It's Not About Nutrition

You know those recipes that just feel special, even if they don’t take all day to make? This is one of them.The first time I made bacon maple glazed pork tenderloin, I honestly wasn’t trying to be fancy. I just had a pork tenderloin in the fridge, a few slices of bacon that needed using up, and a bottle of good maple syrup my sister brought back from Vermont. Twenty-five minutes later, my kitchen smelled like a maple festival had moved in — sweet, smoky, and just the tiniest bit tangy from the mustard in the glaze. The best part? …

Chicken cacciatore has always felt like more than just a meal to me — it’s a little piece of family history ladled into a bowl. Back when I was a kid here in the Midwest, my grandma would pull out her biggest pot on days when the wind just wouldn’t quit howling through the trees. She’d call it hunter’s stew — no fancy name, no fuss — just good, honest food that filled the house with warmth when our toes were numb and the windows rattled like they might blow clear off the hinges. I swear I can still see …

Can I just tell you—there is nothing better than sitting on the back porch with a homemade margarita while the sunset does its thing. I mean, it’s practically my summer love language. Ever since I stumbled on a ridiculously easy homemade margarita mix recipe (straight from that amazing link over at Brazilian Kitchen Abroad), I’ve been obsessed. The bottled stuff? Left in the dust. Now I make a fresh, citrus-packed batch almost every barbecue. Kids running wild, dogs barking, grill smoking—that first icy sip? Sheer bliss. Party or not, I keep a jar ready just for those “me time” nights, …

Simple. Sticky. A little Southern. A whole lotta comfort. Let me tell you something real — I did not grow up with fancy desserts. No crème brûlée, no layered trifles, no tarts with delicate swirls. But what I did have? Banana pudding. Sometimes with vanilla wafers, sometimes without, always warm and sweet and made with love. The kind of dessert that gets plopped onto a plate with a big spoon, no measuring, no precision, just heart. Now, this Banana Foster Pudding isn’t exactly what my grandma made — but oh my goodness, it tastes like something she would’ve. It’s my …

You know, some recipes just sneak up on you. You’re standing in your kitchen, rummaging through the fridge at 5:37 p.m., half-hungry, half-grumpy — and suddenly, you realize you’ve got just enough of everything to pull something delicious together. That’s exactly how this Baked Onion Beef Fried Rice came about in my house. I had a bowl of leftover rice sitting all lonely in the back of the fridge, a pound of ground beef I’d forgotten to freeze (oops), and a stubborn onion that kept rolling off my counter all week. And because I can’t leave well enough alone, I …

A humble vegetable dressed to impress — no apron required. There are some recipes that just feel like home. You know the ones — they don’t come from a fancy cookbook or a viral video, but from memory. From watching someone you love stand in a warm kitchen with an apron covered in flour or butter (or both). This one takes me straight back to my grandma’s kitchen. She had this way of turning cabbage — plain ol’ cabbage — into something comforting and deeply satisfying. No frills. Just good food. Of course, she didn’t have a slow cooker. She …

I’ll be honest — I didn’t grow up eating haystacks. We were more of a boxed brownie mix kind of household. But one day, years ago, I was standing in the kitchen, craving something sweet with a little crunch and zero patience. I wasn’t about to preheat the oven or pull out a stand mixer. It was one of those days. That’s when I remembered something I saw in an old church cookbook — peanut butter haystacks.Only I didn’t have the exact ingredients. So I played around. Tossed in some chow mein noodles, stirred in peanuts, added a swirl of …

Okay. Let me just say this right off the bat:I did not expect this salad to be a hit. I really didn’t. It’s peas. You know? Not exactly thrilling. But years ago, I saw a version of this floating around in one of those old church cookbooks — the kind with hand-drawn little veggies in the margins and at least four recipes for “congealed salad.” I gave it a shot. Tossed it together one weekend when we had friends coming by. I figured, hey, worst-case scenario, we’ll eat it ourselves all week. Well. We did not have leftovers. And now …