Martha, Martha, Martha!

It's a stretch to reference a scene in The Brady Bunch (where Jan is jealous of Marcia) by changing the name Marcia to Martha but I am choosing to do it anyway.

It’s election day and that’s… fine.

I have nothing inspiring to add to the conversation. I don’t feel too optimistic regardless of the outcome, but of course I voted. I don’t feel judgmental if you didn’t vote (unless it was due to laziness or negligence) because I don’t think shame is a productive motivator.

I, of course, am fearful of terrible things like racism, transphobia, xenophobia, and fascism being upheld by a potential democratic leader. I, of course, am fearful of a constituency who shares the possession of His beliefs. I am also feeling numb to the political reality which is why optimism is hard to find here. I feel like Reba, completely unwilling to read the god damn room today.

I will be working dinner service tonight at the restaurant when the election results start to become clear. I feel grateful to have a life that honors food and cooking as security, tethering me to reality when things feel so out of whack. I think it will feel good to serve people tonight, to nourish a community, to literally feed. 

Issa Knife When…

Like clockwork, daylight savings cuts whatever joy we have like a single-blade razor on a two day old, sturdy-yet-short-in-length patch of stubble on a smooth, fatty part of your body. The calf on a leg, the cheek of a face. Not the knee, not the chin. It’s a seamless, clean, and easy job for the razor. It’s funny how we get so much warning about this blade. I mean, it happens every year. Twice even! But yet, here we are: cowering and whimpering at the blade that comes to cut us. I cower, yes, and I whimper, sure, because I am human. But this year I am doing it to a lesser degree. I am trying to accept the sight of Charles-Henri Sanson at my doorstep. I am resigning and letting him in for dinner. 

The first night it got dark early I took an edible, made a really delicious meal, and watched the new Martha Stewart documentary. I found it to be completely revelatory. I feel inspired. I am obsessed with the concept that Martha Stewart does not admit to ever having her life ruined, wholly refusing to be a victim in any regard. She does not do this in any valiant way, or anything that hints at martyrdom: she makes mistakes, was unfaithful in her marriage, cruel to her staff, uptight in her work, and was cold as a mother. But what was so inspiring to me is that because of (not in spite of) all of this nuance in her person, she maintained a north star that would then become the catch-all title to her omnichannel empire: living. How delicious is that word? This word encapsulates all that it means to be an entertainer, a host, a cook, a diner, a planner, a project manager, an enjoyer, and above all a lover of the art of dazzling. All this while being a bitch! Dazzling and bitchery are not mutually exclusive. And she was, as the documentary notes many times over, the first ever lifestyle influencer. All this while being the first self-made female billionaire in the country. So beyond fabulous. 

Chicken (and mushroom and miso) pot pie notes:

On the topic of hosting, daylight savings darkness, and nourishing community it is my absolute pleasure to start talking about the transition into dinner party mode. Part of the reason that winter is bearable is because we all feel more comfortable ditching our outside social plans for plans that are dinner at home with friends (and ~148 bottles of wine). I host friends for meals year-round, but there is something so decadent about hosting dinner in the winter. Hosting can vary in size - maybe dinner is for a single lover, two long-lost friends, or a large group of gay guys. Whatever the size of your party, it is necessary to have a recipe you can scale, hence why I have turned to my “pot pie by volume” conversion chart often. 

A creamy pot pie base is made from a roux, which is where you combine fat and flour to coat your filling. You slowly add liquid to the goopy roux which acts as a thickener - and the liquid you add is the part of the equation that has some wiggle room here. Some people like a really thick and sturdy pot pie, some like a looser, stew-like texture. Take the below pot-pie-by-volume conversions as a starting place, not a law. Here’s a scalable recipe base I like to use:

• Pot pie for one: one tbsp butter, one tbsp flour, one chicken thigh, ¼ up each chopped carrots, celery, and leek, 1 garlic clove, 1 cup torn mushrooms, one tsp miso, 1/2 cup chicken stock

• Pot pie for two: two tbsp butter, two tbsp flour, two chicken thighs, ½ cup each chopped carrots, celery, and leek, 2 garlic cloves, 2 cups torn mushrooms, two tsp miso, 1 cup chicken stock

• Pot pie for three: three tbsp butter, three tbsp flour, three chicken thighs, ¾ cup each chopped carrots, celery, and leek, 3 garlic cloves, 3 cups torn mushrooms, three tsp miso 1.5 cup chicken stock

• Pot pie for four: four tbsp butter, four tbsp flour, four chicken thighs, 1 cup each chopped carrots, celery, and leek, 4 garlic cloves, 4 cups torn mushrooms, four tsp miso, 2 cups chicken stock

The process looks the same regardless of size. The video above is an example of pot pie for one, baked in a cute little mini loaf pan.

The general steps are this: cook the chicken thigh(s), remove and set aside before you chop or shred the meat. Saute your veggies in the chicken fat with whatever seasonings you like, and then melt butter into the mixture before you add the flour. Once the flour goes in, make sure it covers everything in your pan to form a delightful goop before adding in chicken stock little by little. I like to add a splash of cream or yogurt at the end to make the mixture creamy. Stir in miso, add back in your chicken, adjust for salt and other seasoning levels before you transfer to a baking dish. Lay puff pastry on top and bake according to package instructions (typically between 375 and 400) but know that the smaller your pot pie, the shorter the cooking time.