All Recipes

Comfort food, weeknight ease, and Brussels that’ll actually get eaten. So the first time I made this, it was one of those days. You know the kind—nothing in the fridge looked inspiring, I was tired, and somehow everyone was still expecting dinner. All I had was a bag of Brussels sprouts, some chicken tenders, and a pack of bacon that I’d been “saving for the weekend,” which—let’s be honest—never actually means anything. Anyway, I got a little creative. Tossed the Brussels into that glorious bacon fat (because life’s too short not to), seared the chicken, built a creamy little sauce …

(A humble dinner that somehow feels like a big ol’ hug) I don’t know about you, but some nights I just want a meal that doesn’t make me think too hard. Nothing wild, nothing trendy—just warm, familiar food that fills the house with that cozy “someone’s cookin’” smell. These hamburger cream steaks? Oh, honey. They are exactly that. The first time I made them, I didn’t even mean to. I had some ground beef that needed using, and I was tired and hungry and just sort of threw stuff together—breadcrumbs, onion, cream, the usual suspects. But when I tucked those …

Cheesy, beefy, and not trying to be fancy—just ridiculously good. You ever look at a loaf of bread and a pack of ground beef and think, well… this is either dinner or a cry for help? That was me last week. I’d planned tacos, but realized (after 4 p.m., of course) I was out of tortillas. What I did have was this big, crusty French loaf staring at me like it wanted to be part of something greater. So I went with it. And let me tell you—what came out of the oven was pure gold. Melty, cheesy, taco-stuffed goodness …

I don’t know what it is about this stew, but it’s the kind of meal that just settles you. Like, deep in your bones. Maybe it’s the smoky pulled pork. Maybe it’s the sweet corn and that tiny kick of heat. Or maybe it’s just the memory of it simmering away on the stove while someone you love is shuffling around the kitchen barefoot, humming to the radio. For me, Brunswick stew has always felt like fall. Like flannel shirts, football in the background, and that golden hour light coming through the windows. My first taste was at a church …

I remember the first time I made these—it was a Sunday morning that felt more like a Tuesday. You know those days? Quiet, a little weird, coffee didn’t quite hit right. I wasn’t craving anything in particular—just… something warm. Something soft. I looked at the eggs on the counter and thought, Let’s do something silly. Let’s make pancakes that bounce. And oh, did they bounce. They’re delicate, yes, but not precious. You don’t need a culinary degree or fancy ingredients. Just a whisk, a bowl, a pan—and a little patience. What you get is something between a pancake and a …

A sweet little taste of summer… even if it’s the middle of February. You ever just want dessert without having to work for it? That’s how this cobbler came into my life. It was one of those “what do I have in the pantry” nights — you know the kind. I wasn’t about to go peeling fresh peaches or digging out my mixer. I wanted something warm, sweet, buttery… and done in under an hour. This recipe came from my aunt, handwritten in that slanted cursive on an old index card with a peach juice stain in the corner. She …

I wasn’t planning to make this fudge last Tuesday. I was halfway through clearing off the counter when I spotted the peanut butter jar and thought… “you know what? Why not.” It had been a week. One of those too-many-emails, cereal-for-dinner kinds of weeks. And sometimes, the only thing that makes sense is stirring up something sweet and simple with your favorite wooden spoon — the one that still has flour in the handle creases. This peanut butter fudge is my go-to when I don’t want to think too hard but still want a treat that feels special. It’s creamy, …

There are certain dishes that just feel like home, aren’t there? For me, it’s deviled eggs. I can still picture my mom standing at the kitchen counter, peeling eggs with the radio humming in the background and her apron dusted in flour from earlier. She’d hand me one egg half—just one—and say, “Taste this filling and tell me if it needs more mustard.” I took that job way too seriously. By the time the platter hit the table, we’d already “taste-tested” a solid third of them. And when the family arrived? Forget it. Those eggs never stood a chance. So …

Okay, I’ve gotta tell you—this banana pudding has started fights at family functions. Not dramatic ones, mind you, but the kind where someone “accidentally” takes the last piece, and then suddenly five people are standing around the fridge pretending they “weren’t that into dessert anyway.” Yeah. That kind of banana pudding. I first made this on a whim after watching one of Paula Deen’s old reruns (you remember those days, right? Her laugh, that hair?). It looked simple enough and I had most of the stuff on hand. Honey… I had no idea what I was about to unleash. I …

Every year, right around mid-December when I’m knee-deep in wrapping paper and trying to remember where I hid the Scotch tape, I start craving these. Not fancy truffles. Not artisan shortbread. These messy, sticky, colorful little bars of joy. The first time I made them, I didn’t even plan to — I had odds and ends in the pantry and needed a last-minute dessert for a cookie swap. Threw ’em together in under 10 minutes. They were gone in five. Now, I make them even when there’s no party. They’re that good. We call them Christmas Magic Cookie Bars, and …