Airports are funny places. Full of emotion. I said good-bye to my sister on Monday, choking back tears as I walked through security trying my hardest not to look like that crazy pregnant lady, all the while dreaming of the day “good-bye” means “see you tomorrow”. And yet a week and a half earlier I was over-the-moon excited to head out of town to celebrate my husband’s graduation with family and friends. Bipolar emotions—airports do that to me. 

Maybe it’s not airports that stir the emotions but rather the thought of seeing my family that lives too far away to be good. A move closer to home is hopefully in the plans next summer. Fingers crossed.

I planned on working and blogging during this extended vacation. Instead the computer stayed packed away in the computer bag and the camera stayed packed away in camera bag. We hung out in our pajamas with yesterdays make-up still smeared underneath our eyes. We ate way too many biscuits and cooked dad’s secret family recipe, sausage gravy, my brother in the background singing and picking the guitar. The sweet little babe gave everyone a good kick or two, even my sister’s dog who found a new resting place on my growing lump.

I’m slowly adjusting back to normal life which usually takes a solid week to reach equilibrium again, though I’m still dreaming about the day we’re all in Colorado hiking or even sitting in the park with these wraps packed away for lunch. Nothing fancy. Just good company and a wholesome wrap glued together with greek yogurt and avocado, with sweet hints of spring from the peas, carrots, and potatoes.

For the recipe, head over to Mint. 

Five years ago, I married my best friend. We left our homes and moved to Chicago where he began graduate school. A couple months in to the journey, I started this space. He was working and studying all the time. I quickly learned a weekend outlet was necessary for me to survive blips of boredom, and cleaning the condo wasn’t cutting it. 

I started a blog. Not a baking blog or a food blog or a craft blog. Just a general blog chronicling my journey into becoming an independent married woman. Not that I knew that was happening in the background. As you can probably guess, it quickly turned into a food blog with a heavy dose of baking.

I fell in love with the farmer’s market. Walked there by myself nearly every spring and summer Saturday morning. Saw and ate rhubarb for the very first time. Listened to the eclectic band of all ages playing in the background—from the little boy on his violin to the grey haired, bearded man with the banjo. This space was rich with culture and diversity. I dreamt of bringing my littles there one day.

Two and half years in to blogging, I caught the bug. The kind that keeps your mind obsessively running with ideas. I claimed this space as my own. Really claimed it. I designed and “branded” it the best that I could, working with a cheap wordpress template. I was a trained designer with absolutely no web experience at the time. I bought a dot com. Made my tagline “made from scratch” since I found myself saying that phrase with every recipe. And picked up a DSLR, slowly, painstakingly teaching myself to use it. I fought with the poor light in our tiny, not-as-clean-anymore condo. And learned how to write a good recipe.

I compared myself. I failed a lot. And learned even more. I got a Twitter account and started “meeting” people in this incredible blogging community. I tried to explain to my real life friends, that online friends were in fact real too. Instagram rocked my picture taking world and helped with composition that always seemed to plague me (and still does).

Four years in, we said goodbye to our first home, Chicago, and moved to Connecticut for my husband to begin his two-year fellowship. I sheepishly started my own company designing and branding blogs with Erin, weary that I could actually work for myself and survive financially. I continued to ride in the seat of safety and worked at a firm in the area. Gleaned and learned a ton there. Four and a half years in, I took that business full-time and a week later found out we were carrying our first little.

And here we are, five years in. On Saturday my husband will graduate with his doctorate in clinical psychology. I write this with tears in my eyes, partly because I’m pregnant and partly because I’m so proud and amazed. Amazed that this defining part of our journey is coming to a close and so proud of my husband for finishing well. Amazed that this space carried me through this time. Amazed that this girl, filled with so much self doubt yet enough courage could. Could become an independent married woman who went to the farmer’s market by herself, had her first taste of rhubarb, started a blog, and now a company. If you asked me prior where I’d be in five years, it wouldn’t be here. But I’m so thankful for here. For all it’s lessons, successes, tears, laughs, awkward moments, and failures. The journey has been much like rhubarb—bittersweet. But the notes of sweetness seem to be ringing a little louder right now. I’ll take it.

Recipe adapted from Eat Boutique.

PS—check out my Mint post today.

I’ve never cooked with ramps until now. A year ago, we splurged and ate at Table 52 as we crossed off the final Chicago bucket list items before moving. I can’t remember exactly what we ordered, but I’ll never forget the ramp ravioli served with our dish, that and the hummingbird cake. I should mention, I’m not a fancy eater. Quite boring actually. Take me to a bakery, and I’ll take anything on the menu. But take me to a nice restaurant, and I’ll probably turn my picky nose up at half the menu items. It’s embarrassing. And I call myself a food blogger. 

Though, somehow that night I was brave enough to order something with ramps in them. Ramps? What were they? A weird meat? A pungent cheese? A dirt-tasting vegetable? Thankfully I asked none of these questions out loud and in turn ate the most amazing ravioli to ever cross my lips.

Thus, my search for ramps began. I asked all around at our local farmer’s market. They looked at me like I was crazy, and asked similar questions I had asked myself before taking a bite. I still wasn’t quite sure what they were. “They’re green, and kinda look like  scallions.” I had seen all my NYC Instagram friends posting ramps like they were going out of style, so I knew what they looked like. But I still couldn’t pin point the taste even after having eaten the ravioli.

I never found those ramps. Until I moved to Connecticut. I only asked one guy at the farmer’s market this time. Had to maintain face in my new town. He said they’d be ready next week.

I made it just in time time to pick up one of the last bunches. I nearly missed my ramp opportunity after waiting in line to buy a croissant from one of my favorite bakers on the old PBS Everyday Food show. He owns a bakery in CT and sells at our market every Saturday. I was star struck, and may have told him I was a fan. He was kind, smiled, and retorted, “The bakery is where I make my dough, not the show.” He used the word “living” instead of “dough”, but I couldn’t help myself. I may have to eat 1,000 croissants by the end of the summer in hopes we’ll become friends. We’re not talking about ramps anymore, are we?

With ramps and a chocolate croissant in hand, I set out to recreate that coveted bite from a year earlier. Not quite knowing where to start, I did what I always seem to do, and turned it into pesto. A pronounced garlic flavor with an underlying onion taste. I finally figured out the flavor profile.

While I was at it, I decided it would be a good idea to make my own ravioli noodles, sans pasta press. They were a little on the thick side. I think it’s time to invest in pasta press. But there’s a full year before ramps will be in season again. They come in season as quickly as they’re out. Ramp ravioli—the only way I’ve had ramps. How do you serve them?

Side note—the ramp pesto recipe can be used a thousand other ways beside ravioli.  Also, this light white wine cream sauce is killer and shouldn’t be constrained to this recipe. What I’m trying to say—this multi-faceted recipe has the potential for many other recipes. Go to town with it.

How to prepare ravioli:

It’s much harder to get things done these days. More often than not, I find myself one handed. My other arm is stuck in a new posture—curved and wrapped tightly around my growing belly. Ever since the kicks started, I havent been able to let go. Even as I type, my computer makes the tiniest of hops. She’s kicking it too.

Did you catch that? I just threw in a pronoun. We’re having a little girl! Yesterday morning we saw her on the big screen—hands in front of her face, wiggling around, opening her mouth, and holding her foot. It was completely magical, and she’s since stolen my every thought. Twenty more weeks until she’s in our arms, and I can’t wait to teach her how to cut butter into flour, roll the perfect pie crust, ball our favorite cookie, and stir the creamiest risotto.

I’m a thousand steps ahead of myself. For now, I should probably just focus on making sure she has a place to sleep when she arrives, and maybe share this creamy spring whole grain pea risotto recipe with you. First things first.

For the recipe, head over to Mint Design Blog.

I buy groceries, cook and eat three nutrient-rich meals a day, and do it all as involuntarily as my heart beats. I have plenty. More than plenty. And I take it for granted. I don’t think twice about adding more vegetables and fruits to my shopping cart. And lately more of the produce in my cart displays the organic sticker on its exterior, totaling my bill a little higher. I have plenty. But that’s not true of everyone—nearly 48.8 million Americans “lack the means to get enough nutritious food on a regular basis.” (source)

A couple weeks ago, I got an email from Nicole, of Eat This Poem and The Giving Table, asking if I would be interested in participating in Food Bloggers Against Hunger. In my head I said yes and then I read further. “Buy and cook a meal around $4.” Four dollars—the average amount an American on food stamps receives per day to supplement their food budget. (source) It sounded too difficult. And it was.

I decided to make sweet potato tacos (inspired by Naturally Ella), something we make nearly every week, knowing it’s fairly inexpensive and stretches over several meals for us. However, my total quickly added up. Two sweet potatoes $0.42. One can of black beans (BPA-free) $0.89. Half of a sweet onion $0.25. One bell pepper $1.00. One lime $0.29. One avocado $1.00. I was already at $3.85 not including the other ingredients I had sitting around the house like the taco shells necessary to hold that sweet potato goodness together.

I get the problem. Nutrient rich food is expensive compared to the processed food the government subsidizes. My husband works with children of a low socioeconomic status (SES). The stories he comes home with are no different than the ones you’ve probably heard or the ones told in the A Place at the Table documentary. (Check the website for a viewing near you. It’s coming to my neck of the woods this week.) The nutrient-rich food I so often take pride in serving around my table is a distant idea to my neighbors on food stamps. It doesn’t have to necessarily be this way. We can petition the government to allocate more funds towards the existing nutrition program rather than cutting funds, as is currently proposed. It takes less than 30 seconds to send a letter to congress. It’s already written, just fill in your info.  Join with the other 150+ bloggers taking a stand. To learn more about the issues surrounding child hunger, check out the Share our strength website. 

It’s times like these I am reminded—to whom much is given, much is expected.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Taco recipe inspired by Naturally Ella.

I’ve been craving bad things. Things I gave up years ago and promised myself I wouldn’t eat again. Things that always leave me full of regret and craving nutrient-rich food. I’m hoping this is a short phase of pregnancy. Because Pizza Hut pan pizzas and massive amounts of ice cream must end. Though moderate amounts of ice cream are welcome. Very welcome. That’s one thing I’ll never give up.

But then there are those times I crave things like Sweet Potato Fries and trick myself into indulging without really indulging. Tricks like these are hard to come by. But oh so necessary.

I’ve been making a rendition of these for awhile now—inspired by a William Sonoma recipe mixed with the flavors of my favorite sweet potato fries from a Chicago restaurant. But up until recently my homemade “fries” have been limp and lack-luster. Un-postable. That is until I came across Cookie and Kate’s tip. Cornstarch. Cornstarch?!! It’s the missing link that helps absorb extra moisture and crispen up the exterior. Can you hear the angels singing?

Cumin, cilantro, parmesan, sea salt, and ketchup.  A somewhat unlikely combination. But these days, it’s the only way I’ll take my sweet potato fries. I even prefer it over “real” fries that leave me full (of regret). Side note, these are not a weird pregnancy craving that no one in their right mind would eat. Promise. My husband to attest. He looked at the batch I made last night and asked, “Is this all you made?” He loves them too.

How to cut a sweet potato for fries:

PS—check out my post over at Mint today.