Category: Uncategorized

The weather here in Vermont for the last two days has been glorious! I’ve lived here for 31 years and know that it won’t last, but it seems that everyone is living in the moment and taking advantage of the warm sunny days while we have them. 45-degrees in Vermont after a long winter is t-shirt and sweatshirt weather. 

Instead of walking on the treadmill, I’ve been able to walk outdoors again. Yesterday my walk was tricky as I had to puddle jump my way down Main Street. If I had my muck boots on, that wouldn’t have been an issue, but I was wearing sneakers. 

I know I keep bringing up how different my life has been since I started living life as a journey and not a destination; my walk yesterday proved it once more. 

I used to leave my house, and all I thought about when I walked was getting my exercise in and getting home. Yesterday I really looked at what I was walking through…history.

Arlington, VT, was chartered in 1761 with some pretty historical people who have lived here. Thomas Chittenden the first governor of Vermont, and Arlington was the first capital of Vermont. His home is the oldest wood-framed home in our town.

Norman Rockwell did most of his iconic paintings living in Arlington. He used the townspeople as his models. He was criticized that he wasn’t a real artist using models correctly because he had the models photographed, then he painted. He reasoned that the hard-working people didn’t have time to waste sitting for hours. Many of the model’s families and child models still live here today. It’s very cool. 

Dorothy Canfield, another resident, was an author, educator and started the original Montessori way of teaching. Her home is diagonal from our home and is now a community house where I taught my cooking classes.

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Revolutionary War soldiers included Sam Adams, Ethan & Ira Allen, who lived right here as well. The Green Mountain Boys held meetings next door to our house at the Deming House. 

Many homes here in Arlington were part of the Underground Railroad and still have hidden doors and hiding places in them. Cool or what? 

Our home was built in 1832 across the street from where it is today. The story goes that two brothers who owned homes across the street from each other had an argument, and the one brother decided in 1850 to move the peasant’s quarters across Main Street. Yes, we live in peasant’s quarters! 😂

Many homes have candles in their windows all year long. I learned from the previous owner that candles were put in windows of homes so that travelers would know what places they could find with different accommodations. 

One candle meant the home was open to travelers for drinks. Two candles meant food and drink. Three candles were lodging, food, and drink. The fourth candle meant they had all those things and some nice ladies who could keep you company, putting it nicely. Of course, I ran out and had to put four candles in our windows the next day!

As I walked around town yesterday, I thought about these very people and how they literally walked the same path I was on, and I imagined what it was like through their eyes.  I’ve never looked at it this way before. I love living in such an old historic place, maybe in 150 years people will point to our house and say that’s where those “spätzle people” lived. 

Four years ago today was the actual birth date of our business, The Vermont Spatzle Company. Marty and I decided that we were going to start our own business, and we were going to give it 110%. The first thing Marty did was to register the name of our business with the Vermont Secretary of State. That was the easy part.

During April & May, we had a lot to figure out. We both ran other people’s businesses before, but not our own. We both worked full-time jobs, so we had to work on the business in the evenings or any spare second either of us had. First, we designed our logo with a friend of mine.

Next, Marty worked on designing the label and what kind of container to put the spatzle in. There were so many options to chose from. He ordered samples, and we finally decided on the one we are still using today. He also found the right programs available online to help with our nutritional label and our UPC.

I had to figure out how to increase my batch sizes, drain, cool, package, and label our product. We sold our first package of spatzle at the beginning of June. We were in local businesses by the second week of June, and we were growing in popularity using social media. We had learned so much not only in that first three months but the first year.

We found some people who were so helpful and supportive that first year. One of our wholesale customers pointed out that the label we were using was boring and showed us that when it was merchandised in different freezers and coolers, you couldn’t tell what our product was. He also told us we needed something colorful and eye-catching.

He arranged a meeting with a graphic artist to help us, but we realized quickly that there was no way we could afford to work with anyone professional. The new label design would have cost us thousands of dollars.

Marty started making different prototypes, we would discuss them, and he would tweak them. I looked through different photos I took of the product, and bingo! A photo of the spatzle in a cast iron frying pan was perfect. Then we figured out the color scheme. Next, we had to figure out how big the label needed to be to wrap around our package not only for looks but for safety purposes.

Before we knew it, our spatzle was on the shelves of almost every co-op in Vermont and many specialty stores. It was bizarre in the beginning walking into a store and seeing our product in the cooler or freezer. We made, touched, weighed, packaged, labeled, and delivered that package ourselves. Now when I see our product in a store, I say hi to it.

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I wrote the date 3/11/17 on our kitchen chalkboard that night so we wouldn’t forget when we said we would make this idea happen. No one erased it. I added the logo to the chalkboard a couple of weeks later. 3/11/17 was the day we both started living the “American Dream.”

All of a sudden, I feel like things are on the upswing. Here in Vermont, the birds are chirping in the morning again, which is such a welcome sound after a long winter. I heard a woodpecker banging away on a tree yesterday. I think skunks are coming out of their hibernation, one sprayed right outside our barn, and I could smell it in the gym, which I never thought I would be happy to smell.

The days are noticeably longer and will be even longer after we “spring ahead,” turning our clocks ahead one hour on Sunday morning. Since January, the snow that has been on the ground is finally melting with the sun higher in the sky and warmer temperatures. Yesterday, it smelled like spring now that areas of dirt are being uncovered. 

I was able to sign up for my first vaccine on Monday morning as a 55-year-old with health risks. I never thought I would be so happy to have just turned a year older! I go on March 17 and feel some sense of relief just having the appointment; I was experiencing vaccine envy like many people are. 

I can’t wait until anyone can sign up to be vaccinated here in Vermont and not have to wait for their age bracket. It’s like trying to reach a carrot that’s being dangled in front of you, so close but still out of reach. I think that time will come very soon since there is now a third vaccine available. 

People went from doing toilet paper math to calculating when they will be getting their second shot. Then they add two weeks and have the date they can hug and see other fully vaccinated loved ones and friends again, without masks. 

I am planning on returning to the Saturday Saratoga Farmers Market next Saturday, March 20. I haven’t been to the market since right before Christmas when the Covid numbers began spiking not only in Saratoga but here in VT as well. I’ve missed our customers, other market vendors, and staff so much. 

It’s been a year since I taught my last real belly dance class. Now I feel extremely hopeful that we will all be back to class without masks and not afraid of each other anymore soon. I can’t wait to dance with my dance sisters and to be able to open our Wednesday night classes to the public once more.

Every year I look forward to spring and do a happy dance when the flowers start popping up. After an entire year of hell that everyone has endured, all the little things on my journey this spring seem to be a little brighter, greener, more beautiful than before. 

Last year before the pandemic, our 1832 Vermont Cape Cod home was painted very dark on the inside. Our dining room was a deep red, the living room was done in a brown suede finish, Noah’s room was black and red, and our bedroom was called midnight.

I loved all of these colors when we were renovating and painting each room at a time. It took us about 12 years to finish all of our projects. We said we were finally done with projects, then Covid hit.

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Being stuck in the house for so long with winter, then the lockdown, we started going stir crazy. This was before I was on the journey and still on the destination; I said, “Our next house is going to be light, bright, and airy, with clean lines. Duh, Julz, you have to wait until your next house?

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It took us forever to pick out a shade of white paint. There were hundreds to pick from. We had to choose a warm white or a cool white and what finish we wanted. We recently saw our friend’s new living room, and it was a light gray in a velvet finish. Gorgeous!

So we picked sailcloth white with the velvet finish and started painting. We did the living room; then we used the same paint to paint Noah’s newly abandoned bedroom since he moved out at the beginning of March. It was our new office, and both the rooms looked so much better. I got some sheer curtains, and wow, what a difference.

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Now our dining room was so dark and looked like it didn’t belong. We wanted a very light gray, and again, there were hundreds to choose from. I don’t remember the color we chose, but it came out great and really brightened up our whole downstairs.

At this point, we were getting a little sick and tired of painting and having our house be a wreck moving everything out of each room we were working on it. Then Marty said, “I hate how dark our bedroom is.” That started another project, and we ended up ripping up the carpet that was in there too. We picked edelweiss white, a big change from midnight black. I had to get new linens since the dark black and white sheets didn’t look good at all.

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I wanted our room to look like a bedroom in Paris, and I wanted it to be white on different shades of white. I had a canvas photo of the Eiffel Tower hanging up in our black bedroom, but it looks better in our new white one. I love Paris so much; it’s my most favorite place on earth. After all of this covid business is over and we can travel again, we plan to go in the not so far off future. That is a whole other blog post.

Along with the new linens, we picked up a used chandelier since I always wanted one in our bedroom and an area rug. A pair of sheer curtains and a couple of tie-back hooks, and voila! Tres Magnifique!

We both were pleased with how the bedroom came out. It was like sleeping in a bed and breakfast or a hotel room in Paris. Every morning Marty kept saying how it didn’t feel like our bedroom.

The last thing that looked like garbage was the staircase walls and upstairs hallway. We were super busy with the business and getting ready for our biggest season Oktoberfest. We actually hired a painter from town, which we have never done before. Two guys came in, got it done in one afternoon…boom. It was such a huge help not having us set up scaffolding on the stairs to paint at the stairwell’s top.

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As spring is approaching, I decided that I wanted to add just a small touch of color to our all-white bedroom. Purple is my favorite color. I picked out some beautiful purple and gray floral sheets. I was able to reuse my lavender and purple pillows we had in our black bedroom. I just got done putting them on the bed, and I love it! 💜

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today for no particular reason. I slept well and woke up on my own, and didn’t need my alarm to yank me out of dreams. 

It was cold and gloomy when I got up. We needed to be in the production kitchen earlier than usual since we had some supplies to pick up and deliveries to make in the afternoon. 

I wasn’t in a bad or crabby mood about any one thing, in particular, just everything. I usually stick to eating protein-based foods for breakfast and lunch and whatever I want for dinner, but I stuffed myself with carbs for breakfast today. 

Marty got up before I did and had everything set in the production kitchen for me to walk in and start making batter right away. Production went smooth, and we got done quickly. We had a quick lunch; I ate all carbs again. We changed our clothes and had to head to Saratoga to make a few deliveries. 

I hated myself for eating all carbs and felt like garbage. Overstuffed and disgusting. Everything I put on didn’t feel right. Too casual, too dressy, too tight, too loose. Ugh. I threw on some leggings and a soft gray tunic, and that was that. What really went with muck boots anyway? We were going to a farm, and they are necessary.

We had 3 delivery stops to make, which went off without a hitch. I haven’t been out of Arlington for 8 days, so I was looking forward to going shopping; I needed socks desperately. By the way, I hate shopping, so I must have been more desperate than my sock situation. 

We went to Dicks, and I needed to find the restroom before I could shop. At least I was keeping up with my water consumption. After walking around the entire store, I finally asked someone; it turns out the bathroom was tucked away in the furthest corner with no signs. 

Then we walked around the entire store looking for ladies’ socks. We found baseball & golf socks. Men’s and kids’ socks. Ladies’ ankle socks, but we couldn’t find regular crew socks, in black, preferably Adidas. Going through each section of the store was putting me into such a tizzy I almost left. “These bastards set these stores up like this, so you have to look at every fucking thing before you find what you want!” I guess Dick didn’t get the email that I hated to be there in the first place, so his hide and seek bullshit game wasn’t going to work. I told you I was in a bad mood.

Finally, we asked a couple of employees where we could find womens’ socks; they weren’t sure if they had any. Oh, and what size did I need? Socks for giraffes…I thought women’s socks were women’s socks and men’s were bigger; come on, guys. Ugh…WTF? Really? 

I found a clearance sock bin on my own, and after some rummaging around, low and behold, I found a three-pack of socks. They were actually exactly what I was looking for. What are the odds of that? They were on sale; maybe things were looking up.

Next, we crossed Route 50 and went into the brand new Aldi because I wanted to see it. It was set up like the one in Bennington, just bigger and newer, nothing to make me want to go there specifically. Then I went into TJ Maxx. I am not into retail therapy but wanted to see what they had for spring. Growing up watching my adopted mother’s shopping addiction, then having to get rid of tens of thousands of dollars of clothes, shoes, and handbags all still with price tags on them after her stroke still makes me sick to my stomach. I was shocked at how much money she spent, I ended up selling a few items at a consignment shop, but then just donating everything. I didn’t want any of it by the time I was done cleaning out her apartment. She ruined shopping for me.

TJ Maxx and Home Goods are stores that people love to go to. When I see women in those stores they all look happy with their eyes glazed over and their shopping carts full. While my father was still alive my mother had to hide and lie about all of her purchases. After he passed away she went hog wild and pissed through all his insurance money and the money from the sale of their home. I realized I wasn’t in the mood to shop and definitely not in the mood to look at spring clothes on carb overload.

As we drove through the town of Greenwich on our way to Saratoga, we noticed a food truck called Miller’s Backyard BBQ. I found them on Facebook and sent them a message inquiring about their gluten-free options. They answered me immediately, which was pretty damn impressive. 

It turns out they are very GF friendly, and we could eat almost everything on the menu except for their macaroni and cheese for obvious reasons and a few other items. 

On our way home, we were going back through Greenwich, and as luck would have it, they were open. They are only open from 4-8, and it was 4:30.  When we walked up to the food truck, I complimented them for such a quick response to my questions and how knowledgeable they are. He told me they had a lot of gluten-free customers. 

We got a sampler of all their proteins; smoked chicken wings with chipotle sweet chili sauce, sliced brisket, pulled pork, and bbq ribs. We picked potato salad and beans as our sides. We wanted to try it all since we’ve been binging on bbq shows on TV almost every night and want to go to Austin, TX, just to eat bbq when all this Covid shit is over. They have a great music scene as well. 

Millers did a really nice job! Hats off! Better bbq from a food truck than the last few bbq restaurants we’ve tried in the past. Restaurant quality from a food truck is the norm all around the country. Chefs that get tired of restaurant hours and want flexibility and creativity in their menus. Marty and I dream of having a food truck when we retire and travel to different warm places in the winter. 

Millers smoked all of the proteins perfectly, the right amount of smoke and a gorgeous smoke ring. Their homemade bbq sauces were good. Marty really liked the potato salad which was like a baked potato salad. 

Our favorite thing was the smoked chicken wings. They beat the wings I had two weeks ago in Hudson, NY at American BBQ by a mile. Really delicious! The sauce was incredibly balanced and flavorful. 

I said that Marty liked the potato salad. I only had one bite and stuck with all proteins. So I ended up flip-flopping my way of eating today, big shit. Tomorrow is another day. 

Instead of a glass of Chardonnay or the beautiful Sparkling Rose I had last night, I cut to the chase and went straight to the bourbon with a splash of ginger ale. One of my go-to favorites in the summer when we have a fire going in the fire pit. 

I know when I get up tomorrow, I’ll be out of my crabby mood. Sometimes I just need a crabby day. It doesn’t bother Marty because he gets a kick out of it and tries to make me even more cranky. When he gets into his funk some days, I do the same thing to him. 

As part of my blog journey, I’ll bet you never thought you’d know so much about me and my bowel habits. TMI right? As a person who has gluten, lactose, and ulcerative colitis issues, I think it’s important for people who don’t know, have, or live with someone to understand what it’s like. 

If you look at me or know me you would never know when I am sick. I am still my Julzie self for the most part. When I speak with one of our celiac or customers with gluten sensitivities, we have an immediate connection. 

Over 75% of our customers do not have gluten issues which exceeds my original goal of providing a delicious and easy to prepare gluten-free pasta. I started out just making it for Marty and myself; then we decided we had to share it with people. 

People love our product because it is delicious and easy to prepare, but also a blank slate for any dish or cuisine. The gluten-free folks love it because it doesn’t fall apart, can be used as leftovers that don’t turn to mush, and it tastes great, not with a funky after taste that most gluten-free pasta leave. 

Our gluten-free customers are so happy when they find our spätzle. But they are even happier when they meet someone who knows and understands what kind of struggle they face: a struggle not only every day but with everything they put into their mouths. 

Like me 99% of our GF customers look normal, vibrant, many are young, strong, and healthy-looking. You would never guess all the things they have been through before they were diagnosed with their issues. Many of them have other intestinal issues as well as I do. 

I feel like since you are on my journey with me I can share what it is like knowing someone with intestinal issues. If I had diabetes, RA, heart disease, or much worse conditions I know I would be writing and advocating for them as well. 

As a cheerleader throughout my whole teen and childhood years, I supported my team yelling and shouting about it. That’s how I feel about gluten sensitivities and inflammatory bowel disease. I feel so strongly about it that I developed and we manufacture a gluten-free pasta that has changed not only our lives but thousands of others’ lives as well. 

I have met so many small children and their moms who tell me about their GF health nightmares, and they know I understand. I can only imagine how terrible it must be for a 2 or 3 year old child feeling so sick all of the time. When I give someone, especially a child, a sample of our spätzle that I just sautéed with a little butter and watched their reactions, it’s so rewarding and emotional.  Nothing beats making people happy, finding something they like or their lives easier.

Getting emotional about a pasta? It’s not just about the pasta, it’s about the connections I make with people, not just the GF ones for sure. Marty and I make wonderful connections with the other 75% of our customers. We love to see them smile when they taste their sample. The best is when even the biggest skeptics sample our product and are ready to hate it because it’s gluten-free, I almost do a victory dance when they admit they like it. 

Marty and I cannot wait for this awful Covid thing to be over for many obvious reasons and we can go back to sampling at our farmer’s markets as well as doing demos in stores. The connections we make with people are immediate and we thrive off of it. We love to see how much people love it! It’s been our goal since the beginning to spread the spätzle love.❤️

I am blessed to have a strong personality and a cheerleader for things I believe in. Sometimes I get up on a soapbox and tell people how I feel about things. I have this blog to not only teach people about food or how to cook but to share with my readers about the other exciting, good, bad, or shitty things that are happening in my life. Yes, that was a pun.

I hope that the stories that I share on my blog people can relate to, whether they are food memories, places in NJ, emotional or medical issues. Some may read my blog just because they want to become a better cook or to follow along with me on my up and down journey. 

Every time I am gluten poisoned I forget how bad it is. This recent gluten reaction lasted 4 full days. My doctor over at the IBD Clinic or the Inflammatory Bowel Disease Center at Dartmouth Hitchcock explained to me that after every gluten poisoning, it will leave my intestines with further damage.

My reaction started last Tuesday morning and didn’t finish running its course until Friday, or so I thought. Since the reaction stopped, I have still had lots of intestinal issues, to put it mildly. My insides actually feel sore and after I eat I have lots of stomach cramping. It’s hard to believe that the juices from that shitty ass meat made me so sick.

The running joke with my gastroenterologists is that since I had the upper half of my colon removed in 2006, I should only have to pay half price for the colonoscopies I need to have every other year. You would also think the reaction would go faster since it has only halfway to go. Of course, none of this is true, but joking about it is the best way to deal with it sometimes.

I am not sure how long it will be until my insides finally heal this time. At least I definitely know this is not my ulcerative colitis flaring up. Thank goodness, I know that special kind of hell all too well.

When people think about March, they think of the saying that it comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb. Not always the case here in Vermont; sometimes, the lamb doesn’t arrive until mid-April.

I like to think of March as either the light at the end of the tunnel, or holy shit is that a train coming? This week’s weather is a perfect representation of what I am talking about.

This week’s forecast has temperatures going from the ’40s into the single digits like it did last night with the wind gusts to rub it in further. Today it will be in the ’20s and Wednesday close to 40. Thursday back in the 20s…you get where I am going, and this is only the first week in March. These temperature fluctuations are completely normal for March.

Yesterday I saw the light at the end of the tunnel with my snow and ice-free deck that I worked so hard on over the weekend. I started imagining how I will set up the dining table and smoker grill, what kind of herbs I am going to plant, and where to put them. I could already see the flowers that hang from a hook and a bar set up on a rolling cart.

Today I see that train coming towards me again. It’s windy and bitter cold. I needed to put a coat on this morning to run into the production kitchen. My feet were cold during production, and it never really got that toasty warm.

Today I also see the train tracks with a train derailment. My blog post from yesterday, “Looking inside,” went off the tracks, going off in too many directions. I knew when I was writing it that I was getting sidetracked when I started writing about American Cuisine, but I kept going and going.

This whole writing for people thing is new for me, so please don’t mind a couple of derailments here and there. I am going to try to keep the train on the tracks and head straight into the light.

When I was a kid walking to school, I walked with all of my senses turned. Back in those days, everyone’s TVs had tubes and antennas. As I walked, I could hear the high pitch frequency sounds coming from houses. I could pretty much figure out what house had their TVs on. Then for a couple of blocks, I would try to figure out who and what they were watching. On my way to school, I figured they were watching the morning news and on my way home, soap operas or kids cartoons. We didn’t have 100+ channels; we had 7 so there weren’t many shows from me to choose from.

The other thing I did while walking to school was sniff the air and identify what people were cooking. I could smell coffee and bacon. Sometimes something baking. On my way home, I could smell meats roasting and sauces simmering away. In those days, most women still stayed at home, unlike today when women, men, moms, or dads are racing home from a long day at work and have to start dinner. That began to change when I was in upper grades.

I remember walking home from school one day with a friend, and she asked if I wanted to come over after school the next day. We were in the third or fourth grade, which was the first time anyone invited me over after school. I often saw friends after school; it was at the park or playground when we rode our bikes everywhere. I got permission from my mother to go; I was surprised and happy.

The next day after school, we got to her house, which was only around the corner from where I lived. Her mom wasn’t home. Her mom was a single mother and was at work. She left a note on the table and an after-school snack. We grabbed the snack and heading into the living room, and watched tv. It was great not being interrupted, badgered, yelled at to start my homework. I realized that to come home from school, which was our workday, and relax for an hour felt amazing. Why couldn’t homework wait an hour? Why did I have to do it the second I put my school bag down?

My friend also had to start dinner. I was so impressed with how grown up she was. She had to be, and her mother needed her to be. She also had chores to do and got an allowance. I had a shitload of things I had to do after dinner and Saturdays, like cleaning the house, washing my own clothes, keeping my room clean, and ironing my school uniform shirts.

When cable tv came to town, there were and still are shows that I really like to watch. I liked the Food Network, but my favorite shows were Doorknock Dinners and Take Home Chef. In Doorknock Dinners a host would take high-end, famous, sometimes an Iron Chef to a random person’s home and knock on their door. They would ask the surprised person who answered the door if the chef could come in, look in their refrigerator, freezer, and pantry and make them a gourmet dinner with only the things they found. Only a few people said no then the producers had to scramble around to find another house and pray they were willing to let them in.

I loved seeing what people had in their fridges and freezers. I loved seeing how messy or organized their pantry was. The best was when they had a Japanese Iron Chef be truly confused about what some of the American food was. He didn’t understand what things were. To be fair, if the tables were turned, many American chefs may not know all the things one would find in a Japanese kitchen.

In one episode, the people only had premade frozen foods and a couple of canned goods. You could see how ridiculously hard and foreign this was to him. He put together something with fish sticks and a couple of other ingredients. It didn’t look good at all; I am sure it didn’t taste good either.

The Take Home Chef was Chef Curtis Stone. First of all, he is handsome and has an Australian accent. He would hang out at the grocery store and ask women, shoppers what they were making, and cook dinner for anyone. He would pay for the groceries if she let him follow her home and cook dinner with the ingredients she had in her shopping cart.

I am sure the show wasn’t preplanned because the women were always apologizing for their homes’ condition and were truly flustered when 10 TV cameras and sound people, producers, and a director would cram into their place.

He had the women cook along with him, and he taught them some cooking techniques. The women were swooning over how gorgeous he was with that intoxicating accent; I am shocked no one ever cut off a finger. The meals looked fabulous, and the people they cooked it for were impressed. Mostly, but maybe not the women’s boyfriends or husbands. LOL.

My favorite show is House Hunters and has been on since the birth of HGTV. I love seeing the architecture and styles of homes in different parts of the country. Beautiful homes and dumps that are called fixer-uppers. I like seeing what you can get for your money and seeing people’s reactions to homes. Some of the things that are deal-breakers for people are amusing. What is a palace to one person is a shit hole to another.

I am sure that many things are fixed and staged in this show; they would have to be. Never the less I still like it along with House Hunters International, the Caribbean, and Mediterranean Life. Tiny House Hunters, Living off the Grid, and all the remodeling shows.

Marty and I do everything ourselves in our home, so watching other people tackle projects is interesting. Seeing other people run into boo-boos and obstacles makes me feel better. The Irion way is always the hard way. The Irion way is always being a 1/2 cup short of a gallon of paint, then having to buy another whole gallon to finish the job.

I keep a mostly organized and clean home. When we are super busy with the business, and 4 of us were living here, it was hard to get a handle on, but it’s easier with just the two of us now. I will say, “This place is a total mess,” my family will laugh and say, “Mom, you have no idea what some people’s houses are like.” They aren’t talking about things being dated or messy; they are talking about homes that should be condemned. I am not sure if they tell me that to make me feel better or true.

So am I a peeping tom of sorts? Is it weird to want to look in people’s kitchens and refrigerators? I think I am just curious and like seeing how people live. Maybe that’s why I have always been interested in food anthropology. Last summer, during my Hamilton addiction, I found a recipe and made George Washington’s favorite cake. It was really delicious; it was a spice cake. I love looking at food and recipes from different time periods and cooking methods.

Regional dishes and drinks in our country came from the people who settled here. They used whatever land, sea, rivers, and lakes offered them. I never thought about exactly why cornbread is a staple in the south. Not just because they like it, they have corn! The first Thanksgiving had things like venison, root vegetables, cranberries, and fish dishes. Those were some of the things that were available in the Northeast. Hard cider comes from areas where apples are plentiful. Beer, whiskey, and other spirits came from areas with grains. It all makes perfect sense.

The settlers learned hunting, farming and agriculture, and cooking methods from the Native Americans. They also learned how to use animals for fats and clothing. Slaves and other immigrants brought with them their recipes, ingredients, and cooking methods. They created dishes with what they had available. They created dishes when they had nothing. These are some of the most iconic dishes in our country. Other dishes came from being practical, from food that miners took with them into the mines, people working in the fields, traveling on horseback, etc.

In America, the melting pot, we are truly a nation of melting pot cuisine. You can find any ethnic food in fancy restaurants, food trucks, or people’s homes that are as good as where the food originates. People brought with them special ingredients that are now found in supermarkets or specialty stores. The Food Network and PBS have introduced ethnic food to people in our country that is approachable and less scary for people, leaving them wanting to try new foods and cuisines.

So looking inside…it can be so many things. From figuring out smells and sounds, how people lived in the past, and how they live today. What types of homes they have or looking for. Looking inside one’s self is what I have been doing a lot of. Knowing that other people’s homes aren’t perfect; they suck at home improvement projects or have poorly stocked kitchens makes people feel human. It shows people that we all can’t be perfect like Martha Stewart, Ree Drummond, or Bobby Flay. Besides, they have other people doing all that shit for them anyway, which they don’t show on their shows.

Whenever I say I will stay in my p.j’s and relax all day, I should know better. I started the day wanting to make myself a breakfast I’ve had in my head for a couple of weeks. 

When I was writing about my 18th birthday meal at the Shadowbrook, I started thinking about the dish I had. It was veal oscar. Now I am not about to make veal oscar, but I wanted to use the elements that top the veal in this dish: steamed asparagus, crab meat, and hollandaise sauce. I also was thinking about my all-time favorite brunch dish, eggs benedict. My brain started working at 6:30 am when I woke up. How can I combine the two?

I decided that I was going to make a dutch baby as the base. A dutch baby is a giant pancake-like popover that rises as a popover does but then deflates when you take it out of the oven. Dutch babies can be either sweet or savory and very easy to make if you have a blender, an oven, and a cast-iron frying pan. 

I had to have everything ready to go because once the dutch baby came out of the oven, I needed to top it right away. I blanched some fresh asparagus, got out a little crab, baked a couple of bacon pieces since I didn’t have any Canadian bacon. Next, I made a hollandaise sauce, put together an egg poaching station, and had the dutch baby’s ingredients in the blender. 

The first thing you have to do is put a 10 inch cast iron pan in a 450-degree oven for 25 minutes. I pretty got everything done in that time. After 25 minutes were up, I blended the batter at the last moment to be light and airy and poured it into the hot pan with a little butter. I got the pan quickly back into the oven, and it needs to bake for 20 minutes. 

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When I had 5 minutes left, I warmed the crab and asparagus and started poaching the eggs, and crumbled up the bacon. When it came out, I topped it with all the components. I invented a “Benedict Oscar Dutch Baby!” It was exactly what I had in my head! Yay, the day is off to a good start.

After I digested my breakfast, I went out to the gym to workout. I worked out on Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years’ and now my birthday. These are all days that I would have used as an excuse not to work out. Not this time, I am committed. 

Yesterday afternoon instead of doing 30 minutes of cardio on the treadmill, I shoveled the driveway, and I started chopping away at the 2 feet of ice and packed down snow on our decks. I got tired of looking out the patio doors and being depressed that I couldn’t even get to my grill. What a workout that was! I was red-faced and sweating like a pig afterward.

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Today after my bicep & triceps lifting session, I went back out to chop more ice instead of doing my regular 10 minutes of hard cardio after lifting. I was in beast mode. I was breaking through the ice and hurling it off the deck. Guess what? I did the whole thing, then did the lower level deck where my outdoor kitchen is. Success! Yes!

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I’ve been craving a grilled burger with bruschetta topping and melted mozzarella cheese. I whipped two burgers out of the freezer. I made the bruschetta topping and started grilling. It was great to cook outside again. The bruschetta burger was so delicious; it was what I have been craving for two months. 

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It’s all about food with me, so I wanted coconut shrimp and rice for dinner. No veg, I had those for breakfast and lunch. I did make an orange Thai chili dipping sauce for the shrimp, so that’s a fruit, right? The shrimp and rice came out so delicious. Yum is all I have to say.  It’s impossible to find gluten-free coconut shrimp in a restaurant, so unless you make it yourself, you are out of luck. 

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Marty came through and got me that gluten-free bakery birthday cake! A strawberry and white chocolate cake with that bakery frosting I love. When I wanted to have a slice, I took it out of the refrigerator, and it was still frozen. While I am writing this piece, I am waiting for it to defrost.

This morning before I started thinking about the food, I laid in bed and tried to meditate and focus on gratitude.  I also asked my father for a message from heaven.

I have so many stories about messages from my father after he passed. He works very hard to get his messages across. Most signs are pennies or feathers, but when I want to make sure, I say, “ Daddy, I need a sign from you today for my birthday. I want to know that you are still around. Can it be something different so that I know it’s from you? If you can’t, it’s ok; maybe someone needs you more than me.” 

When I was up in our gym getting ready to workout, I picked out some music on Spotify, a new 2021 alternative playlist. I liked the playlist for weight lifting; I like to listen to harder stuff than cardio. The songs were a mix of rock and rap or hip hop. In the middle of a tricep set, a song called “Nothing Good” came on. I listened for a minute; then I put down my weights. The chorus came back in, “Nothing good happens after 2 am.”

I lived at home with my parents until I was 23 and got married. Even though I paid rent every month and had to clean my mother’s house every week, I had a curfew.  When I was younger, my curfew was always at least an hour before everyone else’s. Before anyone could drive, people’s parents drove us to wherever we were going, and someone picked us up. 

There was absolutely no flexibility in the curfew, so I slept at people’s houses to stay out with my friends and not end the night early for everyone. I hated that everyone else’s night was cut short because of my curfew. If my friend’s curfew was midnight, mine was 10:30 or 11. It was a drag. I ended up lying about where I was and who I was with. When people could drive, it was even worse. If an event was over at midnight, it didn’t matter; I still had to be home. I made my parents come and get me on those nights; it wasn’t fair to everyone else.

One Friday night, I was at the rollerskating rink and everyone from school was there. Of course, I had to leave before everyone else my father was going to pick me up. When they said 11:00 pm, they meant it. Just as I was about to take off my skates, this guy who I had a crush on forever asked me to skate a couple’s skate. I thought, “Fuck it,” and I skated with him.

My father usually came to get me himself, but my mother went with my father to pick me up that time. As I was holding hands and skating to Aerosmith’s song “Dream On,” my mother came marching onto the roller rink floor, yanked me, and started yelling at me. Ok, I wanted to die. I wondered how many people saw. I left the roller rink in a puddle of tears. I hated her for treating me so poorly in front of my peers and front of my skating partner.

If someone else dropped me off and one of my friend’s parents were late picking us up, it didn’t matter. If I came home even a few minutes late with a good explanation, I was already grounded the next weekend. There were lots of other tricks and traps my mother played just to ground me as well. I won’t ruin my birthday and talk about her anymore and all the games she played. 

When we were old enough to go out to the bars, I would beg my father to stay out later. My curfew was 1 am, and the bars all closed at 2 am. All we wanted to do was to go to the diner after dancing in a club all night and grab some breakfast or gravy fries. My father would say every single time I asked, “You want to go out to breakfast then leave the bar earlier. Nothing good happens after 2 am.” 

When I listened to the lyrics “Nothing good happens after 2 am, ” I actually laughed out loud and said, “ Ok, daddy,  I got your message. Thank you.” He worked extra hard to get that message to me for sure. 

Today I received so many birthday wishes on my blog, Facebook page, The Vermont Spatzle Facebook, and Instagram pages. It was so nice that people took the time out of their day to say Happy Birthday to me. The absolute best gift that I received today was that everyone wished “Julz” a Happy Birthday. Thanks so much, everyone! 🥰