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Archive for January, 2011

A year ago today, I did something I never thought I’d ever be able to do. I started a blog.

I didn’t really know what to expect when I wrote that first post about chicken noodle soup. I was sure no one but my mom and dad would read it, and I never imagined I’d be sitting here a year later writing my 39th recipe with no plans of slowing down.

I was kneading dough for my grandmother’s shortbread cookie recipe when I got the idea to write a book about my newfound love of cooking, and its ability to connect me to the woman I thought I’d all but lost a chance to know. It was kind of a breakthrough moment for me, at a time when I knew my future was coming whether I wanted it to or not, and decisions needed to be made about the next few steps I’d take.

Writing a book seemed a little far-fetched for me at that point. I was 21, in my fourth year of university and in the midst of battling a fairly intense bout of depression. The commitment of writing a book seemed far too much for me to handle.

“Why don’t you start a blog?” my boyfriend asked one evening, shortly after we’d watched Julie and Julia.

I think I responded with something like, “Yeah, maybe,” code words for, “Probably not, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Then I was sitting on the living room couch one Friday night when it popped into my head.

“Stuck in Thyme,” I blurted out to TJ. “I could call my blog Stuck in Thyme.”

I still don’t know where that name came from. I suspect it has something to do with a sketchy little sign for a mending service in the top window of a run-down building next to my orthodontist. That’s the only reasonable explanation I’ve been able to muster up.

But I think it’s the idea behind the name that makes the most sense to me. At the time I started this blog, I was suffering from depression, severe anxiety and an even worse lack of confidence. But when I baked, I was me. I wasn’t some girl on pills that needed frequent naps, I wasn’t a twenty-something in knots over the future, and I wasn’t sad or angry or disappointed in myself. I was just a girl adding flour and eggs to chocolate chips in order to make cookies.

Cooking was and still is exhilarating. It’s the one time of day when I don’t have to be thinking; thoughts come naturally. Cooking challenges me; some days recipes come together effortlessly, other days they’re disasters. But after each screw-up, I’m always wondering what went wrong, and what I can do differently next time. I’m by no means an excellent cook, but I do believe I’m getting there, albeit slowly.

To date, this blog’s been viewed more than 5,000 times in the past year. It’s a modest accomplishment, but considering my doubts that no one aside from my direct friends and family would ever want to read my stories, it makes me incredibly grateful.

For Stuck in Thyme’s one-year anniversary, I thought it would be appropriate to make another hearty soup. This one, fortunately, is much simpler than chicken noodle from scratch, but it’s every bit as good. It comes from one of my favourite cooking blogs, the Tasty Kitchen Blog.

Tools

large saucepan
measuring cups
measuring spoons
cutting board
large kitchen knife
wooden spoon

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cloves minced garlic
1/4 cup minced onion
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
28 ounce can of diced tomatoes, with juice
salt and pepper to taste
9 ounce package of tortellini
3 cups chopped spinach
parmesan cheese

Instructions

In a large saucepan, fry oil and garlic for five minutes. Add broth, tomatoes, oregano, and salt and pepper.

Bring to a boil, then add tortellini. Cook until al dente, about 10 – 12 minutes. Add spinach and cook for 1 – 2 minutes. Season with additional salt and pepper, and serve. Top with freshly grated parmesan cheese.

Enjoy!

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I have a confession to make: I’m an emotional eater.

I’m kind of scrawny, so it surprises most people when they realize the sheer amount of food I intake on a daily basis. But nothing, and I mean nothing, rivals my eating habits on a bad day.

My dad used to call me Rizzo – from the Muppets – when I was a kid. I’d get into everything. The fridge was my playground: onions were chewed like apples, apples were devoured, and no one dared tell me otherwise.

I always thought it’d be something I’d grow out of, or at least turn into a bad habit that I’d have to kick once puberty hit. Not so: as it turns out, my constant snacking got even worse with age. Thank God I learned how to cook, if only to sustain my addiction.

The past few weeks have been, well, difficult, so the snacking’s been at an all-time high. Christmas is over, winter is in full swing, and general crankiness is ensuing. I over-think pretty much everything, and the dreariness of winter creates the perfect condition for OCD to run rampant inside my brain.

I feel complacent, stagnant, yet unwilling to change. There are so many things I want to accomplish, but all I seem to find myself doing is eating and watching cooking shows on the Food Network.

I want to go to pastry school, but I’m scared I won’t be good at it, or I’ll get bored of it, or it’ll make me resent baking. I want to write for national magazines, but I’m convinced I’m not ready, or I’ll just get rejected. So instead I bake, and think, and then write about what’s going through my mind, hoping I’ll get some kind of epiphany that tells me exactly what to do with my life and how.

I think my real problem is this ridiculous fear of failure; I’ve gone my whole life excelling at pretty much everything I put my mind to, simply because I’m afraid of disappointing everyone around me, but also myself.

There’s comfort in stagnancy; an undeniable relief that comes with staying still in life, knowing you don’t have to change or try, or even more, regret. It’s that comfort, and that fear, that keeps me from even trying.

I wish I wasn’t so afraid of the future, that for once I could think of where I’ll be this time next year without getting a tightening feeling in my chest. There are plenty of things I’d like to do with my life, but don’t know how. And I’m so scared of shaking things up, of risking everything for uncertainty, that I stay where I am.

I’ve come a long way in the year it’s been since I started panicking over my future, when the excitement of my impending university graduation was outshone by the sheer terror of not knowing where, who or what I was going to be in a few short months. I think I turned out pretty alright, so who knows what this new year will bring.

Speaking of emotional eating, I devoured an entire bowl of this grape dessert while writing this blog post. Okay, I know grapes drenched in sour cream and brown sugar syrup sounds like something you eat when you’re a) really, really, desperate or b) really, really inebriated, but trust me, it is quite simply delicious.

This recipe comes from Saltscapes Magazine; the original yielded six servings, but I halved it to make three bowls.

Tools

colander
large bowl
measuring cups
measuring spoons
small saucepan
whisk
wooden spoon
small serving dishes

Ingredients

2-1/2 cups seedless red or green grapes
1 cup sour cream
1/4 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup brown sugar

Instructions

Wash and dry grapes. Mix sour cream, white sugar and vanilla together in a large mixing bowl until thoroughly combined. Pour mixture over grapes and stir to coat. Divide grapes into separate bowls, or one large dish.

In a small saucepan, heat butter until melted. Add brown sugar, whisk, and bring to boil, maintaining the boil for a minute, or until the mixture turns golden and sugar dissolves. Pour over grapes immediately. Do not stir. Chill in the refrigerator for 3-4 hours.

Enjoy!

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My sister and I didn’t always get along.

This should come as no surprise to anyone who has or ever had a sister; by nature, two girls living in the same household for the majority of their lives are bound to knock heads every once in a while.

The thing about Megan and me is how totally and completely opposite we are: she’s aggressive, I’m passive; she’s outgoing, I’m a hermit; she exudes confidence, me – well, not so much.

I was your typical little sister growing up; I dug through her diary and revealed all the juicy bits to my parents, exaggerated any conflict between us in order to make her out to be the bad guy, and once I stood up in front of the school bus and told the entire school (which, incidentally, fit on that one bus) that she had a crush on Chris Murray. A particularly good find was a cigarette butt in her closet, which got her grounded for at least a month. Sometimes I would purposely do things to push her over the brink, just so that she’d do something to get herself in trouble.

Embarrassing her in front of friends was a real event, and would have me plotting for days in advance of their arrival. Once I replaced her Nirvana cassette with a Fred Penner tape just before a boyfriend was set to arrive. I prepared elaborate outfits of oversized hats, sunglasses and 80’s shoulder pad jackets from my dad’s closet to wear when they came over, parading around the house playing my harmonica.

Although I’d never admit it at the time, half the reason I got her grounded so much was so that she’d spend less time with her friends and more time at home with me. I loved my sister, no matter how much fun it was to make her life miserable, and I was always so jealous of the amount of time she spent with her friends.

I remember the day she moved out; I’ll always remember that day. We packed our old station wagon to the gunnels, in a rush, of course, and Megan was supremely cranky. I remember being mad at her for being cranky on her last official day home, but when I did the same five years later, I understood why. After a long, hot, and argument-filled car ride, we arrived at her new home, unloaded all her stuff onto the third floor of the all-girls’ residence, and then left without her. The ride home was one of the most unsettling experiences of my life; it was just me and my parents, and I was acutely aware of the fact that that was how it was going to be from then on.

The distance was good for us, I think. I missed her a lot, and would write her long, rambling letters about boys at school and fights with my friends. She wrote back, telling me about boys at her school and all the new friends she was making, along with some awkward older sisterly dating advice. When she came home at Christmas or over the summers breaks, we were closer than ever.

Megan and I only see each other a couple times a year now; she lives on the West Coast and I live on the East. It’s funny though, how much alike we’re becoming despite the difference in our personalities and the distance between us. We actually buy the same clothing, read the same books, and have the same duvet cover on our beds (thanks, Mom).

We tell each other just about everything, and thankfully she no longer has to worry about me tattling to our parents if she did something bad. It wasn’t easy, but I believe we’ve finally come to a point where knowing everything about each other isn’t means for ammunition, but a point of empathy and respect.

I know it sounds cliché, but her battles really are mine, she cries when I cry, and the scars from whatever stupid fights we’ve had over the years are only reminders of how far we’ve come, and how much more growing there is to come. And I really can’t wait to see where we go from here.

 

Tools

Cutting board
large kitchen knife
measuring cups
measuring spoons
colander
microwave safe bowl with lid
large saucepan
potato masher
wooden spoon

Ingredients

5 cups broccoli florets
1 teaspoon olive oil
large onion
3 cloves garlic
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 1/2 cups milk
2 cups cheddar cheese
1/4 cup tapioca

Instructions

Cut broccoli into florets and rinse in a colander. Place in a microwave safe bowl, cover and microwave on high for five minutes.

In a large saucepan, heat oil. Chop onion and garlic and add to pot, stirring often. Cook on medium high for 10-15 minutes. Add broth and cooked broccoli. Bring to a boil, then reduce to low and let simmer for 20 minutes, or until broccoli is soft.

Mash broccoli with a potato masher until desired consistency. Pour in milk and cream and stir. Add cheddar cheese and tapioca and continue to heat on low. Let simmer until soup has thickened, at least 20-25 minutes.

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