I don't want to turn the page come 12:01 on January 1st.

I don't want to face a year in which he will have never lived.

Never laughed.

Never held me.

Never kissed me.

And yet I have to, so I move forward with a line from my favorite Christmas movie in my head:

"I believe, I believe, it's silly but I believe."

I made a commitment to dream big, so I'll float into 2012 with an open mind and hope my heart follows.