Friendship Bread

A shiny, pink, plastic orb used to answer all my questions about the future. With a couple shakes and some patience while the bubbles and glitter settled, guidance would take form as a triangular beacon of wisdom. When my biggest life challenges were as simple as, “Should I eat a red popsicle or a blue one?” and “Should I watch ‘Saved by the Bell’ or ‘Full House’ first?” it didn’t seem  absurd to put all my faith in a Pink Glam Magic Eight Ball. But 20-something years later? Asking a children’s toy for life advice is, arguably, ridiculous. Despite this, I find myself longing for the solace that could be found in a vigorous shake, a cloud of glittery water and a vague answer bobbing to the surface.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that perhaps pinning all your hopes on the completely random responses of the Glam Ball is not all that realistic. Instead, I transitioned into much more mature methods for charting my destiny—flower petals (he loves me, he loves me not), wishies (your wish only comes true if you blow off all the fuzzy white things) and digital clock readings (11:11—make a wish!). Of course, moving from the sticks to an urban area has made it much harder to find the appropriate greenery needed, and my preaching to kids to stop watching the clock during class makes it hard for me to not look like a hypocrite for doing the same.

Fortunately, my life has brought new, increasingly accurate and significantly more intelligent guidance into my life. The friends I have made, especially in the last decade, deserve so much of the credit for the person I have become.  Friends that loved me enough to tell me when I was being a huge bitch, while helping me pick up the pieces when my life fell apart, have made me realize the value of solid confidants.

My friends that date back to my senior year of high school are distant, but my changing relationship with them taught me so much about what it takes to become a functioning adult. Despite the fact that we aren’t talk-every-day kind of friends, I know that if I had a moment of need, they would be there. When we do reconnect in person, you’d never know that we hadn’t had a face-to-face conversation in years. They are good at reminding me where I come from—a small town in the middle of nowhere, where people talk a little more slowly and life moves at a different pace. Values are different. Priorities take on new meaning. Traditions are strong, allegiances run deep and grudges are like gridlock.

Since moving to San Diego, I’ve managed to create such a strong network of friends that I honestly can’t imagine my life without them. Some friends have come and gone, but from each person I have learned. My friends have shown me what unconditional love is. They have shown me what tough love is. They have given me a good “momming” a time or two (I still stand by my skirt argument, ladies!). I know I’ve written plenty about how much I appreciate them and all they have done for me, but I don’t think it can be said enough. They swooped in and helped me hold it together and picked up the pieces when I fell apart. They let me make mistakes, but make sure that I learned from them. And when something finally went right, they helped me be brave. They encouraged me, they supported me and they reassured me that I could put faith in something new and I would be ok. And when they were right, it wasn’t, “I told you so,” but rather, “I’m happy for you.”

And while some of my friends may argue that I have other motives, I do my best to show my appreciation to those that love me. Usually this is done through baked goods (which, conveniently, guilt some friends into logging miles with me). And what is more perfect than Friendship Bread to show the people I love how much they mean to me?

Amish Friendship Bread

Adapted From Allrecipes.com

• 1 cup Friendship Bread Starter (see previous post)
• ½ cup vegetable oil
• ½ cup applesauce
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 3 eggs
• ½ cup milk
• 2 cups flour
• 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons cardamom
• 2 tablespoons of sugar (for dusting)
• 1 (5 ounce) package pudding mix (choose your flavor based on what kind of bread you want)
• 1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
• 1 cup shredded carrots, zucchini, chopped apples, mashed bananas or other addition of your choice (totally optional, but can add flavor and texture to the bread)

              1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Lightly grease two 9x5 inch loaf pans.

      2. In a large bowl, stir together Amish Friendship Starter, oil, applesauce, sugar, vanilla, eggs and milk.

      3. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon.
4. Stir into the starter mixture.
5. Mix in the vanilla pudding mix.
6. Fold in the chopped nuts and/or other additives.
7. Pour the batter evenly into the prepared pans.
9. Sprinkle the tops of each loaf with sugar
10. Bake for 60 minutes in the preheated oven, until a knife inserted comes out clean.
11. Cool for 10 minutes in pans before removing to a wire rack to cool completely.

Amish Friendship Bread (Starter)

RIP: every serious relationship I’ve had. Long live the lessons I have learned, the experiences I have gathered and the self respect I have gained. I won’t forget to remember the times that were good, the obstacles we overcame and the ways my life has changed. There are times when I see things that remind me of a life I used to live, and my heart gets heavy. I can feel my cheeks prickle with pink and tears burn in my eyes.  Sometimes, I think about the way I thought my life was supposed to be—the things I was supposed to be doing by now, the milestones I wanted to have achieved, they family I wanted to be a part of—and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Sometimes, I come across an old picture, or a scribbled sentiment on a sticky note or I see a familiar face out in public and it hurts. It hurts in a way that I can’t explain. It hurts in a way that makes me want to scream and cry and run and punch someone and curl up in the fetal position and eat ice cream and puke all at the same time.  

When I think of the good things, I want them back. I miss knowing someone is going to be there when I come home. I miss knowing that someone was unconditionally proud of me, no matter what. I miss knowing that there was someone who appreciated my flaws and loved my quirks. I miss holding hands and hold you me. I miss falling asleep on the couch, snuggled in a perfect way. I miss talking about next week, next month, next year, next generation.  I miss the idea of forever.

But the second I let myself revel in those old memories, the bad comes flooding back. The unkept promises. The lies. The messes. The hurt. The tears. The emptiness. The fake. The pretending. The disappointment. All of the things I swore I’d never settle for, after watching my parents’ loveless marriage. It’s easy to say, “It wasn’t meant to be,” but where does that leave me now? And after all of the turmoil and carnage my heart, my feelings, my courage and my ego have survived, can I risk that all again?

I don’t know the answer. And that makes me uncomfortable. It makes me scared. It makes me feel… vulnerable. It makes me feel not at all like the strong, capable, determined and fearless woman the past six months have helped me become.  I feel like I’m teetering on the verge of something new, toeing the line of taking a big risk, but every time I abandon my apprehensions and take a big step forward, every ounce of logic in me pulls me back so quickly I feel like I’m suffering from emotional whiplash.

But if I’ve learned anything over the past several months, it’s that with challenges comes change. And sometimes, that challenge is not knowing. It’s not having a plan, not having an idea of what the outcome is going to be. Sometimes you have to let go, have faith, a little blind ambition and just believe that everything will come out ok.

There are times when I encounter recipes that are the same way. I read the ingredients, I think about the flavors and then I wonder… people eat that? But, more often than not, when I put my faith (and skills!) behind a recipe, everything comes out ok. Sometimes it takes some tweaking, some patience, but in the end, it all comes out delicious.

Amish Friendship Bread Starter

Ingredients

1 packet (.25 ounce) dry active yeast

¼ cup warm water

3 cups flour, divided

3 cups sugar, divided

3 cups milk

Directions

1. 1.      In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in water. Let stand 10 minutes. In a 2 quart container glass, plastic or ceramic container, combine 1 cup flour and 1 cup sugar. Mix thoroughly or flour will lump when milk is added. Slowly stir in 1 cup milk and dissolved yeast mixture. Cover loosely and let stand until bubbly. Consider this day 1 of the 10 day cycle. Leave loosely covered at room temperature.
2. 2.      On days 2 thru 4; stir starter with a spoon. Day 5; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Days 6 thru 9; stir only.
3. 3.      Day 10; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Remove 1 cup to make your first bread, give 2 cups to friends along with this recipe, and your favorite Amish Bread recipe. Store the remaining 1 cup starter in a container in the refrigerator, or begin the 10 day process over again (beginning with step 2).

4.      Friendship bread recipe to follow!

Vegetable Lasagna with Cashew Cheese

After two weeks of Spring Break, a lot of traveling, a week of newspaper deadline and more than a little emotional and physical stress, I'm finally starting to feel normal again. I've slowly made my way back in to my routine, to a certain extent, and my body is remembering what it is like to have to eat and pee on a bell schedule.

And while the break from work was much needed, as was the lapse from reality, my body is still reeling from the effects of too much alcohol, not enough sleep and not nearly enough exercise. As someone who has battled weight issues since I was a kid, I think I will always feel fat. I will always see myself as a fat kid. It's become clear to me that where other people see curves, I see rolls. Where other people see muscles, I see unsightly bulges. I've gotten better at dealing and coping with my body dysmorphia, when I break my routine and am lax in my exercise and food choices, I start to beat up on myself more than the average individual.

Beyond dealing with the mental image I have of myself, I also find myself fighting an emotional struggle that revolves around my appearance. I've been the Amazing Shrinking Jess for almost six years now. People who have met me in the last two of three years have no idea that I used to look much differently. Even when I started working at my current job, I was heavier than I am now, but no where near where I was back in college. My weight loss isn't something that I readily share with other people. It wasn't until this year that I openly talked about it with some of my coworkers. My friends, on the other hand, have been along for the crazy ride. And now that I've started dating again? Yeah, that's a can of worms I haven't opened with many of the people I've gone out with.

Reason tells me that it is silly to think that people will judge me because of person I used to be. That it is ridiculous to assume that someone will like or care about me less because I have had challenges with my body image. I mean, what girl, today, hasn't ever felt fat, right? But there is something about dropping that, "Oh, hey, justsoyouknowaboutfiveorsixyearsagoiusedtoweighahundredandtwentypoundsmorethanidonow," bomb and not expecting some sort of reaction. I've experienced both--people who are congratulatory, want to know how I did it, and people who give me a look of disgust and want to know what was wrong with me.  I've simply gotten to a point where I avoid the subject. I don't talk about it and I don't bring it up... Because I don't want to deal with the reaction, the judgement or the conversation. I know how far I've come and when I feel safe, sometimes I share. But usually? I feel like I have a big, fat secret.

And so every now and then, when my routine gets disrupted, when life happens, or when cookies happen, I find myself retreating to something of an ugly place. I catch glimpses in the mirror, and rather than being proud of what I see, my eyes zero in on the imperfections that I perceive. I often find myself in a rut when, despite pushing my limits and trying to make smart choices, I can't seem to get to where I want to be. And while I've gotten better at coping with the ruts, the ups and the downs, there are times when I feel smothered by my own self doubt.

There isn't anything that really fixes those feelings, other than dragging my butt back to the gym, running harder or longer, and focusing on making better choices. I think I have effectively sweat, digested and processed all of the alcohol out of my system. I don't feel like I smell like a PB bar when I'm working out. I don't feel like I've been fueling my body with total trash. Part of what helped clean things up was a partial detox that I implemented for myself. And I decided that perhaps my meals should consisted of green things, other than the mint in my mojito. I may have shocked my body, but I'm back on the veggie bandwagon!

Vegetable Lasagna With Cashew Cheese (Vegan)

Adapted from Clean Living

Noodles
2 medium sized summer squash OR zucchini, cut into wide strips that are roughly ¼ inch thick
sea salt, a few sprinkles
freshly ground black pepper

Vegetables
2 portobello mushrooms, gills scooped out with a spoon, sliced into ½ inch thick strips
2 cups crimini (or white) mushrooms, sliced
1 medium zucchini, cut into ¼ inch thick rounds
1 leek, the bottom white part only, sliced into ¼ inch rounds

1 yellow bell pepper, sliced

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1 bunch of swiss chard, de-stemmed and roughly chopped

Sauce
1 cup cashews
juice of 1 lemon
1 heaping tablespoon miso paste
1 teaspoon garlic granules
1-2 teaspoons sea salt

For the lasagna:

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. To make the noodles, slice the squash since these are being steamed, and need to be slightly thicker than if you were to use a vegetable peeler. A mandolin will make the slices too thin and they will pretty much just fall apart.
3. Place the long summer squash slices into a bowl and toss with a fair amount of sea salt and black pepper, enough to coat.
4. Transfer to a saute pan with a ¼ cup of water.
5. Cover the pan and gently steam until just tender (when you can lightly pierce with a fork). Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature, uncovered.
6. In another saute pan, melt a tablespoon of coconut oil over medium high heat.
7. Add the leeks and cook for 2-3 minutes before adding the sliced mushrooms and zucchini.
8. Cook for an additional 3-4 minutes then add the garlic and chard.
9. Use tongs to gently swirl in the pan so the chard wilts without browning.
10. Season with sea salt (to taste) and set aside.

For the sauce:

1. Place the cashews in a high speed blender with the other sauce ingredients (lemon juice, miso, garlic powder, and sea salt).
2. Slowly drizzle in up to ½ cup of water as needed to create a smooth, creamy, cheese-like sauce. It’s best to keep it on the thicker side so it stays put between the layers when baking.

To Assemble:

1. Use a medium (a square 8×8 works well) sized pan (anything you’d normally make lasagna in).
2. Now create your layers.

• Spread a small amount of sauce on the bottom of the pan.
• Lay out a layer of long steamed squash pieces, side by side.
• Spread some cashew cheese sauce over those pieces as consistent as you can and thick as you like.
• Sprinkle the vegetable mixture over the cheese layer.
• Add another layer of cashew cheese.
• Repeat until all the ingredients are used up. There’s really no wrong way, some people layer the long squash “noodles” first, it’s up to you really; any way you do it will turn out delicious!
• To finish: bake in the oven for 30 minutes, check for cashew cheese browning on the top, and all layers softening and melting together. Let it cool a tiny bit, until you can slice it with a sharp knife (serrated steak knives often work best for this) into squares and then lift onto plates with a spatula. It may fall apart... But guess what? It will still taste the same!

Bulgar & Feta Salad

In the midst of the madness that my life sometimes becomes, I am always grateful for certain things that simplify my world. Some of these things are probably the kinds of things that all kinds of people appreciate--pre-sliced English muffins, coffee to go and Lean Cuisines. And while I could go on for days about all the weird things I'm obsessed with, I will only highlight a few.

First, there is the wonderous world of songza. Songza figures out what time of day it is, you pick your mood and it gives you a myriad of playlists. Sounds simple enough, right? That shit is life changing. I promise. You can thank me later.

Second, automatic sprinklers. Yes, I live in San Diego. Yes, we probably have the best weather on the entire planet. Yes, I own a hose. But do I have the memory capacity to remember to water my lawn? If my garden from last summer is any indication, the answer is no. I bought my house because I wanted a yard. I didn't think about the pesky things you have to do with a yard, like water it. And mow it. When someone invents a roomba for your lawn, please let me know. That would be epic.

Finally, make up removing wipes. After anywhere from 9-12 hours at work, a work out and chores, the last thing I can be bothered to do is wash my face. I know. it's probably disgusting to even admit that. But sometimes? You're just that tired. And this is where the wipes come in... One swipe, and you're done. Even better yet? They remove your sins, too.

This winter, after a string of break-up fueled poor choices and a spree of self-depricating behavior, I was visiting with a friend. We had just gone for a run (or maybe we just woke up? I can't remember... you can draw your own conclusion as to why), and I needed to wash my face. I grabbed a face towelette from the pack in my friend's medicine cabinet and scrubbed it across my face. Seconds later, my cheeks were on fire. My eye brows tingled. My forehead felt like it was being stretched in 87 different directions. In short, my face? It was on fire.

I was in shock (and pain). I had used these same face wipes weeks before, without a similar reaction. Between whimpers, I accused my friend of tampering with her bathroom products to try and melt my face off. Her simple response? "Oh honey, it hurts to wash the whore off."

And now, those face wipes are forever dubbed, "Whore Wipes." Which sounds like a completely different personal hygiene product.

Along with whore wipes, I also have a great appreciation for things that I can throw together one day and continue to enjoy for the rest of the week. I like things that are easy, don't require a lot of my attention to establish in the first place and aren't a lot of work to maintain or preserve (sounding more and more like a case for needing another kind of whore wipe, I suppose).  And that's where this recipe comes in---it's quick, simple and easy. No complaints here.

Bulgar Wheat and Feta Salad

Adapted from Everyday Food

Easy and delicious. Could you really ask for much more?

Ingredients

1 cup bulgar

2 cups boiling chicken stock

1 can chickpeas

1 bell pepper, diced

1 jar artichoke hearts, chopped

1 tablespoon lemon zest

2 tablespoons lemon juice

3 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 cup crumbled feta

1/4 chopped dill

Directions

1. In a large bowl, combine the bulgar with the boiling stock. Cover and let sit for 20 minutes.

2. Drain the bulgar and place in a large bowl.

3. Rinse and drain the chickpeas.

4. Add chickpeas to the bulgar. Drizzle with olive oil. Toss.

5. Add remaining ingredients. Toss.

6. Serve hot or cold.

Best Ever Blueberry Muffins

Growing up in the backwoods in Oregon, I wanted nothing more than to get out of town, grow the hell up and never look back. While I had cherished my summers, sprinting barefoot through my backyard, blonde hair wild and pale skin rosy with sunburn and scattered with freckles, I had grown tired with the pace of small town life. The Umpqua Valley felt smothering and the expectations folks held for high school graduates were depressing. I desperately wanted to do more than work at the Mill, the casino or follow my peers off to University of Oregon or Oregon State. I have vivid memories of flipping through college guidebooks as a freshman, fantasizing about how different my life would be in just a few short years. 

Never did I imagine the kind of “different” I would experience. Moving from a small, sheltered community to the San Diego State University campus was nothing short of culture shock. The student enrollment at SDSU almost doubled my hometown’s population. Gone were my easy days of navigating Garden Valley, Harvard and Stephens surface streets. SDSU was perched atop a tangle of freeways, all of which had more lanes in either direction than anything I had ever driven on. Walking down the hallway of my third floor traditional style dorm, I came across kids from Singapore, Alaska, Washington, Colorado and cities and towns up and down California. I was suddenly very far removed from the townies and monotony of my little logging town.

As my time at State wore on, I got used to the vast array of differences. People snickered when I let a “y’all” slip into my speech. Flip flops were appropriate footwear year round. It was normal to drink a beer before heading to class. And despite my previous desperation to distance myself from home, I frequently found myself longing for the familiarity. Seeing an Oregon license plate, or a U of O shirt, or even the occasional rainstorm, flooded me with memories of the good things that home had given me. I definitely missed home, but I was proud of myself for carving out a niche in this new (HUGE) world. I survived my freshman year without major incident, despite my parents’ messy divorce, a bout with blindness and a roommate with a penchant for Marines.

After nearly ten years in San Diego, I’ve realized I have so many things to thank Oregon for. I appreciate nature. I have a deep love for all things tie dye. I know how to drive a stick shift. I can bait a hook, clean a fish, pitch a tent and pee in the bushes. These are all valuable life skills, of course. San Diego, on the other hand, has helped me grow. I’ve made the best friends anyone could ever ask for. Been adopted into their families and welcomed into their homes. I’ve found love, and lost it again. I’ve learned perseverance, tenacity and strength. I’ve learned that a little blind faith and some reckless ambition can take you a long way—and that the journey is just as important as the destination.

The path to where I am now has been a meandering one. I have been lost, despite always having a vague idea of where I am going. Along the way I have accumulated memories, experiences and friendships that have helped me get where I am today. Deep down, I know I’ll always be the barefoot blonde, running through the grass, covered in freckles and pink with sunburn. I’ll never lose the part of me that Oregon created—the part that hates blueberries, loves peace signs and is always down for a little country music. San Diego has simply added a bit of sand to my country grit, a little more glamour to my redneck ways and a much greater appreciation (and application) for sunscreen.

I’ll never let go of all the things that make me a real country girl at heart, but I know that I’ve found my place in San Diego. Nothing in my life, this far, has gone as planned, but it’s all turned out perfectly. At times, it feels like an absolute mess… But I know what I have on my hands is simply a beautiful disaster—full of potential, possibilities and promise. I just have to figure out what to do with it.

When I first found the recipe that these muffins are based on, I dismissed it. If you know the backstory, you know that I am not a fan of blueberries. But, when I started thinking about ways I could tweak the recipe to make it more my style (and more my taste), I realized there was some potential there. So while they may seem like a basic blueberry muffin, chances are... they'll blow your mind.   

Best Ever Blueberry Muffins

Adapted from allrecipes.com

The best blueberry muffin you will ever have. Promise.

Ingredients

Muffins

1.5 cups flour

¾ cups white sugar

½ teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/3 cup vegetable oil

1 egg

1/3 cup whole milk

1.5 cups fresh blueberries

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

2 tablespoons lemon zest

Topping

½ cup white sugar

1/3 cup flour

¼ cold butter, cubed

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon cardamom

½ teaspoon lemon zest

Procedure

1.    Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Grease muffin cups or line with muffin liners. Spray the top of the pan with cooking spray! These muffins are BIG and you don’t want the tops to stick to the pan.

2.    Combine 1 1/2 cups flour, 3/4 cup sugar, salt and baking powder. Place vegetable oil into a 1 cup measuring cup; add the egg and enough milk to fill the cup. Mix this with flour mixture. Fold in blueberries, lemon juice and zest. Fill muffin cups right to the top.

3.    To Make Crumb Topping: Mix together 1/2 cup sugar, 1/3 cup flour, 1/4 cup butter, and 1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon. Mix with fork, and sprinkle over muffins before baking.

4.    Sprinkle generous spoonfuls of the topping onto each muffin.

5.    Bake for 20 to 25 minutes in the preheated oven, or until muffin tops spring back when pressed. 

Keep Calm & Bake On

I will save the world, one cupcake at a time. What I cannot fix, I will feed. After nearly two years of baking happiness into everything I do, I have yet to find a rival for the euphoria I encounter watching someone devour one of my cupcakes. In the same way that my recipients get a sugar rush from the massive amounts of deliciousness in my baked goods, I get overwhelmed by a rush of positive endorphins, simply knowing that I am responsible for the joy they are experiencing.

These girls, my newspaper and yearbook EICs, keep me sane.
They also remind me, daily, why I love my job. They are  high
school seniors, and I know my classroom won't be the same
without them. They are also go-to taste testers, despite the
fact that they don't like frosting.

It seems small, right? Bake cupcakes. Share. Enjoy. I’ve often joked that cupcakes are my coping mechanism. For some people, food is a vice. Food is a friend. Food is a comfort. People eat when they are happy, eat when they are sad, and eat when they are bored. And while I’ve battled my own share of food-related issues, I’ve come to realize that despite all my joking, cupcakes really are my way of dealing with life.  In my previous (fat) life, I would have eaten my way through my problems, one (dozen) cupcake(s) at a time. Now? Baking madness ensues every time things start to get turbulent. For the last two years, my kitchen was the one place I could go to find happiness.

The last several months of my life have been a test—of my patience, my endurance, my will power, my strength and my ability to have some blind faith. This blog has been on hiatus for quite some time—there are a number of reasons for that. Primarily, I was in a place where it was a struggle for me to find joy in anything. Daily life became a chore. Things that once had me giddy and excited created a pit in my stomach and filled me with dread. Beyond that, I had to prioritize. For weeks, getting through the day without messing up my makeup was a major accomplishment. As I watched everything I knew slip through my fingers, I simply lost the energy, drive and motivation to do much beyond exist. The safe harbor I had once found among my stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops was suddenly a cold and unwelcoming place. The comfort that the whir of my mixer created only reminded me that I was suddenly alone—no one to test my treats, no one to hold the pastry bag as I filled it with icing. It wasn’t a place I had imagined myself being, but suddenly, baking wasn’t making me happy. It sounds dramatic, but a world without cupcakes is a very scary place.

My grandma Dorothy has always been one of my
biggest cheerleaders--even when I was a bratty kid.

I realized that if baking couldn’t put a smile on my face, I was in no place to be sharing my recipes (much less my experiences) with anyone. I didn’t have a story worth telling, and even when I forced my way through a recipe, I wasn’t enjoying it. The whole reason I started this blog was to have an outlet for my passions—writing, baking, photography. If those things weren’t making me happy anymore, I realized, I needed to take some time away from it all and really focus on what it would take to make me feel like myself again. I knew I wasn’t walking away from cupcakes, but it was clear to me that we needed a break.

Several months later, I’m in a better place. I took a hiatus from my kitchen. I focused on myself. I played more volleyball. I spent more time with my girlfriends. I focused on my job. I ran. A lot. I finished my 5th half marathon. I broke in new shoes and a new attitude. I feel like the universe has continued to kick me while I am down, but I am stronger. I’ve learned what I can endure. I have learned how to cope (not just ignore). I’ve learned that I am capable. I’ve learned that I have incredible friends and a phenomenal support system. I’ve learned that no matter what life throws my way, I will get through it, one way or another. I’ve learned that it’s ok to cry. I’ve learned that meltdowns happen. Most importantly? I’ve learned how to live again.

I'm known as the Cupcake Lady on campus. 

I'm back in business and ready to live up to that moniker.

I’m back, and I’m a better version of myself. I’ve accepted the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’m done settling. I’ve made my way through a shitstorm of life that could have easily broken my spirit and smothered my drive. It broke my heart that baking took me to a dark place for a while. I could have left it alone and stopped all together. But that wouldn't have been right. I've done too much good with my cupcakes already. I'm like an aproned superhero. So rather than give up and hang up my whisk, I’ve found my calm… And I’m ready to bake on.

Boozy Brownies, Round 2

A few weeks ago, I created a monster.

I combined two of my (and soooo many other people's) greatest vices into one, delicious, indulgent and not-safe-for-school treat. The white russian brownies that I shared with friends were a hit. They were gone in a matter of days. It was a genius combination, but I didn't stop there. If brownies work with vodka, what else would create the same kind of booze-fueled bliss?

There was some experimenting that didn't end well. There were a few afternoons spent baking that ended in a buzz. And then there was success.

Beer & Whiskey Brownies

adapted from craftbeer.com

• Butter for coating pan
• 1 tablespoon cocoa powder
• 1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
• 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons brown sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/3 cup stout
• 2 tablespoons whiskey
• 3/4 cup sifted all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup chocolate chips
• powdered sugar for dusting

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Prepare a 9-inch square baking pan by buttering and dusting the inside with cocoa powder. Set aside.
2. In a large saucepan, melt butter over low heat until completely melted. Add chopped chocolate, stirring often, until melted and smooth. Remove saucepan from heat and let cool to luke-warm. Stir the sugars into the chocolate and mix well.
3. In a large mixing bowl, beat together eggs, yolks, vanilla, stout and whiskey until smooth. Sift flour and salt in to the mixture and stir to combine.
4. Add cooled chocolate mixture to the egg/stout/flour mixture a little at a time, folding to combine, until all the chocolate has been added. Fold in chocolate chips, being careful not to over-mix.
5. Pour batter into the prepared pan and bake for 50 minutes to one hour. Brownies are done when a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. 
6. Dust the brownies with powdered sugar before cutting.