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A blog by Krysta MacGray

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On Bolognese and Italy

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I’ve prepared more than I thought I would for my trip to Italy. We are going in April and I admittedly bought a black versatile going out to dinner dress, three going out to dinner blouses, a going out to dinner jacket, sandals that will be comfortable for walking but also dress up a jean skirt, and two new pairs of jeans. I scheduled a facial three days before I leave. I will definitely get a manicure. I think I am just excited to go.

I have wanted to go Italy my whole life and I would like to feel good while visiting. It’s as if every day I’m there feels like it will be a momentous occasion. The way I’d plan for a big, high falutin’ black tie event is the same way I plan for my lifelong anticipated trip to Italy, it turns out. At the same time, I have a real desire to not over pack. I want to choose a “color palette” and this is not a sentence I ever thought I’d write since I’m more of a “eh–lets just wing it, it’ll be fine” kind of girl, but the thing is, I don’t want to have to pack too many shoes. The more colors and styles of clothing you have, the more shoes you need, so wanting to pack minimally requires MORE planning, not less. I find this annoying. To have my clothing choices be effortless, I have to put in a lot of planning up front. I’m judging myself for it, but it just is what it is at this point.

My sister went to Paris last year. She wore things there she doesn’t wear here. Black lace tights, red peplum skirts with a cream lace top and moto boots with buckles. I laughed about it. Why don’t you just go to Paris and look the way you look? I said. Why dress in Paris costumes?

Pot calling.

It’s not like I never buy new things for vacation. I almost always do. A new swim suit and cover-up for Anguilla. It’s just that mostly, I keep it to a minimum. Who am I when I get to go to Italy? Apparently the kind of nutcase that buys a whole new wardrobe and schedules facials before the flight. 

I’m regretting not booking more days in Rome. Too many people who’s opinion I respect, when they find out I’m going to Italy, have said “I loved Rome. Oh my gosh, you are going to love Rome!” Where were they when I was planning my trip? I had read that Rome was a dirty city and to not expect much magic there. To instead spend more time in Tuscany or Amalfi. So that’s what I scheduled. I will only be in Rome for a day and a half and regret is settling in hard core. But then again, how could I regret spending time in Italy, *anywhere?* You need to know who the type of people are leaving reviews. You cannot just decide because Harry and Martha and Leo from Michigan didn’t love Rome, that you won’t either. What if they are all uninteresting people who don’t find the majesty in the juxtaposition of a busy, modern city set in a landscape from a time gone by? That there could be a cafe with yeah, maybe some pigeons and trash  out front BUT also a stone pilar that looks like it was part of a building that got destroyed in 800AD, you know? I wonder about these things. Or what if the people who all said “stay in Amalfi” were too fancy for me? What if they were the people who dress in Gucci from head to toe and someone I wouldn’t ever take advice from anyway? My guess is I’m going to hopelessly love all of Italy. That I won’t fancy one thing over another but inhale it all like dessert—chocolate cake, donuts, hazelnut gelato, cream puffs, fig, chocolate and marscapone bread pudding—because how can you compare which is better? It just depends on your taste. And I never met a dessert I didn’t like. I’m already lusting over all I’ll miss in the North. Genoa, Bologna, Venice. 

My PT Ray, is half Italian with a penchant for Chianti’s. His family lives in north east Italy, right on the border of Austria, and he grew up visiting them. He also told me he makes a fantastic bolognese sauce. How do you make it, I asked? With very, very finely diced carrots, celery and onions. I don’t like a chunky bolognese and so it’s crucial you get the vegetables small enough. I use pancetta and bison instead of beef, red wine, cream, and a smooth tomato puree. Again, I like my bolognese smooth instead of chunky. You add  everything little by little and let it all simmer together until it’s rich and thick. He made sure to tell me that people from Bologna will tell you never to use cream—only milk. But he does it anyway because it’s just too outrageously good, he tells me.

Milk or cream, I didn’t care. All I knew was I got really hungry for Bolognese sauce. So I ran straight to the store and bought all the ingredients for it. I don’t have his recipe, but he told me enough. If I google the way Marcella Hazan makes it, I should be in business, I figure.

I’m going to make the tastiest bolognese sauce known to man, I thought, very pleased with my decision. I even bought real spaghetti pasta to layer below. Usually I make a quicker style bolognese for topping spaghetti squash with, but that will never do today. I’ve always fancied chunkier style sauces, but the way Ray describes meticulously chopping everything finely makes me hungry for a smoother sauce. I bought tomato puree instead of plum tomatoes for crushing between my fingers.

I’m excited about my tripe and the anticipation is building.

But I’m not leaving yet, and so I’m still in prep mode. So tonight I will render the fat from pancetta and add vegetables and wine and tomatoes and beef before simmering it away until it’s a tender, thick, succulent puddle of red. I shan’t forget the nutmeg. And then we’ll feast. 

If I’m going to over-prepare for Italy, I figure, I better include lots of feasting. 

6oz pancetta, chopped

2 large carrots, mined

3 large celery stalks, minced

1 yellow onion, minced

3 tablespoons butter

2 lbs ground beef or beef and pork combo

salt

pepper

1/8 tsp nutmeg

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 cups white wine

1 28-oz can tomato puree (or 28-oz whole plum tomatoes w/ their juice and crush tomatoes through your hands before adding them into the sauce)

parmigiana reggiano for topping

buttered spaghetti for serving

Brown the pancetta with a little olive oil in the bottom of a heavy pot over medium high heat. Add butter, onion, celery and carrot. Cook about 5 minutes. Add ground beef, salt and pepper and crumble with your wooden spoon and cook on medium high until cooked. Add milk and cream and simmer until almost evaporated. Add wine and let it simmer until it has almost evaporated. Add tomatoes and nutmeg and another sprinkle of salt. Bring to a boil then turn the heat down to a low simmer and cook, uncovered for 3 hours, stiring occasionally. If sauce begins to dry out (fat will separate from meat), stir in a bit of water and keep cooking. Make sure all your water has evaporated before tasting for salt and adding more if needed (pro tip: it probably needs it) and serving. Serve over buttered pasta. Please butter it. Don’t be embarrassing.

PS- This is why I wrestle fiercely with editing. When writing, you are “supposed” to pick a subject and then write about that and nothing else so you don’t distract from the thing you are talking about. In this case, bolognese sauce and Italy. But then I go into over-preparing for my upcoming trip and then tell you a little ditty about my sister and how I’m a hypocrite and I thought “Krysta, you need to cut this part out, or just mention it briefly” but I just didn’t want to. Additionally, this PS address should be edited out as well. But you know what I love? Nuanced, rambley writing that leads you someplace by way of somewhere else—the long, scenic way. I like things layered and simmered and rich, like bolognese (see what I did there?)

One Reason Non-Disciplined People Resist Doing The Things We Know We Should

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I’ll save you the 19 minute story if you prefer, and let you know that the reason we resist disciplining ourselves in a daily, ongoing fashion is because we KNOW when we start, there’s no stopping. You are either on the road of a disciplined person, or you hop off. We know it’s better to be on it, but it just seems like a lot of work, you know? Deciding to discipline ourselves in a specific, focused area each day is like opening Pandora’s box to all the other things we could be disciplining ourselves in to make our life more functional. It’s like our subconscious recognizes what we are doing and gets all up in our face about the OTHER things we could be doing and it doesn’t end. A choice has to be made. For a long while, I’d choose the disciplined road only half the time—but only if it had a specific time period attached to it. In other words, I was fine disciplining myself if whatever I was doing had an end date and I could go back to my normal way of life. I dabbled in discipline. I didn’t continue to lead a disciplined lifestyle.

This doesn’t work for the long term. Not to get where you really want to go anyway. Steven Pressfield describes this as the pro mindset versus the amateur mindset. “The amateur is in it for fun. A dabbler. A weekend warrior. The amateur has the option to back down when faced with difficulties. But the professional gets up every morning and does the work. They take days off only in an effort to come back stronger next time. When the pro hits adversity, they simply rally. If a pro is hurt, they play hurt. It’s a whole different mindset. Turning pro changes what time we go to bed and what time we get up. it changes how we organize our day. It changes what we read and what we feed our bodies. The amateur tweets, the pro works.”

So when I discuss why deciding to discipline myself to work out every day was important to me, it’s for that reason. I know shying away from fully committing to a goal, taking days off and making excuses makes me an amateur. I know I need to think of myself as a pro. For so long I told myself I didn’t really NEED to because if I wanted to be pro I knew I could, anytime I chose…I just really didn’t need to go “all the way” yet. I was good enough.

But what starts to happen though is you feel like you’re not living up to your potential. I knew I had all this talent and drive and gumption inside of me, but I didn’t know what to do with it and so I always felt like I was trying really hard but getting zero results. Because in the end, talent does matter as much as self-discipline, self-motivation, self-validation, and self-reinforcement. Because we can’t control our talent. We can only control how hard we work.

So in this video, I just talk about what that feels like for me and what other work I need to do. I also sing a little ditty in the beginning, so if you want to laugh at me, be my guest.

Happy Weekend, everybody!

Xoxo (becuase it was just Valentines Day)

Krysta

Conversations with Jeremy: Physical Discipline

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Oh heyyy, look at me! I worked out…again.


Scene: Jeremy and I are in the kitchen after eating a delicious dinner of taco bowls. 

Krysta: I have a real question for you, but you can’t laugh

Jeremy: I might. If it’s a dumb question, I might. I’m an INTJ and that’s what we do, so prepare yourself for that.

He’s joking, kind of. He’s not rude, but since his personality profile describes him as “the most strategically capable” he does find certain questions amusing and often asks “how do people survive in this world?” when they ask them. 

Krysta: I signed up for a month long booty and ab challenge with Betty Rocker. She’s this workout guru in Denver…anyway, each day I get a new 30-minute workout video sent to my email. Every day. Like, EVERY DAY, except weekends because you have to have rest days but still, Monday through Friday I have committed to work out for a whole month. 

I have his attention. This is new territory for me. For the past three years I had weight trained for 45 minutes consistently 2 days per week with a little 4-minute high intensity tabata or HIIT session at the end. There was usually another day or two during the week when I’d hike or walk or jog as well but not quickly and nothing else.

Getting to this point, my friends, was a huge deal for me. I had gone from dabbling in a yoga or zumba class a couple times a year to a consistent 2-3 day per week workout without too much struggle. In my mind, I was already slaying.

Krysta: And Jeremy? These are high intensity workouts. It’s jumping cardio stuff in-between challenging deliberate body quivering things like planks. What I’m trying to convey is that it’s uncomfortable for me. I don’t like to work that hard when I work out. I like keeping a nice pace hiking, or gassing it on a jog for a bit before coming back to a comfortable pace and mostly, I do all these things so I can listen to podcasts and music and get lost in my thoughts. That’s what make physical activity enjoyable for me. But just working hard the whole time is not enjoyable for me. It’s hard and I don’t like what I’ve signed up for. 

Jeremy: yeah, you don’t like to feeling physically uncomfortable.

Krysta: Right. I discipline myself in other areas, but I always let myself off the hook when it comes to pushing myself  physically. I quit a workout early or skip days because I can’t remember what the huge deal is in completing it if I’ve done “enough” already. I don’t ever feel bad about cutting workouts short or skipping days if I’ve already given a solid effort and done more than I would have. I actually believe it’s not that important to finish so long as I keep doing good enough. I don’t know why. Being alright with good enough is healthy many times but when it comes to the subject of discipline, not so much. I recognize I haven’t put my hand to the fire in this specific area. That’s why I signed up but I’m scared because I know there will be many days I don’t want to do it. So my question is what should I do to make myself do the workout when I don’t want to do it? 

I’m asking Jeremy because he is the most physically disciplined person I know. He races mountain bikes and is always going on training rides when he doesn’t feel like it, when he doesn’t have time, when it’s -1 outside, you name it. 

Jeremy: Well, discipline is doing what you want to do when you don’t want to do it. In order to motivate yourself, I think you need an activity you love. Or at least an end goal. I make myself go on all my rides because eventually I have a race to compete in. Theres a race goal.

Krysta: Yeah, I don’t have a goal outside of just feeling like I should.

He lifts up a magazine. The picture is of a guy mountain biking through rough terrain by a lake. “Well it helps to be doing something you theoretically like doing even when you don’t want to do it. That activity for me right now is mountain biking. I love the sport but I don’t always want to go on rides. See this picture right here though? It makes me want to ride. I see this and I imagine biking through this place and instantly I want to get on my bike and go. Do any activities make you feel like that? 

Krysta: I know what you are talking about but I feel that way  about writing and cooking and a few other things. Sometimes I’ll read something that’s so inspiring I literally have to stop everything I am doing and write down my thoughts about it. Or sometimes I’ll come across an idea for an interesting recipe and I’m already half way to the store to pick up the ingredients to make it immediately. Never though, do I experience that in the exercise realm. I enjoy hiking or running on occasion if it’s not too hard and I can listen to podcasts and get lost in thought but—I don’t experience that with any challenging physical activities. Ever. And I could be wrong but I really doubt I ever will.

We live in a small town. There is no Soul Cycle here.

Jeremy: You liked skate skiing though?

Krysta: I enjoy it, but I’m not jonesing to get out and do it again or anything. I’ll go and enjoy what I can but after a while it’s sort of like, okay enough.

Jeremy: You know, every morning I come down and read  books for my quiet time but I don’t particularly enjoy it. I do it because I know the tremendous value of reading and the things I learn by doing it and so it’s kind of like a discipline for me each day.”

I gasped. 

“You don’t like…READING?!?”

I’ve been married to the man for fifteen years, and he reads every morning. We have rows and rows of books on our bookshelf that he’s read. He has never said this before.

Jeremy: I mean I do for a little while, but I burn out pretty quickly. I don’t want to keep doing it. I mostly discipline myself to do it each day, which is why some of my quiet time’s are shorter than others and maybe that’s what physical activity will be like for you. A discipline you can enjoy the benefits of but not something your all hung-ho to do over and over again everyday.

This for me, ladies an gentlemen, was like an Oprah A-ha moment. The second he said it something clicked together in my brain that hadn’t come together before.

THAT’S IT! I thought. That’s exactly the way I need to think about my workouts. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t get fired up all the time to be active. Maybe nothing is wrong with me. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t like to do it the whole time. When it comes to food that’s not our favorite we always tell our kids “you know, you don’t have to like it to eat it.” We do this because we know the value of eating something less than enjoyable and we take nutrient intake seriously.

Of course, there are also many enjoyable aspects to making a choice to workout daily. I feel energized and happy after a challenging workout. I feel proud of myself and inspired about life, about projects, about everything afterwards. This also leads me to make better food choices naturally because I WANT to. I don’t feel like burgers after I workout. I feel like salads with chicken and sprouts or smoothies with protein, greens, berries and avocado. This sets me up for the next meal and the next and it snowballs. I sleep better when I workout. I feel like connecting with people or slaying everything on my to do list with enthusiasm after I work out. I feel capable in all respects after a workout. I may not particularly enjoy the 30 minutes that I’m working hard but it’s thirty minutes. I can do anything for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes is nothing, really. It could be so much worse. It could be a 90 minute yoga class.

Maybe it’s okay that workouts don’t beckon and interest me like they do other people. Maybe other people don’t get pulled to the page to express themselves creatively like I do, or inspired to the kitchen to try a new recipe either. I’ve often been told it’s lucky that I like to cook since I have to do it anyway each day. 

I’ve always thought people who like to work out are lucky since it’s something that we are supposed to do everyday. 

I’d never considered that those work-out enthusiasts had to perhaps discipline themselves in the kitchen or another area that I’m much more inclined. 

My friend Ailini likes to clean. Serious. She LIKES it because it makes her feel calm. I’ve always thought that was lucky since again, it’s something we all have to do anyway. So I thought I’d try thinking of working out as something I had to do to—same as laundry or dishes or any other of the mundane tasks I loathe but regularly do because I have to. 

I guess this is what fitness people mean when they say “make workouts non-negotiable” but for whatever reason I never understood it that way. I never understood it to mean to make it something you have to do in order to keep your very life running. If I didn’t do the dishes, I could get away with it for a day or so but before long we would run out of forks. 

What the hell is it with missing forks anyway? Never the spoons, always the forks. 

The point is I would HAVE to do the dishes in order to move my life forward. It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t feel like it. I would have to stop whatever more enjoyable thing I was doing and wash the dishes already so that I could then eat dinner without issue. What if I approached it that way? I could get behind that.

Maybe it all just evens out in the end. Some necessary things are easy for us, and some necessary things are hard for us, and there’s a huge space in between that we feel sort of indifferent about, but disciplining ourselves to do what we ought, regardless of how we feel brings tremendous value, regardless. 

I’m lucky that the two areas I feel most inspired about is cooking and creative expression, mostly of the written sort. At first I de-valued the creative expression one. I mean, people don’t have to express themselves creatively. However, the discipline of writing teaches you many valuable things that make life easy in other areas. I was at a talk last week for Jordan Petersons Book 12 Rules For Life and he reminded me that the act of writing and editing teaches you how to think. This bleeds into all areas of life. Writers get to think about things more thoughtfully and carefully than the average person has time for. This is an advantage and a luxury.

All is not lost. We are all lucky. Bonus points if what you like has to be done daily, but even if it doesn’t every noble and creative thing has value and place.

I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that because I’m going to look at it as something the whole rest of my life depends on me to do in order to function well. After my month is up, I’ll have disciplined myself into a spot that’ll allow me to think only working out four days a week is luxuriant. But I just might keep going with this whole five days a week regime because it makes so much sense to me now and really, it’s 30 minutes. I think I used to think a workout = an hour minimum, but a workout could mean 15 minutes. It adds up if done daily and I think that’s what I’m sold on. The daily aspect.

I don’t have to love it to do it. What a revelation. I just have to do it regardless of how I feel, baring injury or sickness. It’s so simple. You do that in enough areas of your life and that’s what success is born of. It’s easy to do what you want to do. It takes someone with strength of mind to do what they don’t want, for their own good. 

That’s what I’m learning anyway.

I think this is especially true regarding physical challenges which require an output on your part. It’s not like I hadn’t had physical challenges before. I voluntarily chose drug-free natural childbirth—twice. I can withstand suffering. But to produce my own suffering voluntarily, over and over again is another story. 

But I guess it’s what I’m doing for the next month. I wonder what’ll be next? I mean, I’m only on day 3 and I’m already so sore I can’t bend down to pick up my dogs or walk down the stairs but you know, I think it will get better. It’ll get better. It’s got to get better.


Two Songs for Christmas

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I think Just Breathe was intended to be a song about somebody you love dying. But I sing Pearl Jam’s Just Breathe, to God. Because it’s all my fears, prayers, and all I could ever ask Him, in one song.

Yes I understand that every life must end, uh huh

As I sit alone I know someday we must go, uh-huh

Oh, I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, yeah others they got none. Uh-huh.

Stay with me. Let’s just breathe.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh.

Yeah I don’t want to hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed.

Stay with me. You’re all see. 

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you? 

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

I wonder every day As I look upon your face, uh-huh. Everything you gave and nothing you wouldn’t take, uh-huh. 

Nothing you would take. Everything you gave…

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you?

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

Nothing you would take everything you gave. 

Hold me till I die.

Meet you on the other side…

Christmas is the season of perpetual hope. A thrill of hope, as O Holy Night reminds me, as the weary world rejoices.

I am the weary world. My hope is that Jesus came so that He might accompany me in my weariness, lighten the load with his presence should I have Him, and take me to Him and Love along with all the people I cherish and hold dear when someday it’s my time to go. 

A thrill of hope.

Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear saviors birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till he appeared and the soul felt it’s worth. 

My soul doesn’t always feel it’s worth. I question things a lot. I’d like to think God is okay with this because this is how he made me, but sometimes I wonder, does he think it’s okay? Does my questioning bring me nearer to Him or further away? At what point does it matter?  

 For yonder breaks a new a glorious mourn.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angle voices. Oh night divine.

Nat King Cole beseeches me to hear. To fall on my knees and to declare the night divine. To feel the sheer thrill of it. That we might not have to be alone with our suffering without end.

The night of our dear Saviors birth.  

I had a big ole Christmas party last Friday night. Many people came. We ate, drank and were merry. I celebrated many friends and health and happiness. I went to sleep in a warm bed, woke up to warm food, and basked in the warmth of my family. 

Yeah I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the one’s I love.

Then the restlessness started to creep back.  My constant companion as of late. Now what? it says. The party is done. What will you plan next? And it knows I must plan something next, or else the restlessness. The feeling of doing nothing, contributing nothing, being nothing and even more so, having no work to do that’s of any value—being a waste of space. Even though I am loved. Even though I love. Even though I am happy, I feel like I am not living up to my potential. That I am not doing the work I am meant to do. Not living my purpose. Not even knowing what it is. That I’m wasting my days, not taking time seriously, and what if when the “one day I must go” comes and I’m still living this way and haven’t figured it out? The regret. The sadness. And so I regularly lament in the midst of my lovely, wonderful life. 

It’s a strange thing. A waste of a lovely, wonderful life in a way. How ironic. Why not just enjoy my life?

Because something inside me prompts me to more. Prompts is a bad word. Invites. Something invites me to more. The “more” isn’t inherently bad, it simply keeps whispering that there is more than just enjoying your life. That maybe even just enjoying your life leaves you the most hollowed out and alone because there is good and useful work for me to do that merely enjoying doesn’t give. That maybe even just enjoying betrays. But “more” won’t say what that work is–not specifically. So I spend my days searching for it. 

Maybe it’s THIS. Maybe it’s THAT. Perhaps I’d be useful at this. Maybe that’s why I have these gifts, because I’m supposed to be using them this way. If I go and do this thing, surely I’ll find my purpose which will give me lasting fulfillment and I won’t have to pine after it everyday. I won’t have to wonder who I am or what I’m good at anymore because I’ll finally know and then I’ll just keep doing that. I won’t have to long for it anymore because it’ll be there.

I’ll do a thing or take on a project. I’ll like it. It maybe even brings value to people other than myself. I’ll feel good. I’ll feel useful and worthy of my life. I want to do it again so I search for the next project or thing to work on. But in between, the restlessness and sadness and doubt.

I know I’m looking for something that doesn’t bring lasting fullness. The thing I should be looking for, I know, is Jesus. I should be looking for God. Confusing since I thought I’d found Him. 

Do you ever really find God? When you do, do you ever really get to hold onto him or do you just have to keeping trying to find him hundreds of different ways, hundreds of different days? Him in plain sight, but I’m blind again.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me.

Jesus came to earth to be born as a baby.

A thrill of hope.

I am loved and doubtful and full of questions that never provide answers. I am taken care of and I take care. I am not worthy or living up to my potential. Perhaps I never will. I can’t seem to grasp how to do it—how to hold the stars. I’m too self involved and overly indulgent at times. I don’t give until it hurts. I fail over and over. 

And yet He came. One night in December, He came for me. He came for all my not enough-ness, and then also for the times when I believe I am EVERYTHING AWESOME. He came just the same. And I can question if it really happened, and ponder my doubt mixed with hope that it did, and pray to make my faith stronger so that belief could just be easy and tidy for me to accept. 

Or I can just decide to accept, in an audacious act of faith. 

Acts of faith like that are hard to maintain for me.

It’s not in my nature, I don’t think. I’ll surely forget again. Forget how to have faith like that all the time. 

But for this season of advent, and in anticipation of celebrating Christ’s birthday, the gift I will give is my audacious faith and celebration and thanks and praise that He came. I will show him a weary world rejoices—even if it’s a conscious choice rather than a genuine reaction because I’m so jaded and poor and not understanding.

This Christmas, I’m leaving space. I’m not filling it with another project to make me feel better, useful or relieved. I choose Christmas. I choose to behold the night divine. I choose God with me. Even if I don’t feel it all the time. Even if I doubt it will make a difference. I will let God be enough. Alas, He is the only thing that ever has been.

Hold me till I die. 

Meet you on the other side…

Avgolemono Soup

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Hey Guys,

This post is little bit of a throwback to old school blogging. We didn’t write essays back then. We just kind of wrote letters telling you about our life and what happened that week and then oh, look here’s a soup I made, with the recipe.

So hi. There’s a soup recipe down below and it’s the coziest bowl of comfort that I make these days. I bet you’ll like it.

Today it snowed. Last week it snowed too. I have a tradition with my kids about the first snowfall every year. The first time actual flakes fall from the sky while we are awake (waking up to snow doesn’t count) I make them cups of homemade hot chocolate with whipped cream. We top it with sprinkles if we have it, but this year we didn’t.

The kids enjoying their hot chocolate 

I make simple cocoa on the stove top. I just fill mugs with milk and add splashes of heavy cream (about 3 tablespoons each mug) and then dump it all into a pot. For each cup of milk I add 1 1/2 tablespoons cocoa powder, 1 1/2 tablespoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla, and a tiny pinch of salt. Then I whisk everything together over medium heat until hot. I divide the hot cocoa back into each of the mugs and top with whipped cream. I make whipped cream from scratch mostly, but for hot chocolate we just get the stuff in a can.

I also got my nails painted red this week too. Nothing like a little cranberry red to usher in the fall season. Fall = when it snows here. Fall/winter mixed. Red works for both, I figure.

I’m currently watching my nephews so their parents can sneak away for a quick trip to NYC. It’s loud and exciting here. There are donuts on the counter and Jurassic World  on the TV. I’m blogging and drinking a cup of sleepy time tea. It’s a great Sunday.

My puppies are getting huge! Did you know we got puppies? Two French Bulldogs. Aren’t they just the cutest?

We named the white one Star Lord, which is a Guardians of the Galaxy reference and the black one is Norma Jean. Everyone thinks the white one is Norma Jean because the white one is more beautiful and photogenic.

I’m not being rude, it’s just the truth.

Here look, this is Star Lord:

He’s a stud.

Now here’s Norma Jean:

She’s just never quite as beautiful in pictures. I’m not even picking bad pictures, you guys, she just always looks like this. She never looks at the camera. She relaxes into a shapeless lump when you hold her. It’s so funny.

Oh, and hey, here’s that soup I was telling you about. It’s Avgolemono, a traditional Greek soup thickened with eggs, which makes it looks all creamy despite not having cream. It’s lemony and thick, full of chicken and fat rice. It’s what we make instead of chicken noodle. Th little bit of dill on top absolutely makes the dish. My husband disagrees. I said this one time and he responded “no it doesn’t. I just had a bowl without the dill and it was delicious. The dill doesn’t MAKE it.” Whatever. You tell me and report back. Dill or no dill, it’s so, so yummy.

Avgolemono Soup

Serves 6

Ingredients:

  • Olive oil
  • 4 stalks celery, chopped small
  • 1 yellow onion, chopped small
  • 4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
  • 8 cups chicken broth (see note)
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 1 cup arborio rice
  • Salt and pepper
  • A 4-5lb whole chicken, shredded (see note)
  • 1/2 cup freshly-squeezed lemon juice
  • 4 large eggs, plus one egg yolk
  • Fresh dill for garnish

*for chicken and chicken stock, you can always just buy cartons of stock and a rotisserie chicken from your local store, but I always make mine as home. I have two methods, One is slower, one is fast. Either 1) I boil a whole chicken in water with a quartered onion, a couple whole carrots and celery sticks, peppercorns and a head of garlic cut in half AND PLENTY OF SALT for an hour until the chicken is cooked through and tender, and then I remove the chicken until it’s cool enough to shred, strain the stock into a bowl and use that for my broth OR 2) I place the whole chicken in a pressure cooker with 2 1/2 cups of water and cook on high for 26 minutes. When it’s done, I set the chicken aside until cool enough to shred and I strain the water from the pressure cooker into a bowl and use that as part of my stock (you’ll need to add salt to the whole soup later). If you employ this method you’ll have three cups of liquid for your soup and you’ll only need to add 5 more cups of stock. I typically use water and better than bullion when I do this method. 

In a large soup pot heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the carrots and onions and sauce until tender, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and sauce for another minute. Add the chicken broth, bay leaves, shredded chicken and 2  teaspoons salt. Bring to a boil, then cover the pot with a lid and turn the heat down and simmer for one to two hours (this is to make sure the chicken gets very tender).

About 30 minutes before serving, add rice. When the rice is cooked, prepare the egg-lemon sauce. In a large bowl, whisk together the lemon juice and eggs and egg yolk. While whisking add three ladlefuls of hot broth from the soup slowly (this tempers the eggs and ensures they don’t curdle when added to the hot soup pot). Once fully combined, add the sauce to the chicken soup and stir for a minute until it’s thickened. Remove from he heat—you don’t want it to boil too much once the eggs have been added— and eat immediately.

Garnish with dill and a few grinds of freshly ground black pepper.

I just realized that upon reading this recipe it might sound like more steps than you’d like, but I promise, if you make it once you get it and it’s really easy the next time. It’s one of my go-to dishes.

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Watermelon Lime Smoothie + Breakfast Schedule

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This is how I make school mornings easier. I’m not what you would call an “organized planner” type of person, however, when it comes to food, I can get serious about it.

Because heated up hodge-podge and random food from the fridge makes me sad, (and Jeremy left to his own devices will default to this) I came up with a solution….

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Sister, sister

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I know. Slack -ass here. Just letting you know I haven’t gone away. I’ve got a new post in the works and will publish Monday. End of summer, friends visiting, no-time- for-writing-things happened. So I’m sorry, but as Terminator says, I’ll be back. For now, I’ll leave you with something I learned this summer….

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Memory Box of Horrors

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The other day I went through the memory boxes my Grandma had put together and kept in her attic for me. Even though they’ve been in my storage for years, I’d never been through them before.

I giggled as I pulled out rude notes I wrote.

I marveled at old headshots:

I found cards and notes from my high school graduation, like this completely normal one  from my dad, in which he expresses his sincerest wishes to buy me the cheapest juicer that can be bought in honor of my big day.

There were cute birthday cards from my kindergarten friends. Original stories and a completely transcribed script of Beauty and The Beast that I had written out by hand.

These were all funny and cute things to comb through. These are things you might expect to see in your own memory box. But there are some things that come out of memory boxes that you do not expect.

Slightly disturbing things, even.

Things like THIS:

…

…

… (these “…” are my my written interpretation of stunned silence)

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL, right?

Like, why? Why would this BE?

You guys, just go with me here a moment. This means there was a real live day, back in 1993, when my hair was cut (normal), and then my Grandma, bless her heart, thought to herself, “I have a great idea! I think I’ll sweep up the hair on the floor and then wrap it lovingly in paper towels, and then stuff it into a manilla envelope for Krysta’s memory box. She might like to have this old hair someday.” (Not normal).

My hair.

My chopped off and discarded, now twenty four year old hair.

YOU GUYS?!

What do I even do with this? I can’t begin to think what one might do with their hair from when they were twelve years old EXCEPT write about it.

It is for this reason that my Grandmother is my very favorite person in the entire universe for giving me this gift.

I am so confused and in wonder and disturbed. This is gold.

Ten years from now I won’t remember the pictures and paintings or schoolwork, but I will most definitely, absolutely, remember this.

I’ll say to Jeremy when we are sixty years old, “Remember that one time I was unpacking my memory box when…?”

I decided that the only considerate thing to do with the hair package, besides tell you, was to pass the surprise on to someone else.

So I packed the hair back up and stuck it in the box, with no explanations, where it will languish in my garage among my keepsakes for decades and decades until one day, when I’m gone, my kids will go through my crap and discover it.

I’d give anything to be there.

Can you even imagine their faces? The only thing more disturbing than unearthing a package of your own hair, is unearthing a package of someone else’s hair.

I’m telling you what.

What can I say? I’m a giver.