I have a new favorite coffee drink.

I hardly ever make it for myself since it’s rather involved. There’s whipped cream and shaved chocolate and dissolved dulce de leche, so it’s kind of a production.

I made it for my mom. She liked it.

I made it for my friend. She liked it.

I made it for my husband. He liked it.

I made it for my cousin. She liked it.

I made it for myself. Again. Today. This afternoon. Because I needed to take pictures of it so that you can make it for yourself.

You’ll like it.

Dulce de Leche Coffee
From Pioneer Woman

I found dulce de leche in our Asian food market. It comes two ways: in a block and in a can (like sweetened condensed milk). I bought both kinds just to be on the safe side.

1 ounce dulce de leche
1 tablespoon Kahlua
1 large, very strong, very hot, cup of coffee
lots of whipped cream
shaved chocolate, lots

Dissolve the dulce de leche in a little hot water.

Try to pour the water into the glass, not beside it.

There. That’s better.

Add the Kahlua and hot coffee. The coffee has to be hot. If it’s cooling down, reheat it in the microwave.

Top with a mountain of whipped cream (I usually double this amount, but I ran out of cream). Make the cup overflow. The point is excess. Remember that.

Top with a blizzard of shaved chocolate. Lots and lots and lots of chocolate. You can’t see it in the picture very well, but there is so much chocolate that I practically had to chew it.

So now. Go make this and then come back and thank me. I’ll be waiting.

Our church joins with another local church to produce a lenten devotional—different people reflect on different passages and then all the reflections are published together, each one prefaced by its scripture.

I mentioned before that I had been asked to write one of the devotionals for that packet. I tweeted that it was killing me. I may have tweeted that more than once.

Seriously, writing the little 300-350 word reflection was pure agony. I spent hours on it, and I have four word documents to prove it. I was a mess. I first wrote too expansively, then I wrote too narrowly, and then I realized that I had no idea what the scripture meant anyway. I called my friend and forced her to argue out the passage with me. I went on a walk with my sister-in-law and we talked it out from different angles. I called my mother, repeatedly.

My mother, the Cut-n-Slash Queen, and I struck a deal: she would not look at anything written until the devotional was completed, at which point she would just do a quick edit. That way she wouldn’t get all caught up in my ever-shifting verbosity. Even without any written words between us, our phone conversations were painful. She would, more likely than not, strip my carefully constructed ideas down to nothingness, except, maybe, for one little idea that she thought might have potential. “Write about that,” she’d say. “You might have something there.”

I talked about my failed attempts at service. I talked about how the most effective service springs from my desires and interests. I questioned the basics—like whether or not there is any point in helping poor people at all. I talked about love feasts versus fasting and sweet rolls versus brown bread. I talked about Zoloft, foster kids, relief kits, my mild eating disorder, and my Fabric Phobia. I started to wonder if I was missing Isaiah’s point all together.

And it was then that my idea was born: I would write a letter to Isaiah and ask him my questions! Who said I had to have the answers, anyway?

I’m including the letter here. If you want, you can pretend you’re Isaiah and answer my questions yourself. I would enjoy that. (For background, read Isaiah 58:1-12.)

Dear Isaiah,

With all due respect, this scripture doesn’t make much sense to me. I’ve never dressed in sackcloth, I hate fasting, and praying out loud just isn’t my style. Despite the occasional well-planned good deed, I consider myself to be rather selfish. I help other people because I want them to appreciate me.

Just this past December I made dinner for a local homeless shelter. It was to be our Family Christmas Present For Jesus. My kids helped plan the menu and came along to the shelter to cut the cake and wash the dishes, but I did most of the grunt work. Despite the stress and messy kitchen, I had fun. I even got a little giddy watching the guests scarf down my food.

Now according to you, our little feed-the-poor event was true worship, but I don’t know about that. I had ulterior motives: I wanted to introduce my children to another sector of our community, and cooking is something that energizes me. And guess what? I got my ego stroked and felt rather proud of myself (in a humble sort of way).

I’m wondering, Isaiah. In some circumstances, might our good deeds become false worship? Or does the fact that we are helping others negate such wickedness?

And one more thing: are you saying that community service counts more than one’s everyday moil and toil? If so, I’m in serious trouble because most of my life revolves around hanging up the laundry, teaching my children how to put their shoes away, and resolving innumerable spats with my husband. Isn’t every part of life supposed to be worship?

So anyway, Isaiah, I’m not sure I catch your drift. But I do know that cooking that dinner was such a blast that I just might have to do it again sometime soon.

Cheerio!
Jennifer

I had a novel idea: I could, if I wanted, cook food that my whole family actually finds enjoyable.

I ran this revolutionary idea past a couple other moms and they both stared at me like I was looney, a giant Duh-Lumpus. Other moms, it turns out, make it a point to cook meals that they know their family will like. They think it’s the logical thing to do.

This never occurred to me. Apparently I’m not logical.

Let me start from the beginning, three long weeks ago when I made breakfast for supper. We had Farmer Boy Pancakes, a dozen scrambled eggs, vanilla pudding, frozen (and thawed) strawberries, and grape juice. When I called my family to supper (or rather, finally gave them permission to sit down—they had been hovering anxiously while the pannycakes were frying), they came running, each and every one of them wearing a happy face. After the prayer, they attacked the food like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. They ate firsts, seconds, thirds, and fourths and then asked for more! When the food ran out, they rose groaning from their chairs and waddled off, completely sated.

It got me to thinking: wouldn’t it be nifty if every supper were as pleasant as this one? Instead of the groans and moans and do-I-have-to-eat-this-es and I-don’t-want-this-es and this-makes-me-throw-up-es, the kids would cheer and dig in. It would be so easy!

If I did decide to cook only family-pleasing foods, I would do it for an extended period of time, like say for a week or two. I could do it, too, you know. My kids are not picky eaters (it’s just that their mother is an excessively creative cook). I could make them macaroni and cheese, pizza, spaghetti and meatballs, baked potatoes with veggies, honey-baked chicken and rice, beans and rice, grilled cheese and tomato soup, roast chicken, pesto, potato soup, hamburgers and oven fries, chef salads, etc. Cooking kid-approved food would sure make mealtimes a lot less stressful.

Or would it? I made egg salad for lunch yesterday. I thought I was being a good mommy, making my kids a treat that they all adored, but wouldn’t you know, Sweetsie insisted that egg salad made her feel like puke. Well.

And then I remembered that this is the reason that I don’t cook according to my family’s likes and dislikes—with four little(ish) ones with evolving tastebuds, their lists of acceptable foods are forever changing. I have tried to cook to please everyone (see previous paragraph), but it seems I always end up failing. As a result, I’ve decided it’s easier to assume that no one will like the food and cook food that I find interesting. If they like it, good. If not, too bad, so sad. This is how my logic works.

(I do cook food that everyone likes … sometimes. I get on all sorts of weird food kicks, but when I notice that my kids’ chubby cheeks look a little hollow, that they have bags under their eyes, their mouths are pinched and their eyes dull, I change my pace and make a big ol’ down-home meal. After they have been sufficiently revived, I strike off on yet another cooking venture.)

Still, the pancake supper inspired me to try to increase my family-approved cooking repertoire—the goal would be to make new meals that are just variations on their established favorites—so when I spied a recipe for chicken and biscuits on Julie’s blog, I dove in headfirst.

Except for Mr. Handsome (who loved it, and that was gratifying), the response was mediocre at best, and it was a perfectly delectable meal, too.

Cooking to please is entirely over-rated, I’ve determined. It’s discouraging and frustrating and a dead-end street. So here’s the deal: I will cook to keep my family healthy and well-nourished and to broaden their tastebud horizons (and to entertain myself), but I will not cook to please everyone (on a regular basis). It’s the same as my parenting philosophy: I do not strive to make my children happy—I strive to love, teach, and nurture them. While their happiness is a pleasant bonus (three cheers for warm fuzzy feelings!), it is not my goal.

I made the chicken and biscuits again for supper last night, adapting and jotting notes as I went. Everyone ate it, though when I was snuggling with Sweetsie before bed and I asked her what the worst part of her day was, she said “supper.” The best part was playing outside in the snow.

You know, she didn’t used to like playing in the snow all that much. There’s still hope…

Creamed Chicken with Cheese Biscuits
Adapted from Julie of Dinner with Julie

This recipe is highly adaptable. I’ve made a lot of changes from Julie’s original recipe, and you can make lots of changes from mine. Add more veggies (cauliflower, zucchini, etc), omit the meat, add mushrooms, use a different biscuit recipe, cut out the dairy, play with the spices, etc.

This last time around, I used provolone and Gruyere cheese (because that is what I had), but I would’ve preferred cheddar.

This recipe looks complicated, what with its three parts and all, but it’s not really. You can make the creamed chicken ahead of time and store it in the refrigerator till you are ready to assemble the casserole—just increase the baking time by about five minutes if the sauce is cold when you put it in the oven.

For the vegetables:
2 tablespoons butter
1 onion, diced
2 carrots, diced
2 stalks of celery, diced
½ teaspoon dried thyme
dash of smoked salt (optional)
1/8 teaspoon smoked paprika
2 tablespoons sherry
1 cup peas, fresh or frozen
2-4 cups chopped cooked chicken

Melt the butter in a soup pot and add the onion, carrots, and celery and saute for about five minutes. Add the rest of the ingredients and cook for another minute or two. Set aside.

For the cream sauce:
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup flour
2 cups chicken broth
1 cup milk
1 ½ teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1-2 cups cheddar cheese, grated (optional)

In a heavy-bottomed kettle, melt the butter. Whisk in the flour and gradually add the milk, stirring steadily. Add the broth and continue stirring till hot and bubbly. Remove the kettle from the heat and stir in the seasonings and cheese.

Add the cream sauce to the vegetable mixture and stir to combine. Taste to check seasonings. (At this point, the creamed chicken can be refrigerated till you are ready to assemble and bake the casserole.)

Pour the creamed chicken into a greased 9 x 12 pan.

For the biscuits:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup canola oil
3/4 cup milk
1 ½ cups grated cheddar cheese, divided
2 tablespoons butter, melted

Combine the first five ingredients. Stir in the oil and milk. Turn the dough (it will still be quite sticky) out onto a well-floured surface and roll into a rectangle, roughly 10 x 15 inches. Spread the dough with the melted butter and sprinkle with one cup of the cheese. Roll the dough up as you would sweet rolls, and cut it into 8-10 pieces. Arrange the rolls, cut side up, on the creamed chicken.

Bake the chicken and biscuits at 400 degrees for thirty minutes. Take the casserole out of the oven, sprinkle the remaining half cup of cheese over the biscuits, and bake the casserole for another five to ten minutes.

Let the chicken and biscuits rest for ten minutes before serving.

About one year ago: Bits of daily life.