It's Not About Nutrition

Just like Grandma used to make — only now you get to be the one handing them out. Let me tell you something: there are cookies that get eaten, and then there are cookies that get remembered. Chocolate crinkle cookies? These are the latter. They remind me of snowy Midwest holidays growing up — my mom dusted in flour, Bing Crosby crooning in the background, and the smell of chocolate filling every corner of the house. We’d sneak spoonfuls of that sticky, dark dough straight from the fridge (you know you’ve done it too), then wait impatiently as they baked …

Homemade Italian comfort—made once, enjoyed anytime. You know that moment when you open the freezer and realize dinner’s already halfway made? That’s exactly why I adore this Slow Cooker Freezer Spaghetti Sauce. It’s rich, hearty, and made with love—but most importantly, it’s ready when you are. I started making this years ago when my kids were little and spaghetti nights were practically a ritual. Back then, I had to juggle everything—soccer practice, school projects, and somehow still get dinner on the table. And let’s be honest, no jarred sauce ever quite hit the mark like homemade. This recipe? It became …

Creamy. Cheesy. Full of love and not a lick of effort. Feeds a crowd, fixes a mood, and always gets scraped clean. Okay. I’m gonna be honest with you. This ain’t a glamorous dish. You won’t see it on a cooking show with someone zesting a lemon while saying “elevated comfort food.” What it is… is dang good. Like, second-helping, scrape-the-bowl, everyone-asks-who-brought-it good. And the best part? You basically dump everything in the slow cooker and walk away. No peeling. No chopping. No complicated steps or weird ingredients. You toss it all in, give it a stir, and a few …

You know, there’s something about a big ol’ pot of potato soup that feels like a hug from the inside out. When the cold creeps in — and my joints start to holler — I find myself craving the same simple comfort foods my mama used to ladle out on chilly afternoons. This slow cooker loaded potato soup? It’s exactly that kind of old-fashioned goodness. Four honest ingredients. A few hours on low while you go about your day. And when you lift that lid? Pure, creamy magic. It reminds me of snow days when we’d tumble inside with pink …

Every year it starts the same way. You walk into a grocery store sometime in December and boom — pine-scented candles, tangled fairy lights, that slightly aggressive holiday playlist on loop. Somewhere near the frozen turkeys, you suddenly remember: Oh right… I’m cooking this year. There’s comfort in tradition, sure. Turkey. Ham. Chicken. The holy trio of holiday predictability. They’ve earned their place at the table. No shade. But also… haven’t we all eaten the same plate a dozen times already? Sometimes you want a little spark. A little curveball. Something that makes people pause mid-conversation and say, “Wait — …

(A Slow, Comforting Dinner That Knows How to Wait) Pot roast has a way of announcing itself long before it ever hits the table. You smell it first — that deep, savory scent drifting through the house, curling down hallways, clinging to curtains, quietly reminding everyone that dinner is going to be good. Really good. It’s not flashy food. It doesn’t show off. It just sits there in the oven, doing its thing, slowly and patiently, while life carries on around it. And somehow, that makes it feel even more special. Honestly, pot roast feels like a pause button. A …

Okay, I’ve got a confession: I didn’t invent this recipe. But I have made it so many times that I could slice the cheese with my eyes closed (though I don’t recommend that). The first time I put this plate out was at our neighborhood holiday potluck. You know the one — someone brings crockpot meatballs, there’s always two broccoli casseroles, and everything disappears way too fast. I walked in with this platter of cheese — soaked in a garlicky red pepper vinaigrette — and plopped it down without much thought. Well, within ten minutes, people were hovering like bees …

I don’t know about you, but some of my favorite recipes weren’t fancy or complicated — just old-fashioned, made-with-love kind of food. Bread pudding is one of those. My mom used to throw it together with leftover bread, some milk and eggs, and somehow it turned into magic. We’d sit around the table with big scoops of warm pudding and maybe — just maybe — a little drizzle of custard if we had the time. This is my go-to version. It’s simple, cozy, and has that creamy texture with just the right amount of spice. The custard sauce? Optional, but …

Soft. Sweet. Smells like a holiday. Feeds your belly and maybe your soul a little too. Okay, let me just say this up front: I did not grow up eating “bread pudding.” It always sounded a little suspicious to me. Bread? In pudding? I thought it was one of those weird recipes only old-timey folks made when they had no choice. Like war-time cooking or something. But then I had some. Not the dry kind. Not the weird cafeteria kind. I mean the real deal — warm, cinnamon-spiced, full of buttery custard and plumped-up raisins that tasted like they’d been …