Hangry in Maine

Confession: This blog almost didn’t happen. You know why? Because I don’t measure anything. I am a chronic eyeballer. A “that looks like enough salt” kinda person. A “just dump it in and see what the hell happens” enthusiast. Recipes and I have always had a complicated relationship…and because of this, it’s hard to write a food blog & share recipes–because I only use recipes when I’m baking.

I find baking way easier than cooking. Baking is basically a science…it’s precise, measured, structured. Do X, Y, and Z in the right order, with the right ratios and you’ll get a nice, fluffy souffle. Screw up one little measurement, grab the baking soda instead of the baking powder, or add something extra and mess up the ratios or acidity or and congratulations, you’ve just found a way to convert muffin tops into hockey pucks.

Cooking on the other hand, it’s lawless. It’s creative, it’s chaotic, it’s freedom. There are no rules. And as a goodie-two-shoes rule follower, that always does the right thing, that returns her shopping cart, follows the speed limit, brakes for wildlife, & stops for jaywalkers instead of running them over; it’s nice to just do whatever the hell I want, unapologetically, even if it’s just in the comfort of my own home, braless, while making a pot of soup.

I grew up in a house where we didn’t have the luxury of wasting food or buying 14 different, fancy ingredients for one recipe. My parents separated when I was young, so it was just me and my mom growing up. My mom, a modern day superhero, taught me how to stretch food, how to make leftovers feel brand new, and how to be resourceful & creative when you have five random things in the fridge, and a hangry child growling at you. Sometimes we ate the same base ingredients all week, but she would transform them in so many different ways that it never felt repetitive (unless it was a stereotypical Maine dinnah, with hotdogs, baked beans and canned bread. That is a type of perfection that you can eat on repeat for week without changing a damn thing). That’s where my love for improvising in the kitchen and mixing textures, flavors, cultures, and whatever else I find in the back of my pantry comes from.

When I sit down to write a recipe for this blog, it usually starts with me scribbling in a notebook like a mad scientist. See the picture below? Yeah..that’s an actual page of my recipe notebook. Ingredients, witty name, scribbles, arrows, measurements, random “WTF” question marks…. It is not pretty, and barely legible, but it’s real. These are my notes for the clam linguine that I made my dad for his birthday recently; he always calls it “restaurant quality”. I’ve made it dozens of times, and never actually used a recipe, so it was different every single time I made it. It’s all stuff I usually have on hand, minus the clams, so besides the measurements, it’s pretty close to how I’ve always made it. Instead of eyeballing it, I measure it this time, so I can share my dad’s special birthday dinner with you all (post coming in the very near future).

I, personally, view recipes as a roadmap. They’re a starting point, or maybe even the final destination. But the route? That is yours to take. Sometimes you’ll follow a recipe word for word, sometimes you’ll detour, and sometimes you’ll throw the damn map out the window or tell Siri to shut up (because you can’t take a slight right at that road because there isn’t a road there, it’s actually a fucking lake), ignore everything all together, and create your own path to the same destination–and that’s the fun of it. Food should work FOR you, not the other way around.

That’s kind of how I come up with the recipes and ideas for this blog…a vague idea, a wrinkled pepper from the back of my refrigerator, my scribbled notes, a rainy Sunday afternoon, and just a willingness to experiment until it tastes…edible. Sometimes it works amazingly. Sometimes it’s a complete disaster (looking at you, salted caramel rice krispie treats)! But that’s cooking, and honestly, that’s life.

So if you ever feel like you’re “doing it wrong” in the kitchen, stop. You’re not. You’re just making your own map. And honestly, that’s exactly what I want you to do. See my recipes (or any recipe, for that matter), read my stupid stories, and just be inspired and fall in love with food.

The semi-enlightened takeaway here? It’s good to know the rules. But it’s even better to know when to break them.