Ohana Cupcakes

In the past three weeks, I have been in seven different states, teaching at a variety of yearbook and journalism workshops. It was a hectic period of traveling, meeting new kids and advisers and being constantly on the go. When I finally made it home on Monday, I was more than ready for the short break that I will have before I'm off for my next set of camps.

I spent my weeks presenting to students and advisers about a variety of topics, including everything from interviewing and news writing to ice breakers and community building. Despite being constantly on the move and living out of a suitcase for three weeks, I loved every second of my work. Working with kids, whether they were my students or not, is always exciting and rewarding. Networking with other advisers and sharing war stories and feel good moments always reminds me why I love this profession. When I am on campus during the school year, I am the only person who really gets what I do. There isn't another teacher who works with kids the way that I do, runs their classroom the way that I do and oversees the kinds of projects that I do. In a way, that's a blessing--there isn't anyone telling me what to do, or clamoring after my job... But at the same time, it's incredibly isolating. When InDesign does weird things to your text, the school server crashes or the cameras start eating memory cards... There isn't someone next door, or across the hall, or even on the other side of campus that really understands how that impacts your work.

But being able to share my experiences and what I have learned over the years, both with students and other advisers, keeps me going. Sure, I was tired. Sure, losing my voice two days into the first camp made things a little rough. Sure, discovering I have allergies pretty much everywhere except San Diego was an unpleasant surprise... But none of that mattered. I was getting to talk about what I love, with people who get it. People who understand why pizza DURING deadline tastes different that pizza any other time. People who understand why a smile from a snotty teenager can make your day. People who know what it really means to put a project to bed.

Getting to be around so many other dedicated, hard working and motivated people recharges my batteries better than any day by the pool ever could. Since my first workshop in Kansas City, I have been flooded with emails from students and advisers, asking questions, asking me to share my resources and thanking me for reminding them that yearbook (and school) can be fun. I can't deny that I get a little teary eyed every time I read one of those emails. Knowing that drawing a pig, playing rock paper scissors or wrapping clumps of kids in saran wrap made a difference for someone else is rewarding. I have my own kind of crazy, but it works in my classroom. I know it doesn't work for everyone, but I love giving the tools to others so that they can define their own sort of chaos.

I am inspired by the ebb and flow of ideas at the camps I participate it. I get a chance, as a relatively new adviser, to rub elbows with people who have been kicking ass in the yearbook business longer than I've been alive. I get a chance to watch people work their magic with kids, getting them excited about everything--from singing "I'm a little teapot" to going nuts with the "Interlude." I get to see a kind of passion that is, sadly, missing from my day to day work environment. Yearbook people are special people. We're a bunch of crazy weirdos, but we get each other. We support each other. And we get damn excited about fonts, picas, kerning and margins with each other.

Despite the fact that camp after camp after camp is exhausting, I'll never stop doing it. I'll never give up the opportunity to watch others inspire students, or to be inspired by them. I'll never stop sharing my resources or my ideas. I'll never stop loving what I do--because it's never the same. It changes every year, with every new set of kids. Every time I think I have a recipe for a perfect year figured out, I hear a new idea from someone at a workshop, and my mind is blown.

I don't think there is a perfect way to build a yearbook staff. I don't think there is a perfect method for working with teenagers. But I do know that my summers are perfect, just the way they are... Crazy, busy, hectic, frazzled... And inspiring. Not only do I get the opportunity to inspire kids far beyond the confines of my classroom, but I get to work with folks that I have an incredible amount of respect for, and who I look up to.

Since I started advising, many people have taken a chance on me. It started with my administration, being willing to let a new teacher juggle both yearbook and newspaper (on top of an English load). Then my yearbook rep pushed for me to teach at my first workshop--which required a good amount of faith on her part, and a huge leap of faith on behalf of the workshop coordinator. From there, pieces fell into place. JEA allowed me to work with students through their conferences. Other camps opened their doors to me. Other people saw me teach and told me they were impressed, inspired. And that motivated me. It motivated me to keep going, keep doing what I was doing, and keep working to make it better. It's been an amazing experience so far, and I am so grateful for what I've been able to do, because it has made such a difference for the kids in my classroom. From my supporters from my yearbook publishing company, to my fellow advisers, to their students... All of these people have become my extended yearbook family.

Just as I am inspired by my fellow teachers and their students, I am also inspired by other bakers, bloggers and photographers. I follow several cooking blogs, and when I need inspiration or ideas, they are the first place that I look. When I need an idea to run with, I know I can check a few sites and have a meal planned in minutes. I know that my circle of blogging bakers will always come through when I need a recipe... In a way, they've become my virtual, constantly available, kitchen family.

So what better recipe to share than one, to me, says, "Family"? I made these cupcakes to take to yearbook camp last week, so that my Yerd Family could have a homemade treat to enjoy before all of our craziness ensued. The recipe is one that I adapted from one of my fellow baking, blogging diva contacts, so it's a perfect marriage of things I love coming full circle. I've changed the recipe a bit, given it a new name and made something delicious in the process. Just sharing the love for, as Stitch would say, my "Ohana."

Ohana Pinapple Cupcakes

photo provided by cupcakegarden.com

Epic fail on my part... I forgot to take pictures before everyone ate them.

Pineapple Cake:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour*

• 1 1/2 cups sugar*

• 1 tablespoon baking powder*

• 1/2 cup non-fat dry milk*

• 1/3 C. melted butter, cooled

• 3 eggs

• 1 1/4 C. crushed pineapple with juice

• 1 tsp. vanilla extract

• 1 tsp. lemon extract

*These ingredients can be omitted if you would prefer to just buy a box of yellow cake mix. But that is totally cheating and I will judge you for it.

Cream Cheese Frosting:

• 1/2 C. butter, softened
• 8 oz cream cheese, softened
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 3-4 C. powdered sugar
• Dried pineapple for garnish

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line pans with cupcake liners.
2. Sift dry cake ingredients into a small bowl and set aside.
3. In a large bowl combine butter, eggs, pineapple and vanilla extract. Mix on high until fluffy.
4. Stir in cake mix until smooth.
5. Fill cupcake liners 3/4 full and bake for 17-22 minute or until and inserted knife comes out clean.
6. Let cool.
7. Frosting: Beat butter and cream cheese for 2 minutes until smooth. Add vanilla extract and slowly add powdered sugar until you reach your desired consistency. If it becomes too thick, whipping cream.
8. Dollop onto cooled cupcakes. 

Chicken Taco Soup

After being gone for about ten days, and knowing that I only had a few precious days at home before my next stint of traveling, I had an overwhelming urge, from the minute I walked in my front door (at 11 PM, mind you) to BAKE ALL THE THINGS. COOK ALL THE THINGS. I just wanted to revel in the glory that was my kitchen, food readily available and of my choosing. Not a hotel catering service. Not a dining hall. Not Easy Mac, stirred with a car key and eaten with a dorm swipe card. 

Before I left, I had embarked on a breakfast adventure--treating my boyfriend to delicious, boozy cinnamon rolls, baked from scratch and topped with a gooey, cream cheese and bourbon frosting. I'd even had the foresight to freeze half the batch and leave him baking instructions, so he could make them on his own without me (obviously, this was a ploy to keep him from getting upset about me taking off for nearly two weeks). This confectionary masterpiece became dubbed as "special breakfast," and it precluded my desire to COOK ALL THE THINGS. You don't get the recipe for that... But it's an important part of this story. That's why I'm telling you. That, and I'm a little bit of a tease.

In another attempt to keep my boyfriend from hating me, my job, my commitments to camps around the country and my inability to say no to a teaching offer, I left presents. Presents and notes. For each day I was gone. Yes, its nauseatingly adorable and you're throwing up in your mouth a little. It's ok.  I would be making gagging faces at myself right now, if I weren't so head over heels in love with this boy. There is some adage that says something about having to have survived the worst to be able to appreciate the best. I've written off my past as an experience I needed to have. A painful, challenging, horrendous learning experience. And now? Now I know that I have something good--someone who cares about me, appreciates my ambition, supports my decisions and balances me. Proof:

Special breakfast was reciprocated. After being gone for what felt like forever, my first morning back home consisted of french toast (from REAL french bread), mimosas and absolutely no work on my part. Watching my boyfriend feverishly stir cinnamon into cold milk, visibly frustrated that it wouldn't dissolve, scrolling through his recipe on his iPad... I melted a little. He was willing to step in to my realm, try his hand at something that I love doing, just to make me feel special. And while I have known for some time that this boy was special, there was definite confirmation that morning.  I felt lucky. Content. Happy. And it was ok that, other than a quick trip to the store, we spent the entire day doing nothing. It's not my MO, but it felt good. I could revel in a day of laziness, because I wasn't going to have to pick up the slack later by myself. 

I have gotten used to taking care of myself. I have needed to know that I can fix things, do things, manage things on my own. But in the past few months, I've slowly gotten comfortable NOT having to do them on my own. My boyfriend may not be an expert on fixing sprinklers, but we figured it out together. He may not be super jazzed to mount my TV or fix a loose hinge, but he'll do it. He may not love to cook, but he'll get up and make me breakfast because he knows I'm exhausted and worn out from traveling. He'll do things not because he wants to, not because he gets anything out of it, not because he has some ulterior motive... He just wants to make me happy. And that makes me the luckiest girl in the whole world (insert gagging noises here). 

And in return, I want to do everything, be everything, bake, cook and clean everything, embody everything that perfect should be. I know what it feels like to be unappreciated, and I want to make sure that I never make another person feel that way. I can't help but have some guilt about my summer spent jumping around from one camp in one city to the next. Being gone for a total of almost an entire month doesn't seem like a thing you do for someone you really care about. So naturally, when I am home, I want to DO ALL THE THINGS that I can to demonstrate my appreciation. 

I've always considered my kitchen abilities to be something of a gift. I just have a knack for throwing things together that work. Which is surprising, because I don't understand any of the science behind it and I often screw up the math. But it still works (further proof that math and science are unnecessary). And as someone with an overwhelming need to help others (hence for years as an RA), putting my gift to work and feeding people is a natural outlet for me. So when we started talking about dinner ideas, after Special Breakfast #2, I knew that this recipe would be a winner. First, it has beer in it. I mean, who doesn't want beer with their dinner? Second, it all goes in a slow cooker... So I could spend the whole day finishing our two bottles of champagne and orange juice, while dinner cooked itself.

Chicken Taco Soup

• 1 red onion, diced
• 1 (16 oz) can chili beans, drained
• 1 (16 oz) can black beans, drained
• 1 (16 oz) can corn, drained
• 1 (8 oz) can tomato sauce
• 1 (12 oz) bottle of beer
• 1 (10 oz) can diced tomatoes with green chiles
• 1 packet taco seasoning
• 3 whole boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 1 jalapeño, diced
• 1 red bell pepper, diced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 1 t cayenne
• 1 t garlic salt
• 1 T minced garlic
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• 1/4 cup cilantro

1. Place all ingredients in a slow cooker, except for the chicken. Stir well.

2. Submerge the chicken breasts in the other ingredients (make sure they are covered).

3. Set slow cooker for low heat and cook for 5 hours.

4. Remove chicken breasts about four hours in. Shred. Return to soup for one more hour.

5. Serve with sliced avocado, crushed tortilla chips and queso fresco.

Cilantro & Lime Sauce

Standing on the stage at James Madison University last weekend, I was staring out into an auditorium full of shiny high school faces... And I didn't know a single one of them. It was a weird feeling for me--to be at yearbook camp, without my kids, getting ready to kick off a weekend of Yerding without the crowd I'm used to doing this with. And for some reason, I was overcome with such crazy self-doubt that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get through my opening presentation. Maybe my skills don't translate across the country?

Of course, I was being silly. Insecure. I just lost my footing for a minute--a temporary stumble, but I caught myself. I lead things off with a loud (as loud as I could be after losing my voice for the 5th or 6th time in two weeks), "If you can hear my voice clap once..." call out, and we were off. We drew pigs. We made funny faces. We did things in a minute to win it. We ate candy for breakfast. We made it rain. And we yearbooked. A lot. And learned. A lot.

There was one evening, the last night of camp, I think, when I was lounging in the computer lab with one of my fellow instructors and a sales rep from Baltimore. We were chit chatting, talking about all the weirdo kids you find at yearbook camp and in your classroom, and one girl (one of the aforementioned odd balls) came up to ask me some questions about the writing class I had taught earlier in the day. I went over her notes with her and when I was done, she just smiled and said, "Thanks Ms. Young. I learned really good from you. You've got good styles and I think my writing is going to be more better."

The irony of her compliments were not lost on me, but it still melted my heart a little bit. I'm used to being in a classroom with kids for months before I can get them to worship the ground I walk on and hang on every word. But this girl felt like I had made a difference for her in just a few short days. And despite the self doubt that I had felt at the start of camp, I felt invincible. If I can get kids to nerd out on font and page design and King Pica and Adobe Kuler during their summer vacation, then I'm on the right track. It doesn't matter WHERE the kids are--Orange County, San Diego, or the East Coast--I know how to get through to them, even without cupcakes.

And sometimes, I get that same feeling when I tackle a meal in my kitchen. I don't always know what I'm doing when I start out, but somehow, it all comes together in the end. And I might still be unsure of myself, even as I dish it out... But all it takes is one compliment, one "yum," a second helping and a smile for me to know that I did it right. I do know what I am doing in the kitchen, despite not having any sort of actual training (other than watching my dad when I was growing up).

I watch cooking shows (probably more than I'd like to admit), and I think that it is something I would like to try. But then I watch the contestants fillet a fish, or do some sort of fancy mousse or crazy recipe from their memory and I just don't think I can hack it. But when I'm presented with my own mystery box and a flavor that I want to create, I  manage to nail it. Maybe I do have what it takes.

This sauce is something I threw together, while watching Master Chef, and making tacos. After being gone for 10 days, I was itching to cook so I wanted to make everything. As I was setting out the bowls of chopped onions, peppers, shredded chicken, cheese and cilantro, I realized that there wasn't any sauce or salsa. Needless to say, problem solved...

Cilantro & Lime Sauce

• 1 cup fresh cilantro
• 1/4 cup greek yogurt
• 2 T miso paste
• 2 T olive oil
• 1/4 cup lime juice
• 1/4 large avocado
• 1 t garlic salt
• 1 t pepper
• 1 t cayenne

1. Toss in blender/food processor/magic bullet. Blend until smooth.

2. Top your favorite festive dish... Fish, chicken, tacos, chips, etc.

Lemon Dill Potato Salad

Growing up in Smalltown, USA, there are things that inevitably made their way into my life, for better or worse. I've been told before that tiny towns every where are exactly the same. There are certain staples that you would find in Podunk, Oregon that would also surface in Backwoods, Louisiana. From one small town to another, you'll find friendly faces, neighborhood block parties, a crunchy vernacular and staple foods.

It seems that in any small town gathering, at any neighborhood cookout and at 4th of July and Memorial Day, Labor Day and summer BBQs around the country, you'll find tables laden with flavors of Americana. Apple Pie. Burgers. Hot dogs. Macaroni and cheese. Corn on the cob. Berry cobblers. I can get behind most of these things (ok, except the ones made with meat). But there is one cook out staple that I will never understand: potato salad--the mayonnaisey, creamy, buttery kind. How do people eat that? I mean, if that was the flavor and texture you wanted, why not just squirt some mayo on a celery stick, ants on a log style, and go to town? That's basically what you're getting.

Even in my days (ok, decades) as a fat kid, I never loved the flavor of mayo, whether it was smeared on a sandwich or dolloped all over perfectly good potatoes or macaroni. As I've learned to cook, and been able to tailor my dishes to flavors that I like, I've been able to experiment and create--much to the joy of my tastebuds (and the scale).

So, while this recipe may contradict all the things we know about what potato salad is, that doesn't make it any less delicious. I've learned, especially in the last few months, that the commonly accepted prescription for "perfect" isn't always right. Sometimes you have to take what works and run with it--whether it follows your timeline, schedule or BBQ checklist, or not. When it works, it works, right? Don't question it. Just love it.

Lemon Dill Potato Salad

Adapted from Food Magazine

2 pounds rainbow potatoes (regular ones work too, but the colored ones are so much more fun)
1 cup celery, diced
1 cup red onion, diced
1 lemon's zest
2 tablespoons capers
2 cups kale, deribbed and sliced into ribbons
2 tablespoons garlic, minced
1/4 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons dill (fresh preferred)
1 teaspoon smoked sea salt
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1. Heat water to a boil.
2. Wash and cut potatoes to uniform size, about 1/4 inch thick.
3. Boil potatoes until they are tender. Drain and transfer to a bowl.
4. Stir the celery, onion, capers and kale into the potatoes.
5. Whisk together the remaining ingredients.
6. Drizzle the lemon and olive oil mixture over the potato mixture. Toss to evenly coat.
7. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Chocolate Chip Pudding Cookies

There are some natural combinations in life that just work. Peanut butter and jelly. Mac and cheese. Sunshine and flip flops. Romey & Michelle. They are duos that have roots so deep that trying to separate them just doesn't make sense—they go together (cue the closing dance scene and music from Grease). These combos have become ingrained in the way we pack our lunches, they ways we survived the poverty of college, the way we dress ourselves and the way we define our friendships.

Even if mac and cheese or a perfect beach day aren’t in your repertoire, chances are you have pairings of your own that have come to define the way you do things.  Something feels wrong, out of balance, if your duo isn’t complete. Your mojo is totally out of whack if you don’t have the perfect shimmy to go with your shake.

When you are introduced the perfect pairing, it’s like an epiphany. How did harmony ever exist before this combination was defined? It’s one of those things that you didn’t know you needed—but now that you have it? There is no chance you could live happily without it.

Not every match in my life is material. As I’ve mulled over this idea of sweet harmonies, I’ve realized that the concept extends far beyond my culinary, pop culture and fashion realms.  My personal life is full of things that I didn’t know that I needed, but now that I’ve experienced them, I’m not sure I can survive without them. My friends run the gamut of personality types, from over protective and motherly, to something of a loose cannon here and there. And each one of them offers me something, some aspect of themselves, which I can’t live without.

Since the Fall I’ve seriously struggled with understanding who I am and what I want. I made a lot of choices in my personal life that I wasn’t proud of, but I was not thinking long-term or practically. I was thinking, ‘What will make me feel better, right now?” I guess I was an embodiment of the instant gratification generation. I didn’t want to wait to heal. I wanted my life to implode, to sweep up the pieces into a tidy pile, forget it ever happened and instantly go back to being Jess. I didn’t need to grieve, or process or recoup… Or so I thought.

Turns out, running full speed ahead, without a break, without a breath to process, without time for yourself means you basically slam into a brick wall that you never saw coming. And that hurts. Probably more than what set you off running in the first place. I hit that wall after the New Year and I realized that if I didn’t chill the fuck out I was going to miss out on the chance to let something good happen for me.

What I had to realize was that I needed to LET it happen. I had to get out of my own way and for, probably the first time in my adult life, stop planning everything and just let my life happen to me. I needed to experience my own life, instead of driving it. And once I accepted that I can’t plan for every what-if scenario and guard myself against every emotion I may experience, good things started happening.

And now? I’ve discovered all kinds of things that I didn't know I needed in my life, but now they have the perfect place. You could say I have all the things I knew I wanted (and deserved), plus all kinds of bonus stuff. And the bonus stuff? It’s the best part.

When things finally go right, after they've felt wrong and forced for so long, it’s better than an epiphany. It’s like taking a huge breath, when you didn't realize you’d been holding yours in for who knows how long. You don’t always know that it’s right, until you stop trying to figure out what it is and just let it be. And then, if you’re lucky, the pieces fall into place… And you find yourself happier than you knew you could be, with your life going in a direction you never fathomed you’d have the courage to face again.

Relationships aren’t supposed to be hard. Connecting with another person is supposed to be sort of a basic instinct, right? We want companionship. So why do we make it so complicated? Why do we concoct a complicated formula for what should really be a simple, perfect pair? And when we finally find that match, why question it? Let it be. When you find that one thing that you didn’t know you were missing, but suddenly you have and can’t imagine life without? Don’t fuck it up.

I’ve had this recipe for chocolate chip cookies for ages. I’ve understood the concept of a cookie since I started baking in middle school. But I never found the perfect balance of ingredients until I started playing with this recipe. And once I stumbled across the addition of pudding to the mix, I realized I had a winning combination. And I don’t mess with that. You never knew you needed pudding in your cookies, but once you have it, you’ll never turn back. The chocolate chips are just the bonus stuff.

Pudding Plus Chocolate Chip Cookies

Adapted from Allrecipes.com

Ingredients

• 4.5 cups flour
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 2 cups butter, softened
• 1.5 cups brown sugar
• .5 cups sugar
• 2 (3.4 oz) packages instant pudding mix (whatever flavor you fancy... I usually use vanilla or butterscotch)
• 4 eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 4 cups chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Sift the flour and baking soda together. Set aside.
3. In a large bowl, cream the butter until light and fluffy. Add the sugars.
4. Beat in the eggs, one at a time.
5. Add the pudding. Blend in the flour mixture.
6. Stir in the chocolate chips.
7. Drop cookies by rounded spoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet.
8. Bake for 9—12 minutes. 

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!