In Jennie's Kitchen

being thankful {day 102}

The last few days people near and far have reached out to wish me strength and peace as the Thanksgiving holiday approaches. It will be tough, no doubt, and if you want real honesty, I'm terrified of waking up that day.

Not because I'm afraid of the tears that will be inevitable.

Not because of the heartbreak I carry as if the Grand Canyon has settled in my chest.

I'm worried because I know I need to be strong to preserve the beauty and love that my girls have come to expect during what has always been one of my favorite seasons. Every year I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with them, and try as I might, there is no holding back the tears that slide down my face as Santa's sleigh pulls into Herald Square.

Silly for a grown woman to admit, I know.

I believe that kindness outweighs the misery in the world, and something about that dude in the red suit, tiny specs resting on his cherry-red nose fills me with comfort and calm. It renews my belief that we are all born good, it just depends on the chances we are given, and take, as the layers of our life unfold.

As we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner, instead of focusing on what we have lost, I will remind the girls of everything that enriches our lives. I will remind them to be thankful for the new warm blankets we just bought, for the apartment we now call home, for the love of friends and family.

And I will remind them that as cheated as we all feel, we must be thankful for having had Mikey in our lives, no matter how short the time felt. It will be hard for them to understand, I know. Heaven knows I don't "get-it" yet myself.

This year, as you plan your Thanksgiving meal, I'd like to ask everyone to take a moment and think about everything that you feel fortunate for in your life. Then, think about the millions of voids that will be on Thanksgiving tables around the country.

It may be someone like me, struggling with the loss of a husband or wife, but with the added worry of bills piling up. The Liz Logelin Foundation is there to help them.

Perhaps it's hope that someday, hopefully soon, a cure for pediatric cancer will be found. Join Gretchen and her family in honoring their son Liam's memory—the Glad company is matching donations up to $100,000, to Cookies for Kids' Cancer.*

And then, there are the empty plates that many families face because they cannot afford to feed themselves. For those men, women and children, I am very thankful that places like the Los Angeles Mission exist. I learned of it last year, when Diane and Todd created a moving video to highlight the work they are doing to help create more than just a meal—they are creating hope and a reason to keep on going each day. A donation of just $38.57 can help 19 people.

For those wishing they could help ease the heaviness in my heart this holiday season, please join me in making the world a better place. If you have a blog, write a post similar to this one, letting your readers, friends and family know how they can help make a difference.

Happy (early) Thanksgiving, and thank you for being such kind, caring people and joining me in my journey the last 102 days.

Disclosure: While I have no affiliation with Glad, I have been compensated by their parent company, Clorox, for my work as a spokesperson on the Love Your Veggies campaign.

100 Days

Moving forward, but not leaving you behind.

The life you possessed is captured in the lens with which I now see life.

The first day of school.

The first Halloween.

Revisiting some our very own firsts. Cafe Borgia, our first cappucino together. The Cable Building, our first kiss. Fanelli's—you had the crab cakes, I had a burger.

Matthew Sweet finally came back to town, 86 days too late.

You made your mark at Blue Smoke.

We made our mark in the sands of Cape Cod.

Gina's mom made us sugo—you would've loved, loved, loved it.

And I'm slowly coming out of my fog, cooking a little more each day.

100 days seems impossible and cruel.

I miss your laugh, your smile, your snoring, rubbing my fingers through your thick brown hair, your gnarly toe nails, the flecks of grey hair across your chest.

Yes, I miss every part of your being, yet you send me signs every day that you're watching. Perhaps waiting to accept this is all true too.

moving forward day

Today is 13 weeks since Mikey died. That's 91 days, or more than 2,000 hours. I still keep waiting to wake up, but as I've said before, I don't think that feeling will ever dissipate. I'm pretty sure it will become a dull ache, one day, but the place he holds in my heart will forever have a "reserved" sign engraved in it.

We're finally settled into our new home, just a few blocks from where Mikey and I first planted our roots together. The girls are in the same schools, and our dear friends are still close by. On all accounts, this move was the best of the both worlds. The proximity allows us to maintain our normal schedules and lives. This move was akin to a snake shedding its skin, the walls in which we lived are part of our old life. Those surroundings were holding us back from moving forward.

As I write, the girls are playing in their new sun-filled bedroom. The floors are covered with bright flowered rugs to bring some elements of the outdoors inside. My room has more light than I've had the privilege of enjoying in my home in 13 years. It's hard to not smile when you have this much light flowing through the windows.

As we head into a cold New York City winter, this sunlight will heal us. It will penetrate the heavy feeling in our hearts, and soothe our souls.

Our new space is smaller, but I like that feeling of coziness. I feel comforted being able to glance up from the kitchen counter as I mix pancake batter and see all my ducklings in a row. In this case smaller is better, much better. I've already made conscious decisions to free my life from a lot of the clutter and noise that existed in it before. I think many of us don't recognize how crowded our lives are with physical objects, or how your attention is pulled by this vast technologically driven world. Sometimes it takes a life-changing event to realize less is more—more fulfilling.

So, I've shed cluttered kitchen equipment—no microwave or toaster. I figure the extra few minutes it takes to melt butter on the stovetop for pancakes allows me to take an extra breath and reflect on the meal I'm about to make. Isabella loves toast, but I don't need a special appliance for that—my broiler does the job perfectly. These little things are helping me think more clearly, silly as they may seem.

I've also put myself on a technology diet too. I want to focus on the actual instead of the virtual right now. I'm so thankful for the deep, lasting friendships I've made from my blogging world, and want to spend more time cultivating them. I can only do this by making the deliberate decision to power down more often.

For now, I'm going to spend the rest of this quiet Sunday enjoying the sunshine with the girls. But first, I need to go clean up the dishes from this morning's breakfast you see up above. I hope everyone is finding time to enjoy the little moments, and hug those they love a little tighter, keep them a little closer.

finding my mojo {apple allspice muffins}

I wish I could tell you I baked that muffin up above. I did some time ago, two years to be precise. That's when I first developed the recipe. It's a good muffin, that much I promise you. I think it even has the power to break me from this malaise I feel every time I glance around the kitchen these days.

I wouldn't exactly call what I've been doing cooking lately. It's more surviving, making the same few things I can practically prepare with my eyes closed. It's all homemade stuff—marinara sauce and mac n' cheese have been staples. We've also been ordering-in once a week, which is huge considering before Mikey died, we barely had takeout once a month.

Right now it feels like I'm in limbo. The house is littered with moving boxes, each room a little done, but not quite complete. The first box was the hardest—it was our cds. Music was as vital to Mikey as oxygen, and knowing he wouldn't be listening to them anymore, or taking his guitar off the wall to play for us had me in tears almost instantly.

All these boxes piling up has me antsy, and are a reminder of the greatest gift Mikey ever gave me—a sense of home. A real home, one I could grow some roots in. I didn't have this as a kid. My parents moved every year or two, and by time I met Michael, at 21 years old, I'd already moved a dozen times.

This little nest we created here in Brooklyn, is the only place that ever felt like home.

And now it doesn't.

The surroundings look familiar, but the essence is gone. So as I pack, and wonder how I'm supposed to move forward, how I'm supposed to do this without him, I fight the lump that wells up in my throat. I try to stifle back the hot tears in the corner of my eyes. The hardest part of grief, for me at least, is the inexplicable pain and feeling that this hole in my heart will never heal. I'm a realist, and don't spend a lot of time on the "why".

I accepted a long time ago that certain things just are, but this one has me stumped. I know it's only Day 79, and honestly when people tell me to go easy on myself, it's drives me crazy. Unless you've experienced a loss like this you can't understand that missing someone so immensely is not being hard on yourself—it's simply grief, and going through it is not easy. My best advice for anyone trying to comfort someone grieving is just be there with a smile and shoulder, but wait for a cue.

Don't try to fix what is out of your control. It will only push the person further away.

But I'm here right now to talk about muffins, so let tell you what made me think of them. I went to the farmers' market for the first time in 17 days. Yes, 17 days folks. I couldn't believe it myself when I did the math.

I was on my way to the train station in Brooklyn Heights, and before I popped down into the subway, I remembered it was Tuesday and there was the market at Borough Hall. I wasn't going to visit at first. With the move in just nine days, I know there won't be a lot of cooking right now. Still, I was curious to see the fall bounty.

As I walked towards the Red Jacket Orchards stand, I felt the tears begin to trickle. The first apple season without Mikey. I almost turned and walked away. The thought of seeing all those apples was too overwhelming, a reminder of what used to be.

What will never be again.

Such emotion, over an apple. And that's when it hit me. Those apples could still bring me joy. Baking the recipes he loved eating and breathing in the warm spice scent as it fills the house could keep me connected to him. The memories are reminders of good times we shared together. So, as I prepare to celebrate our first Halloween without Mikey, I'm going to share a homemade treat he loved at Isabella and Virginia's class parties this week. I even scored some cute holiday muffin liners and toothpicks on sale at Sur La Table.

I'm not going to be afraid of any ghosts this year, In fact, I wouldn't mind if one of them came for a special visit.

Apple Allspice Muffins

makes 12

The original post gives some back story about this recipe. If you're curious why I choose to grate the apples, then it's definitely worth a read.

For the crumb topping:

2 tablespoons butter, melted

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1/2 cup all purpose flour

For the muffins:

3 cups all purpose flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon allspice

8 tablespoons butter, softened

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs

1 cup sour cream

2 cups peeled, shredded apples

Preheat oven to 375º.  Grease or line a 12-cup muffin tin with liners.  For the topping, mix all the ingredients together in small bowl with a fork  until it forms a wet, sandy mixture; set aside.

For the muffins, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and all pice in a medium bowl; set aside. In a separate medium-sized bowl, beat the butter and sugar on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about three minutes.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one.

Beat in one third of the dry ingredients, then add one-third of the sour cream. Alternating between dry ingredients and sour cream, repeat until all ingredients have been incorporated.  Using a wooden spoon or rubber spatula, stir in the apples. 

Evenly spoon the batter into the prepared muffin tins.  Sprinkle each muffin even with en equal amount of the crumb topping.  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden brown and a toothpick inserted comes out mostly clean—it's okay if there are a few dry crumbs.

the kindness of strangers {day 75}

Years ago I remember Mikey telling me he read somewhere that the way you change the toilet paper says something about your personality. This was long before the internet was an everyday part of our lives, so he must have come across it in a magazine or maybe it was an email chain someone sent. I don't remember, but that's not really the point.

It was time to change the toilet paper again last night, and as with every time I've done it since he told me that story, I thought of him and chuckled. We were opposite in so many ways, right down to how we changed a roll of toilet paper.

He was an "under" roller. I was an "over" roller.

I'm an "over" roller—it supposedly means one is an over achiever. This is no surprise to my close friends. My need for control and perfection is exacting, and only matched by my drive and determination.

The fact that Michael would've been measured as an under achiever based on his toilet paper changing habits, most certainly didn't match his accomplishments in life. He had drive and determination, albeit a more subtle, quiet one than me.

We were both city kids, from blue collar families who did "good" as our folks would say. Mikey grew up a hearing son of deaf parents. There were many challenges to overcome being dealt such a hand. His parents were also depression-era kids, so they lived a very frugal, but decent, middle class life in the Bronx.

When it came time for college, Michael applied to NYU. He'd always loved film and television, and started making his own Super 8 movies long before I was even born. He talked about the day he got accepted with such pride. That joy quickly turned to sadness and anger, though. His parents grew up in a time when people didn't trust the government with their information, so when it came time to fill out the financial aid forms, his father said no.

As Mikey's best friends went off to Cornell, Brown and Northwestern, he remained in NYC and attended City College. That only lasted a year or two, and he decided to venture into the real world and continue his education on the job. It was probably one of the best professional decisions he ever made. Mikey had a kickass career for a kid from the Bronx without a college degree.

Remember MTV's Choose or Lose campaign with Alison Stewart? He edited much of that campaign. If you watched MTV News back in the day with Kurt Loder, then you likely saw his work too. When we met he worked the night shift one day a week, cutting—that's television edit speak, packages for the show. Remember the show Win Ben Stein's Money—yep, he cut that show open. He also edited a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit show—yeah, there were perks to his job.

He was also an award-winning editor, his earned his first one for a breast cancer PSA featuring Veronica Webb. Before this starts sounding too much like an obituary, though, I should get to my point.

Mikey so wanted to give Isabella and Virginia the opportunity he was denied 33 years ago. He wanted his daughters to have a college education, if that was the path they chose.

He didn't want it to be dependent on a financial aid application.

He didn't want them to juggle school and work. He wanted them to be able to focus on their dreams.

This is a matter we often didn't see eye-to-eye on. I went to Brooklyn College, mostly on financial aid, the rest was paid for by working two jobs. I was the first person, and to this day only member of my family, to graduate college. Much as I want my girls to have the same opportunity, I know part of the reason I value my degree so much is because I earned it in every sense of the word.

So, consider this my long-winded way of saying thank you to everyone who contributed to A Fund for Jennie. The money raised will be tucked away in their 529A college savings accounts. Ten years from now when Isabella leaves for college, know you had a hand in helping her discover her dreams. In 15 years, when Virginia embarks on that same journey, it will be partly because you showed such caring and kindness during such a difficult time in her life.

Their memories of Mikey may feel distant by then. The moments they shared may seem intangible. The love that he inspired in our lives, and your lives, will live on forever. And as they grow to become the amazing women I know is part of their destiny, I thank you for the gift of learning.

You will forever have my deep gratitude. I thank you for carrying The Perillo Girls in your hearts and minds every day.

UPDATE on 10/27/2011: As noted in the comments below, it came to my attention that people were under the impression my financial situation was dire in the days after Michael passed away. I say dire because that is the exact wording Bloggers without Borders used in their initial post.  A post which was not sent to me for prior approval, and one I didn't read when it was originally published because reading any posts related to his death were just too emotionally difficult to read.

Bloggers without Borders has since edited the initial post, in essence to cover the mistakes they made. In the business world, I'd say they have further compromised their integrity. They have shown no public remorse for the ongoing trauma they have caused to me, and have instead left me feeling more victim than the recipient of goodwill.

So how do we move forward, because heaven knows I need to not devote any more time and attention to this matter? I need to continue my healing process. I need to be allowed time with my daughters and to try and focus on work.

Before I suggest a solution, I want to clear the record once and for all. I want to tell you the truth, which everyone deserves for the sincere care and effort put into trying to help the girls and me.

My financial future was never in question. It was never dire. I knew within a few days exactly the financial condition Mikey left us in, and I wasn't surprised. He’d been working since he was 11 years old delivering newspapers, and often joked part of that paper money probably went into the apartment we currently live in. After 20 years working as a freelancer, Mikey took a staff job working at BET Networks in the fall of 2009. He did this to provide for his family. It was an amazing opportunity, and we talked long and hard before he took the job. We knew the trade-off to a company job, good salary and benefits would be less hours with his family. In the end, knowing Mikey would reach retirement age just as the girls went off to college, we knew the staff job was the financially prudent choice.

To say that my financial situation was ever a concern was not only a blatant misrepresentation—it’s dishonorable to Mikey’s memory and how hard he worked to provide for us. This is why the situation has me so enraged. I will fight every day, with every will in my body to preserve the integrity of my husband because he was one of the most sincerely good people that has ever walked this earth.

This is why I implore anyone who donated to A Fund for Jennie to please request your donations be redirected to The Liz Logelin Foundation. I have put a hold on the girls 529A accounts, so no contributions can be made without my prior approval. Bloggers without Borders will have no place to put these funds unless you a) ask for your money back or b) request the funds to be diverted. I also will not accept any checks from them, so if they are thinking they will continue to brush this under the rug, that won’t work either.

Lastly, I want to say that some of the information they provided in their initial post was indeed accurate. I am not eligible for widow’s benefits because I make more than $14,160 a year. Yes, my health insurance runs out December 1^st, and the monthly premium will be more than $1,800. If I could stop having my time spent arguing with BwoB, then maybe I could look into other more affordable options. Finally, there is still a chance I may have to payoff my remaining mortgage balance, but as I told Shauna on a conversation I clearly remember having as I walked home from the estate attorney’s office before the campaign was launched, the silver-lining is my apartment hopefully has a good value and will help provide for our future as well. I wasn’t at risk of losing my home from a financial perspective—it was more an emotional issue.

I hope everyone who genuinely gave from the heart understands just how thankful I am for your kindness. I know my story made many of you rethink your daily lives, and it still resonates loud and clear for you. Your caring for a virtual stranger gives me hope for the world my girls will one day go off into on their own. There is hope and faith for humanity in the kindness you all displayed.

I am choosing to close the comments on this post because I need to move forward. I need to make chocolate cupcakes tonight for a Halloween party I promised the girls. I need to heal my heart, and now that the truth is out for you all to know, that is just what I intend to do. Peace, my friends.

 

to have and to hold {day 68}

This is the last anniversary card Mikey had the chance to give me.

He didn't know it would be the last.

I didn't know it would be the last.

I do know that to have and to hold was supposed to be a lifetime.

Today I board a plane to Long Beach. I leave my girls with a dear friend for 48 hours, but with hesitation. I worry if something happens to me. In fact, I called another friend to tell her where my will and other important papers are just in case.

I know, though, that this weekend will be tough. Sunday is our anniversary. October 16th is a day that used to compare in excitement only to my birthday. Both of those days will be tough this year, next year, and I suspect pretty much everyone hereafter, though the ache might become dull and more manageable.

I knew I couldn't be there for my girls this weekend because I'd barely be able to tend to my own emotions. I needed to be selfish for these next 48 hours.

I know Mikey will always be with me, whether I can see him or not.

It may be a scent or a Seinfeld reference.

It may be running into an old friend of his at unexpected place, like the bar at Gramercy Tavern this past Thursday.

He will most certainly be there every time I look into the chocolate eyes he passed onto Isabella and Virginia.

One day we will meet again. I know this in my heart, more so than I've ever believed in anything. He may not be Mikey, and I may not be Jennie, but there will be a moment. A deja vu, where we both wonder, perhaps aloud, "do I know you".

Our hearts will forever be entwined and betrothed to each other.

Even death is not powerful enough to break the bond of a love this deep and true.

Happy anniversary Mikey. I love you.

french onion soup {day 65}

I've reverted to my real old school ways. I'm keeping a paper calendar again. I know, this is so 20th century. Those who know me, are not surprised. Much as I love technology, the inner workings of it are not my strong suit. Honestly, it's hilarious I publish this blog, and am considered a social media maven in some circles—until last week, I didn't know how to load a cd on my iPod—seriously!

After 16 years together, Mikey and I morphed into one whole unit. We each had our strengths, and compensated for the other's weaknesses, for lack of a better word. He was the tech guy. New computer, no problem. He'd magically make all my files appear.

Need a workout playlist—done.

Printer not playing nice? A few curse words later, and all my tech worries were a memory.

My comfort zone was obviously in the kitchen, so much so that I unseemingly pushed Mikey out of it. I became a zen master at getting a homemade dinner on the table in no time, often pulling a meal together from simple pantry ingredients. He was always amazed at what I'd "scrounge" for dinner on a moment's notice.

I don't have many regrets, but I wish I would've let my grip in the kitchen go, so maybe he would've felt more welcome to stand by my side and chop an onion. My strong suit, and fault, is that I'm a perfectionist and a quick learner. This can be very intimidating. The ease and speed with which I breezed through the kitchen kept Mikey in awe, and also deterred him for fear of making a mistake. Friends who have cooked with me, know that's not really the case. Mikey was a sensitive creature, though, and I should've been more gentle and reassuring.

I also wish I would've learned how to set up the computer network. He took that with him three days after he died, and I've been stuck in a tech netherworld, having to actually plug the printer into my laptop to print a document. That's the least of my worries, though.

I've let my hair down a bit in the last 65 days. I'm trying to see what works for my new normal, fully aware that it will change based on the needs of each day.

I'm more willing to push the boundaries of bedtime on Friday and Saturday nights. I've even been venturing out to restaurants with them more than Mikey and I ever did. I'm very conscious of how suffocating motherhood can feel when you're doing it all on your own. This has nothing to do with love. It is about realizing I was a fiercely independent person before my life changed so drastically on August 7th. Understanding my need to not feel trapped is vital in navigating these new waters. All that talk about work-life balance is being put to the test.

I try to approach each day with a set of fresh eyes. Finding joy and pleasure in simple things, like browning onions in butter to make this soup. Tonight I came home feeling a little down. I decided I didn't want to cook and ordered pizza from Enoteca, a local wood-burning oven joint, one Mikey and I went to a few times for date night. I've never been disappointed by them, but from the first bite this evening, I was filled with regret. I knew I could've made something way better myself, and saved money too.

So I marched into the kitchen, and sliced the onions that had been sitting on the counter for a week now. I'd been planning to make this soup but the urge just hadn't struck me. That takeout delivery was just the kick in the pants I needed. By time I was done tucking the girls into bed, the soup was finished. I already feel better about waking up tomorrow, knowing I'm starting the day with dinner ready and waiting for us in the fridge. Right now, it's all about savoring the small victories.

French Onion Soup

serves 4

print recipe

I originally published this recipe almost two years ago. For some back story and a few more pictures, and to see why this recipe is so special (hint: it's the heartiest vegetarian French Onion Soup you'll ever taste), go read the original post.

4 tablespoons butter

4 large onions, sliced

1 bay leaf

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

2 1/2 cups water

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar

1 tablespoon molasses

Four 1-inch thick slices of baguette, toasted

4 ounces shredded Provolone, Swiss, Gruyere, or any melting cheese of your choosing

Melt butter in a 6-quart stockpot over medium-high heat. Add onions, bay leaf and season with salt and pepper; stir to coat well. Saute until they begin to soften and become golden, about 15 minutes. Cover pot and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook, covered, until onions are softened, about 20 more minutes. 

Remove and discard bay leaf. Stir, scraping up browned bits at bottom of pot. Raise heat back to medium-high and slowly pour in the water. Add garlic clove, sherry vinegar and molasses. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook for 10 more minutes. Taste, and season with additional salt and pepper if necessary.

Preheat broiler. Evenly ladle soup into 4 oven-safe bowls. Place one slice of toasted baguette on top of each. Evenly sprinkle cheese on top and place on a rimmed baked sheet. Cook under broiler until cheese is golden and bubbly, 3 to 5 minutes.

love is strange

When I was a teenager, I didn't understand the big deal about love.

I came to this conclusion having witnessed the love between my parents. There is no doubt it was love, and I stand firm in my belief that my mother was the love of my father's life until the day he died. His being remarried and having had another child, didn't matter. The fact that most of their years together were filled with arguing and drunken rages never negated the love they felt for each other. It's just that sometimes two people, no matter the attraction and connection, well, all that emotional baggage we come into a relationship with gets in the way.

For my father, it was falling into the notion that he was destined to be an alcoholic like his father and sister. My mother's undoing was thinking her children needed a father present, at all cost, because she herself was raised without one for the most part. She didn't know when to call it quits because she was trying to rescue her own childhood in a sense, I imagine.

The real work in a marriage is not in the planning of the party. The real work is in unpacking all the baggage you brought along. Mikey and I did eventually empty those bags, and our relationship was a roller coaster over the 16 years we were together, with our share of dips. Yet with every valley we hit, we did the work to rise to a higher peak on the way up.

It's Day 61, and for the most part, it's been a great one. This is nothing short of a miracle, especially since it's Friday. Every weekend since August 7th has been a tough go. Mikey and I lived for the weekends—48 hours of uninterrupted family and "us" time. Now Fridays usually have an underlying sense of dread.

But not today.

I had coffee with a friend who makes me feel happy at the mere sight of her smile.

I had lunch with an old colleague of Mikey's, and by old I only mean the length of their relationship. Kimberly can rock a pair of short-shorts like I've never been able in my life. From the moment she walked into Cafe Cluny, her gentle smile soothed me. I can tell this is the start of a good friendship. I have Mikey to thank for that. He seems to be taking care of me even from afar.

But how did I get here, commiting these words to this screen right now?

Well, it's a circutious path, really.

I was reading Entertainment Weekly—it's Mikey's subscription, but I fully admit to the guilty pleasure it brings. I read the obit for Sylvia Robinson, which lead me to start humming the song "Love is Strange". Women of a certain age {ahem} fondly remember the scene in Dirty Dancing where Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey crawled across the floor, seducing each other to the song.

Next thing I know I'm in the shower, tapping my toes with a smile...and I'm singing.

Imagine that, smiling, singing and snapping my fingers on Day 61. I really listened to the words to Love is Strange this time, and it suddenly dawned on me that it is natural to want to love, and be loved again, one day. As the song goes "after you've had it, you're in an awful fix". It may seem crazy to even entertain the idea of loving anyone but him again so early in the grief process, but I realized two things at that moment in the shower.

For one, I'll always be grieving for Mikey. I will never be okay with him dying. This is not how our story was supposed to end. We were supposed to grow old together, see our babies off to college and celebrate our silver wedding anniversary.

But he is gone. This is one variable I can't change or control. I must simply accept that it is, and remember that the moments of sadness are unpredictable. There is no handbook for grief, and no two grieving experiences are alike. It is virgin territory for everyone that embarks on this path. So long as I remember that the sad moments often come out of nowhere, and sometimes with a vengeance, then I can keep an open mind about the future.

Then I also realized if a song about love could make me smile uncontrollably, and get me dancing in the shower, then there is hope for my heart. It is meant to love, and have that love returned, again one day.

So, yes, love is strange. And wonderful. And heartbreaking. But without it, life just isn't worth living.

I choose life.

I choose love.

I know it is meant for me again one day too.

a pot of beans

I laughed out loud as I read this fortune, after finishing dinner with Todd, Diane and the girls last week. It was our final meal in Seattle, just hours before we boarded a plane. The Perillo Girls had their first adventure in a post-Mikey world.

All I could think was what cruel bastard stuffed that fortune in a cookie destined for me. I joke a bit here, and know fully that fate has better things to do than hand me a loaded fortune like this one, but still you have to admit it's pretty hysterical.

I mean my husband died 58 days ago—life is anything but a piece of cake right now. I wish I could breeze through days, but all I keeping thinking about is 16 seconds—how is that 16 years feels like 16 seconds?

My mind is a database of moments, each one a memory of the time we spent together. When I go to this place, tears ultimately trickle down my cheek. Please don't tell me these moments are okay. I'm fully aware that they are—I've gotten used to the taste of salty tears running down my face in public, crying as suddenly as a three year old's mood changes.

Just because they're okay doesn't mean they are easy to deal with, or that I don't feel like an ass as I stare into a store window fighting back tears. Grieving sucks the life out of you, and the best you can hope for is being able to smile after the floodgates have closed.

Sometimes it's a joke I hear.

Sometimes it's the thought of his deep chocolate eyes that make me smile.

Sometimes, it's just knowing I have to stop asking why—why did this happen? The why question will gnaw away at your soul, leaving nothing in its wake if you don't keep it at bay. There will never be a good reason for why the love of my life, best friend and father to my children died so suddenly.

And so I go about my days, filling them with chores. I try to include lots of walking, reminding myself that one foot in front of another is how this healing thing will eventually unfold. My footsteps sometimes guide me to places unexpected, as though Mikey were drawing me near to say it'll be okay one day. That is how I happened upon Fanelli's last week—it's where we had our third date 16 years ago.

As the days pass, I'm trying to create some order and consistency for myself. I'm back to writing my Food Network column, Simple Scratch Suppers, and my final draft of the book proposal is in my agent's hands. For those of you wondering if the scope of my book project has changed, well, essentially no.

Yes, my feelings about cooking have changed the last 58 days. Mikey will never again taste my recipes. That is very hard for me to accept. That is why I'm working through the experience in my own special way. That story has yet to unfold, so I cannot write it, let alone even think of drafting a proposal about it. I just have to live it for now.

This current proposal captures my cooking life before Mikey died. The effortless one, where recipes popped into my head as quick as kernels of corn pop in a hot pot of oil. I don't believe I need to beat you over the head with memories of him in this book—he was alive and vibrant as each recipe was created. Hell, he came up with the name for the book over dinner one night.

Tonight, I'm going to find comfort in a humble pot of beans. My cooking from scratch approach in the kitchen is a perfect metaphor for repairing my heart and soul right now.

A Not So Simple Pot of Beans

I originally posted this recipe back in April. I figure since many of you are new to the blog, it would be a nice introduction to see how simple, and satisfying, it is to cook from scratch.

Don't let the title of this recipe fool you. There's nothing fussy or difficult about cooking the beans. It's what you add to the pot that elevates them from humble peasant food to culinary excellence. The cooking liquid is quite flavorful too, so feel free to stir it into soups and sauces in which you plan to use the beans too.

1 cup uncooked navy, black or pinto beans, picked over and rinsed

4 cups cold water

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, peeled

Generous pinch of sea salt and finely ground black pepper

Combine all of the ingredients in a 4-quart pot. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce flame to lowest setting. Cover pot and let the beans cook at a gentle simmer until tender, anywhere from 1 to 2 hours, depending on the freshness of your beans.

Remove the pot from heat and let the beans cool. Transfer to a container with the cooking liquid, cover and store in the refrigerator for up to one week, or freeze for up to two months.

 

chocolate snaps, and learning to cook again

The weekends are tough. There's just no way around it. Sure I can make plans to keep me and the girls busy from dawn to dusk, but the truth is I don't enjoy running around like crazy. Saturdays and Sundays were always our time to relax as a family.

The only real plan I ever had was going to the market every Saturday morning. Thanks to some wonderful friends, I've been able to get back into that routine. I went to the market here in Carroll Gardens one week after Mikey died. I had no idea the emotions that would flood me—it was as torrential as the rain coming down that morning. As I looked about, staring blankly at tomatoes, peaches, and eggplants, tears welled up in my eyes, realizing that he would never again taste anything I cooked.

Much of my creativity in the kitchen has been on hold since August 7th. I've been cooking, but the candid, carefree nature with which I developed recipes is gone. Mikey was my inspiration, my muse and it hurts deeply to know I can't share in a meal with him anymore.

I've been trying to get back on that horse the last seven weeks. While I haven't shared any new recipes here, I have been cooking, and occassionally creating. Those new recipes are tucked away in a journal. I don't know when I will be ready to share them. There's some amazing stuff in there—a new banana biscuit cake, a variation on my concord grape muffins, a smoky zucchini & spinach ravioli dish.

And then there's my recipe for fried chicken. That's one I've kept close to the vest. Fried chicken was Mikey's all-time favorite. Sara, Maggy, Melissa, Olga, Erin and Kim can tell you just how freakin' crispy the skin is. Penny can even vouch for its goodness the day after—I'm guessing she ate it cold from the fridge, just as Mikey surely would've.

To help jumpstart my recipe development juices, I started reading through my older posts. I wanted to catch a glimpse of what it was like writing, and existing in general, while Mikey was still alive. I thought perhaps I could channel that energy, and I came across my recipe for chocolate snaps. I'm reposting it for you all to read. Both the recipe and words are very special, and reminded me that Mikey would want me to get back in the kitchen. He knew that for me, cooking was about so much more than feeding people. It was where I found my sense of self and purpose in so many ways.

Thank you to everyone for the emails, comments, tweets and amazing words of support. Here's a little peek into how the story of Mikey and Jennie first started.

***

We sipped cappucinos at a little cafe in the Villlage. It may have been my first, now that I think about it. The rain thundered down, and we decided to make a run for the Mr.'s office to wait it out before making our way home. Lightening lit up the room as it flooded through the large picture windows. Butterflies took flight and my heart raced. As the thunder roared, we had our first kiss.

I remember that evening as if it was yesterday, and while 16 years have passed, two little girls have blossomed, and for better or worse has been tested, I am lucky enough to still feel that tingle that took over my tummy all those years ago.

Our life is quite busy now, but the moment I hear the front gate open, or his key turn the lock, my heart still skips a beat, sending me back to that moment we had when I was just 21. That is the most special gift not sold in stores. That tells you this one is a keeper, the one with whom you are meant to spend the rest of your life.

I met him when I was just a girl, and he has watched me grow into a woman.

His wife.

The mother of his children.

His soulmate—not because of where we came from, but where we want to be.

In a way, he knew my dreams before I did. He certainly gave me the push to go after them.

A chocolate recipe the day after Valentine's may seem silly, but true love doesn't last just one day. It lives in every word and glance you exchange. Its life beats in the little sparks you feel when your hands brush across each other. When you love someone, what really counts is how you love each other the other 364 days. Mark this recipe a keeper— like love you want to cherish it more than just once a year.

chocolate snaps

makes 90 cookies

print this recipe

This is the very first recipe I had published—so this is also an anniversary celebration. Ten years ago Rosemary Black from the New York Daily News contacted me to feature a chocolate cookie recipe for Valentine's Day. A few people asked if there was anything I'd change about the original. The answer is not really. I cut back a tiny bit on the sugar and have rewritten the directions slightly, but for the most part, this recipe delivered the goods just as I remembered from 10 years ago.

One new thing I've discovered is you can freeze the formed cookie dough drops, similiar to what I do with my chocolate chip cookies, so you can enjoy a plate of warm cookies whenever the mood strikes. Cold milk is optional, but highly recommended for dunking.

And if these cookies taste familiar, then you might have the same chocolate snap memory that beckoned me to develop this recipe in the first place. They were orginally made by Nabisco and even inspired this conversation on Chow a few years back. In case your still unsure if we're talking about the same chocolate snap cookie, then look at this picture and tell me if the box looks familiar.

1cup (129 grams) all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons (6 grans) cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon (3 grams) baking soda

1/8 teaspoon (1 gram) salt

1/2 cup (86 grams) bittersweet chocolate chips

1/2 cup (4 ounces) butter, softened

1/4 cup (54 grams) sugar

1/4 cup (62 grams) brown sugar, light or dark

1 large egg, at room temperature

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper; set aside. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt.

Place the choclate chips in a glass, microwave-safe bowl, and cook, uncovered, for 90 seconds, or until melted. Set aside to cool slightly.

In a large mixing bowl on medium-high speed, beat the butter and sugars until creamy. Add the egg and vanilla; beat for 1 minute until light and fluffy. Pour the melted chocolate into the bowl and beat for 1 more minute, until well-mixed.

Add the flour mixture, turn the mixer onto the lowest speed and mix until the flour is just incorporated. Stop the mixer and scrape down the sides of the bowl. Turn speed up to medium-high and beat for 30 seconds. The dough will look more like a thick cake batter than traditional cookie dough.

Fill a pastry bag and squeeze coin-sized dollops of dough 1-inch apart onto the prepared baking sheets. I can fit 24 cookies each on my half-sheet pans. Bake for 9 minutes, then remove sheets from the oven and let cool on the tray for two minutes. Using a spatula, transfer the cookies to the rack and let cool completely. Repeat with remaining dough, or see note for freezing formed cookies to bake at another time.

Freezer Note:

Place drops of dough onto a parchment lined cookie sheet—no need to leave too much space since you're not baking them right now. Place the tray in the freezer until cookies set, about 20 minutes. Place formed cookies in a ziptop bag and remove as much air as possible. Freeze for up to one month. When ready to bake, follow directions, adding 1 extra minute to the cooking time, for a total of 10 minutes.