Cozy af…

It’s happened slowly over time, but the pandemic pushed it over the finish line; I am a homebody. I know, I can’t believe it myself.

There is nothing wrong with being a homebody. As much as I like staying home, I still like small, intimate outings with friends and family. 

I wrote about hygge a couple of months ago, and since then, it’s like I’ve transported myself to a different place.

In case you didn’t read my hygge piece, here’s the word’s definition. It’s pronounced two ways: hoo-ga or hue-ga. That shit below isn’t any help. Lol.

hyg·ge
/ˈho͞oɡə,ˈho͝oɡə/

noun

A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).”why not follow the Danish example and bring more hygge into your daily life?”

This weekend has been a perfect example of being cozy as fuck. Marty is away at an EMS conference with Sam, so I’ve had the weekend with Nelly & Klausie. 

I used to be antsy and bored alone, but not anymore. Yes, I miss Marty, but my alone time has been divine.

The cold, rainy, and raw weather provided the backdrop for coziness. I enjoyed the weather from the comforts of our home. 

I didn’t set this weekend up, thinking it would be a hygge weekend since I’ve been living this way this fall. It just happens, and I love it.

I cooked and baked some of my favorite foods: cozy af foods. Again, there was no menu planning; I just ate what I felt. 

Cozy af foods, aka comfort food, fit the bill this weekend. Each item was made with as much love as when I cook for others. 

Delicious food = pleasure for me, even if it is a simple bowl of flagrant steamy rice topped with a pat of butter and a sprinkle of salt. 

So what kind of cozy af food did I make? Food that felt like a big fat hug? 

Friday afternoon, after Marty and Sam left, I made a pumpkin pie, one of those foods that should be made and eaten more than one day a year. 

Friday night, for a late lunch, I made legit fried garlic and rosemary french fries, which are possibly one of my favorite foods that I couldn’t live without. ☘️

After reading a blog post that my friend Maria wrote. On Saturday morning, I recreated a dish her mother made for her. I texted her immediately and told her I couldn’t wait to make it.

She was going to make it also, “It’ll be like we are having breakfast together,” she texted back.

I made a warm bowl of milky rice porridge topped with a pat of butter and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar. It smelled so good.

You want to talk about a big hug; holy shit, it was so good! I’ll be making this again whenever I have some leftover rice. 

Come to think of it, I may even make rice just for this porridge. I’ve been on a porridge kick using the word and the dish. It’s a seldom-used word that I happen to think sounds cozy af.

Since it was our 34th wedding anniversary yesterday, I thought about what I would order if we went out to eat; yeah, I know we rarely do, but whatever; I was pretending.

Like when I was a kid and always wanted either Italian or Chinese food for my birthday dinner, I chose Italian food: chicken parm and spaghetti, to be exact. 

I get excited whenever I think about chicken parm because it’s another food I couldn’t live without. This meal is definitely a hug for me.

Chicken parm is not the act of making chicken and topping it with sauce and cheese; it’s the loving process of steps that makes it to die for, a true food of love.

I made a small pot of spaghetti sauce and let it simmer all afternoon, which smelled incredible. That familiar smell waifed through the house and was making my mouth water.

After making the sauce, I set up a dredging station and breaded the thin chicken cutlets I pounded the crap out of. I put them on a rack and stuck them in the fridge until dinner. 

This rack trick ensures crispy chicken cutlets since the breading has time to stick to the chicken, and the bottoms don’t get soggy. 

After I fed Nelly and Klaus, I turned on some cooking music, poured myself a glass of red wine, and began making dinner. I filled the kitchen with candles, another one of my favorite things.

We live in an 1832 historical home and love lighting the rooms with candles. I imagine what it must have felt like when the house was a servant’s quarters.

I set the kitchen island with a gorgeous placemat and cloth napkin, just like I do at most of our dinners. Just because I was dining alone, why should it be any different?

This is where Marty and I eat all our meals when it’s just the two of us. It’s a cozy af place to eat rather than the dining room. It’s like eating at a chef’s table, a special place to dine.

I fried the chicken cutlets and made my portion restaurant-style on a professional kitchen firing platter. 

When the spaghetti was almost done, I threw the platter into a hot oven and watched it closely. 

I no longer drain pasta in the sink since I always finish it in a saucepan. I butt the pasta pot up to the saucepan and transfer the pasta without too much of a mess. 

I plated up my meal and sat down to eat. I didn’t feel lonely even though I missed Marty; I felt like I was home, not just a location, but a feeling deep down inside me. 

My meal was delicious! This Jersey girl can cook Italian food like nobody’s business. My meal brought me back to one of my childhood birthday dinners at an Italian restaurant.

Sunday morning, I’m sitting on our loveseat in our back room sipping a cup of Earl Gray tea, another one of my favorite things. Those first few sips of warm tea have been sacred to me since I switched from coffee in February.

This spot in our backroom is my favorite place to write, looking out at the mountains with the light snoring from Nelly and Klaus. Talk about the feeling of contentment and coziness! How hygge!

Marty just texted me saying he missed us. I can’t wait until he and Sam get home tonight. I have a cozy af meal in mind to have waiting for them.