Stories

I Chat With: Chef Floyd Cardoz of North End Grill

“When you do something good for people you don’t do good because you want something good to come out of it: you do it for the goodness of your heart and soul, what your parents teach you to do. I believe that if everybody does their part this would be a better place to live in.”

It’s not often that a chef moves me to tears in an interview, let alone twice.

Yet Chef Cardoz did just that.

Our chat together inspired many such moments, where his balanced belief system gave me confidence that kitchens aren’t always about ego, celebrity doesn’t always mean drama, and good food can be created by happy hands.

I could go on about how special this interview was, and how much I look forward to heading down to North End Grill again for a long lunch. Or how much I hope that Chef Cardoz and I do get to share a Portuguese meal together in Jersey (he’s from Goa, a Portuguese part of India where my Indian godfather is from which is how he met my Portuguese family). Or how the world, this city and my profession do seem friendlier knowing that such chefs are out there.

Head over to Serious Eats NY to read the full interview.

Stay dry and warm,

– Jacqueline

Oh, and if you missed it earlier today, check out my new “Private Chef-ing By the Book” post with Seamus Mullen’s HERO FOOD. I also interviewed Chef Mullen for this Serious Eats series!

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Carrot Soup with Tarragon, Ginger and Toasted Pepitas: Private Chef-ing By the Book with Seamus Mullen

Funny story:

Last April I was soaking my arthritic bones in a deep bath full of Epsom salts and essential oils, melting away the wet of Spring, with Seamus Mullen’s soon-to-be-released Hero Food cookbook. I was interviewing Chef Mullen for my column on Serious Eats NY, and the book had been messengered over for my research. As I flipped through the intro, I was flabbergasted: Seamus has rheumatoid arthritis, a chronic immune disease that manifests with symptoms and patterns similar to my own with Lyme. I jumped out of the tub, threw on a robe and, dripping, held the book up to my roommate, with a “you’ll never guess what this cookbook is about!!”

Which was an unfair proclamation.

Because while, indeed, Chef Mullen battles RA, the book isn’t about that. It’s about delicious food that also happens to be good for you.

When I was first diagnosed with Lyme Disease at 12 years old, massive amounts of antibiotics weren’t cutting it. I couldn’t walk for a long period, I couldn’t eat, I attended school sporadically when I could, and in general my brain and body were in Lala land seemingly without end. It wasn’t until my mom found a nutritionist who put me on a strict diet, lots of supplements and IV vitamin drips that my immune system got so strong that my symptoms went away – relatively speaking – even though the Lyme did not.

Growing up with Lyme – including dealing with two serious flairs again in adulthood – taught me a lot about food. There were many I had to avoid – some incredibly strictly during certain periods but in moderation in others – and some that to this day I can’t touch. But there were also some that I needed to load my diet with so that my digestive tract, immune system and joints had a bit of extra help.

Seamus calls them hero foods.

Two decades later, I’m a private chef in a household with no dietary restrictions. Actually, I call myself a “private cook”, because a chef I am not. I am adept at making delicious things and, yes, can cook without guidance. But for inspiration and to widen my skill-set I often take advantage of my job and bring favorite books I want to explore to work with me. And as my blogging time has been diminished by my cooking, interviewing and event-covering time, I figured I should let my professions overlap when possible.

Hence this new series, “Private Chef-ing By the Book”.

It’s fitting that I’m starting with Hero Food because this time of year I’m back in the tub often. My job is physical, and I have to medicate, soak and sleep more often to battle the pain it brings my joints. 

Just reading through Mullen’s Spanish-based recipes brings me comfort; not only do I love the ingredients he focuses on (olive oil, almonds, anchovies, good eggs, good birds, parsley etc.), but reminding myself why they’re healing for me helps me connect more intimately with them, reminding me to give them more attention when I’m frantically cooking in someone’s kitchen.

In Hero Foods this carrot soup is made to celebrate summer, with gorgeous fresh carrots and a splash of citrus. But since it’s chilly and damp in NYC I’ve made a few tiny adjustments. In the original recipe Chef Mullen blanches the carrots: I’ve chosen to roast them. He tops his with yogurt: for my boss-family I stirred some creme fraiche in instead, and for my holiday dinner-party I’ll serve it with tangy goat yogurt so I can enjoy it too. And because it’s autumn now in New York City, I toasted some pepitas and tossed them in cinnamon and a pinch of sugar to sweeten the deal a bit. I adjusted some ingredients a tad and served the soup hot rather than chilled.

This soup is delicious. I’d never thought to add orange juice or zest to a carrot or squash soup, and it brightens and enlivens the rooty vegetables. Streaming in olive oil at the end emulsified it to a smooth cream. And not using chicken stock – which is my go-to for adding flavor and depth – really let the carrots remain the star and the gentle garlic, ginger and tumeric do the flavoring. And while I love tarragon and use it often, serving it on top rather than blending it in as I usually do helps it stand out rather than meld with a pluthera of equally-amazing flavors.

I’ve cooked from Chef Mullen’s book a few times already. And on top of the deep flavors I’ve created, it’s given me mindful time in the kitchen with ingredients that should be constantly in my rotation. Soon I’ll be pickling mushrooms to add to my cheese plate and pan-roasting Brussels sprouts with some (Portuguese… sorry Mullen) chorico for Thanksgiving. At work next week I’m going to make his tender lamb meatballs in a gentle tomato sauce and ricotta. And when the weather warms up again, I’m going to utilize the grill in my boss-family’s summer home to do more smoking, which I can’t do in my tiny NYC apartment.

But, until then…

There’s Hero Soup.

Stay warm and dry, East Coasters,

– Jacqueline

** Note: Chef Mullen is also the owner of Tertulia, in NYC. I took my friend Nikk – the chef whose job I took on – for his going away / birthday dinner. It’s one of the best meals I’ve ever had, and is one of my favorite restaurants around. If you love flavor-packed food, salty fish, cured meats, incredible cheeses, bright vegetables and potent wine, go there soon. If you don’t… um…

Carrot Soup with Tarragon, Ginger and Toasted Pepitas

Based on Seamus Mullen’s Chilled Carrot Soup with Yogurt and Tarragon from Hero Food.
Serves 4-6 depending on serving sizes

Ingredients:

2 lbs carrots, peeled and cut into 1″ chunks
1/2 cup olive oil (the book specified Arebquina, which happens to be what I had on hand!)
2 shallots, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, finely diced
2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
Zest and juice of 1 orange
1/4 tsp whole tumeric
Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper
Creme fraiche, if desired, or whatever yogurt you can digest (or omit completely to make vegan)
About 4 tarragon fronds or 2 Tbsp coarsely chopped tarragon

For the Pepitas:

Note: Thanks go to Chef Anthony Ricco at The Spice Market, NYC, for this pepitas idea. He serves it on an incredible sweet butternut squash soup that I’ll be for Thanksgiving. His interview coming up in a few weeks on Serious Eats.

1/4 cup pepitas (small hulled pumpkin seeds)
1 Tbsp olive oil 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp sugar, if desired

Directions:

Heat oven to 375°.

Combine carrots and about 2 Tbsp oliver oil on a large baking tray. Sprinkle with salt, cover loosely with foil, and roast for about 30 minutes, until almost steamed and completely soft, and slightly browned on bottom. Remove to cool slightly.

While the carrots are roasting, prepare the pepitas: place pepitas and olive oil in a cold skillet and place over medium/high heat. As the temperature starts to rise stir and then start tossing until they crackle, pop and expand. When they’re equally lightly browned and full in size, remove quickly to a bowl. Toss with a pinch of salt, cinnamon and sugar (if desired – you don’t need to).

Meanwhile, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a skillet on medium heat. Add shallots, and cook to sweat, 1-2 minutes. Add garlic and toss quickly to warm and slightly sweat, about another minute more.

Place cooked carrots, shallots, garlic, vinegar, orange juice and zest, tumeric, and ginger in a blender, food processor or large pot (and use a hand blender). Start running the blender on high and slowly add warm water until you get to the “velvety” consistency you desire, about 2 cups. Reduce the speed of your blender/mixer, and stream in about 1/2-1 cup olive oil until emulsified and gorgeously smooth.

Adjust taste with salt and pepper, and add more acid from vinegar or orange if desired.

Pour into serving bowls and top with a dallop of creme fraiche / yogurt, a few fronds of tarragon, a swirl of olive oil and some toasted pepitas.

I Chat With James Oseland, Editor-in-Chief of Saveur Magazine

When I set out to start shaping my writing career around the culinary world, I had no real expectation. At the time I was more focused on getting in front of a camera, sharing my dusty little recipes in a friendly environment for those struggling with food allergies. But, honestly, it takes a lot of energy to be a performer, and after 10+ years of pushing to find it I’ve realized sometimes my body doesn’t have that energy.

So writing became the focus. I’ve always been a reader, and an observer, and been most excited by what excites others – hence why I wanted to slip into the skin of another person as an actor, or make documentary films on other kinds of performers, or now interview chefs in their own kitchens.

I remember my first issue of Saveur Magazine… or at least the first I purchased and the one that made me sign up for a subscription shortly after. It was #123: Why Lamb Rules. Along with a diagram of cuts of lamb and recipes from all over the world on how to prepare it, the issue also featured different types of cinnamon and which apples proved to be best for baking (I remember all of this, including the images of lamb, cinnamon and apples, as I sit here… I didn’t have to look this up).

I read a lot about food. But Saveur has a special place in my heart. Reading it – both in print and now on my iPad – takes me all over the world and into the kitchens and dining tables of places I could only dream of eating at and exploring.

So today’s interview on Serious Eats was a special one for me. James Oseland is incredibly kind, passionate, energetic. His love of food and his trajectory with how he got to Saveur is delightful. He talked for over an hour, and it was a nightmare cutting down some truly entertaining tidbits for the article. He uses such colorful language so fluidly, and paints incredible pictures with his words.

One thing I pointed out in the interview is how much I admire how Saveur’s stories really do tie together food with family, culture, the earth, and god – however the subject perceives those to be. When Brent and I went to the Acores last year, several of the stories we were working on I had with Saveur in mind. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll get back there together.

Until then, please check out this very special interview on Serious Eats.

Happy Tuesday,

– Jacqueline

The NYC Wine and Food Festival (and on Not Eating At Work)

Elizabeth Karmel’s PB&J Cupcakes at NYC Wine and Food Festival SWEET event, photo Jacqueline Raposo

There’s something curious about straddling worlds as a food person who writes things that people (sometimes) read and pay attention to.

I’ve had these fun little allergies for a few decades now, but for the most part rarely feel deprived, as there’s a plethora of alternative ingredients to cow-dairy and gluten that didn’t exist when I was a tween battling her first bout of Lyme disease. I can ingest a small amount of gluten without killing myself, and a few times a year indulge on something really special: a local beer at a baseball game with friends on the Ohio river in Cincinnati: a piece of a hot, crusty Portuguese roll with my family. I admitted this in a blog post for Easy Eats after a and the response from the gluten-free community was mixed, with some challenging my credentials in working for a gluten-free publication and one person saying flat out that they were no longer going to follow the magazine.

So there’s that.

My piece on Tacos and Tequila rocking the hour on Serious Eats (and SWEET is up there too)

On the flip side, I interview chefs and cover events for Serious Eats NY, where I often can’t eat what is offered to me. I either pick what I can off a plate, rely on my partner (Brent Herrig, who thank dog can eat everything) or question those around me for details and opinions. So far no one has questioned my credibility to write in this world, though I haven’t called particular attention to the fact that I didn’t eat a single bite from the NYC Wine and Food Festival’s SWEET event because every single dessert offered contained gluten and/or dairy, most often both.

Seems that one world is easier to get by in and the other more serious, though curiously juxtaposed in their titleage.

I never quite how odd my absence of eating could be until covering the New York City Wine and Food Festivals Chopped, SWEET and Tacos and Tequila events. At Chopped (all the judges from the TV show Chopped dishing out at Marc Murphy’s Landmarc) I could literally only eat Murphy’s pork belly – if I just ate the meat off the bun. At SWEET – nada. I went home both nights very hungry. At Tacos and Tequila, I picked my way through (and thoroughly enjoyed) what I could. Luckily Brent has become part of my anti-allergy team and questions ingredients alongside me, warning me when not to take a bite (and refilling my tequila and soda as needed).

This doesn’t mean, though, that I don’t love straddling both of these worlds. In fact, I don’t see them as two different worlds. They’re just… well… my world. There was no “gluten-free community” or food blogs when I started on my personal relationship with watching how food affects my body. There was just me, my plate, and how my body accepted or rejected what I put on it.

So I’m still celebrating what I can eat and what I can’t. For some reason, this has resulted in my profession being creating and writing about food. And now and then accepting that maybe I’ll just have to go a little hungry… and drink some tequila and shake it on a dance floor.

Check out the little colored words in the post for my pieces on Easy Eats and Serious Eats, and the images below to take you to those events.

Slainte,

– Jacqueline

NYC Wine and Food Festival’s SWEET event, Friday October 12th (photo, me)

NYC Wine and Food Festival’s Tacos and Tequila, Saturday October 13th (photo Brent Herrig)

A Big Empty House and Early Grey Tea

I grew up in one house for pretty much most of my childhood.

When I was about 4 years old, my family bought a piece of property in CT consisting of a one-bedroom cottage and a lot of trees. Tucked into the corner of a small state park, wild violets would blanket the small yard in the summer and I recall my older sister Jessica once dragging me up the steep driveway after school one snowy day on a sled. We lived in that cottage – my parents, my three siblings, our two dogs and I – while my dad built on that land what would be our home.

For years trees fell, foundation was poured, sheetrock went up. My younger days were spent climbing up and down piles of various rocks, dirt and gravel with our neighbors; over a dozen of us around the same age would ramble between our houses, connected by paths through the woods and across our small suburban street. We would pretend we that we were Indians (nowadays we would politically-correctly say we were playing we were Native Americans),building sets of dishes out of bits of slate and wood, barefoot in the yard while rain poured down, trying to be at one with nature.

In the house that would become our home we picked our bedrooms, painted them the colors we wanted, each connectedto a sibling by a shared bathroom. We picked out spots at the kitchen table in the now huge kitchen. My parents bought a baby grand piano for the music room, and we would practice while sound echoed throughout the space etched out by high ceilings and open doorways. My sister would later get her PhD in music, and the sound of various instruments would be our soundtrack over the years.

In the house that was our home we held Sweet 16s, several weddings (though none for my siblings and I – us girls will always remember the dream of walking down the winding center staircase in white) baby showers (one only months ago for my best childhood friend, who is now the mother to a beautiful baby girl), around 15 years of fancy New Years Eve parties that welcomed often over a hundred people, clambakes, post-prom parties, and closing night bashes of casts from high school shows through when I was producing professionally as an adult.

My father’s mother spent her last years and last days in a bedroom off of the kitchen, and where my father rebuilt the guest bathroom with handicapped access for her. I can’t count how many cousins and friends lived with us over the years. My parents we never the kind to turn away someone without a home.

I’ve spent every holiday of my life but one in that house at some point throughout the day. I’ve picked dozens of daffodils, my favorite flower, from the hundreds upon hundreds my parents planted in the now open yards. When I’ve been very, very sick with my Lyme disease, I wandered the gardens slowly and sat in the shade, letting the peaceful energy of the house just hold me while I waited to heal.

The house grew over the years, and seemed to ebb and flow with people and sentimental items. When my mom moved out a few years ago the dynamic changed and my family shifted a bit. But my father and two sisters were still there, and other family members came and went, and my brother still worked in the office every day. So whenever I came home chances were we’d all still be together, even if in between transit to somewhere else.

My sisters recently moved out – both in the same week – and today is the first time I’ve been back to feel the absence. My dad is gone for the weekend, my brother taking a much-deserved day off, my mother (who now lives a mile away) is on the other coast, and a man who works for my father and lives here a few months of the year just left for the airport to fly back to Poland for the winter. Now, at this moment, I’m home to work in the office a bit. When I got here I put on the kettle and grabbed a tea bag from my stash in the pantry. I poured hot water over it into the yellow British teapot that I bought to leave here. The house is quiet. Too quiet. And I start to roam.

I walk through Lil Sis’ empty in-law apartment. To the library where Jess taught private flute lessons. Up to my room and through our shared bathroom, which is now empty and set up with guest towels and packaged toothbrushes. Through to her room, which echoes. Mitra pads along behind me, and I set her food and water down where I set Rusty’s before her, and Heidi’s before his. We walk outside and I look up at a tall pine tree, now 30 feet high, and remember when my dad planted it for Lil Sis after one Christmas, where she had decorated it at 2 feet tall, its roots nestled into a wrapped paper tub. Back inside, I sing while washing my teapot out, and the space feels wrong. I look past the kitchen table through the dining room and into the now-empty library. I feel my grandmother not being in the guest room off the kitchen, where she had been every single day until a few years ago. The kitchen where I’ve made countless gluten-free pies and cookies, and prepared meals for my family, is practically bare. I was told to lock up all the doors around the house, and its large emptiness seems, more and more… less like my home.

When did life speed up so fast?

Earl Gray Tea

Place one tea bag in a large mug or pot. Pour just-boiling water over it. Steep for 3-5 minutes to desired strength.

Sip while breathing deeply, giving thanks, being present, and letting go.

Female Chefs join to Benefit SHARE, a breast and ovarian cancer organization

Chefs Gabrielle Hamilton, Sue Torres, Anita Lo, Amanda Freitag and Elizabeth Faulkner. Photo Kym Fajardo.

“Pathology’s benign – just have to repeat the test in 6 months. Thx for all your love + support.”

That is exactly the kind of text you want to receive from a good friend, especially when a long day is going to be celebrated by covering a benefit for breast and ovarian cancer. I got off the subway to find it flashing triumphantly on my phone yesterday, and almost cried out in relief. I know these kinds of texts are going to change the older we get, but I really wasn’t ready for hearing the opposite. I know – we never are. But I’ll push off that moment as long as possible.

Yet, when it comes, at least I know there’s a community of love and support waiting. The world surrounding breast and ovarian cancer support has grown dramatically in my lifetime, and continues to thrive today. Last night I attended A Second Helping of Life, an event bringing together some of New York City’s best female chefs to benefit SHARE, a breast and ovarian cancer support organization. It brings together survivors and their families, offering education, a forum to discuss, and community.

It was a beautiful event, and I was psyched to see so many of the chefs I’ve interviewed there and make connections withe more to come. And, of course, it was just delicious.

Head on over to Serious Eats NY for the full coverage.

I Chat With: Chef Jim Botsacos of Molyvos and Abboccato

Chef Jim Botsacos at Molyvos, NYC. Photo Brent Herrig.

There’s something about an Italian chef.

And there’s something about a Greek chef.

Jim Botsacos is both Italian and Greek.

He had a lot to talk about.

Today on Serious Eats NY I chat with Chef Jim Botsacos of Molyvos and Abboccato restaurants in Manhattan. It was a truly delightful interview. For he talked mostly on family, and food, and culture. On how we inherit food traditions from our elders and how to bequeath them to the younger generations.

Chef Jim’s eyes light up when he talks about dishes and methods and ingredients to the point that both of our mouths were watering and he had to punctuate his sentence with a hand-gesture or a “boom” or “pop” vocally. His “tutti mangiare”, “shit, man” and “amazing” made him sound so New York City. He pulled out pictures of his kids. I walked away with tips on making meatballs incredibly fluffy and how to bake eggplant down to buttery, soft deliciousness.

And then there were things, as someone who also comes from very food-centered Mediterranean roots, just really hit home:

“Over the course of time you lose the language and people change, but you still have a close connection with the food.”

“Instinctively I gravitated towards the food of my culture. It’s imbedded in me. Family dynamics change, but no one can take food away from you.”

The interview is up today on Serious Eats NY.

Check it out.

Tutti mangiare!

I Chat With Chef Anita Lo of Annisa, NYC

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“I’ve always been a fan of language in general. On some levels I think that literature is the highest art—it excites the imagination, which had no borders to it.”

Today a particularly lovely interview goes live on Serious Eats NY: a chat with Anita Lo of Annisa. The 25th in this very special series, it’s another one that makes me feel so fortunate to be so welcomed into the kitchens of some very generous, talented, hard-working people.

And head here for a roundup of my favorite quotes and stellar images (from my rockstar partner, Brent Herrig) with the chefs in e series thus far.

Happy Monday!

Gluten-Free EASY EATS Magazine Summer Issue (my feature!)

HOORAY for the launch of Easy Eats Magazine’s current summer issue!!!

I feel so fortunate to be on the editorial staff of this amazing publication, headed up by Edit0r-in-Chief Silvana Nardone, who not only is an amazing chef and sharp editorial eye, but who has also taught me (by example) how to delegate responsibility, trust the talents of others, live creatively and just chill the heck out about the details.

My feature in the summer issue – a profile of Red Bee Honey Farm and 4 original gluten-free, honey-based recipes.

My feature in this issue is on Red Bee Honey Farm in Weston, CT. Between running back and forth to the Hamptons for my chef gig and managing my family’s business in Wilton, CT, I was able to catch a few minutes with owner / beekeeper Marina and steal some fun tidbits on what makes local honey so delicious. I was sold, immediately. I started noticing the different hues and flavors of the delicious honeys of the northeast, and stopped raising an eyebrow at the extensive prices.

More than anything, this new attention has changed the way I cook with honey. From something as simple as whisking a bit of clover or blueberry honey with some fresh lemon, mint leaves and bourbon to choosing which honey I want to focus in my dairy-free Honeybun Ice Cream.. I’ve been converted.

There are many reasons to become a subscriber to this ridiculously affordable, high-quality publication. So if you’ve got an extra dime and like good food… go for it.

Or if you wanna skip to the preview version of my article, head here.

Or for my four super-sweet featured recipes, check out my dairy-free Honeybun ice cream, roasted strawberry salad dressing, Sesame Honey chicken marinade and Lemon Honey Cranberry Granola Bars.

Or, if none of those ideas floats your boat, wrap your arms around yourself, squeeze and smile.

Why not, right?

Sweetly,

– Jacqueline

Happy Birthday, “I Love You”, and Chewy Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

Chewy Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

Post-post note! The day after this went live I was featured on America’s Test Kitchen for their Blogger Spotlight series! A few years ago my dear friend Thom turned me on to ATK and Cooks Illustrated in general, and I’ve come to refer to this incredibly knowledgeable source for any base recipe that I NEED to get right on the first try: basically they take a recipe and dissect it to the core, and then explain to you WHY certain combinations worked and others didn’t. I was honored, the day after my birthday, to be spotlighted by this incredibly well-known publication, especially with such an intro by their social media intern Belle Cushing.

Last night around midnight my dad woke me up to crack a huge bottle of champagne and have a chat in the backyard hot tub. I had literally just turned 31 – the age my dad was when he had me. We’ve renamed this occasion the “Better Champagne Birthday”. Climbing back into bed later after a text from my mom and a phone call with a good friend, I started mulling on the love in my life.

When I was 19, Ruark was the first man (of no familial relation) to say “I love you” to me. Or, at least, the first one of significance. It was New Years Eve of 2000/2001, and we were dressed formally and dancing at my parents’ house. Since then I’ve remembered every first “I love you” – where I was, if something as simple as making crepes inspired it, and how it felt physically inside of me to say and hear those words with someone for the first time. I remember this with all the men I’ve dated and all the women who’ve honored me with their friendship, giving their “I love you’s” so freely and fully that they’ve sometimes come for the first time at the end of a text or an email. The older I grow, the more weight those words carry. But a good weight – like a thick quilt in the dead of winter or stepping into a cool pool of water on a blistering summer day.

This week I was gifted with a new “I love you”. “I love you very much”, specifically. It caught me off guard. It was delicate, and genuine, and the kind of gift you want to wrap up and tuck somewhere safe.

I said “I love you” right back to this friend – and meant it – and the evening continued on, those words spoken and then left, sweetly, in the air. And then the next day they troubled me. And then the following day I found myself deeply introspective.

So I lay in bed in the first few hours of my 31st year thinking of “I love you”:

The way my father tells me – over and over again – that no one will ever love me as much as he does. The way my mother and I say it as we hug tight. The way my siblings and I say it easily and fully and often. The way Ruark and I end every phone call with it, still, though we’ve not been a couple for three years now. The way Lindsey’s “love you’s” have seen me through 15 years of growing pains. The way Abby ends a text with, “love you darlin”. Or Lyndsey’s “I love you’s” are so full and rich I feel her inside my heart though she’s hundreds of miles away. The way I now have to raise my voice to tell my grandparents I love them so that they can hear it. Or how I can say “I love you” over and over to Mitra, who doesn’t need words to know I do.

I was told recently that old souls say “I love you” first. I rarely have that courage, though I often say that them my head while holding tight or keeping a gaze. Once I’ve said them once, I want to say them again, and in any moment that feels significant.

But I think we often let fear stop us from expressing our love. Or at least I do. Not surface love or lust or social propriety, but real love and affection and attachment. Do we do this for protection or self-preservation? Or because once someone’s said “I love you” we immediately fear the day they’ll go away and we’ll be left to wonder what happened to that love?

And where does that love go once a relationship has ended? If we haven’t seen someone for a month, a year, a decade… where is that love?

Is it possible to love someone who said goodbye to me many years ago or to love someone who I’ve known for only a few months?

I guess the older you get and the more you experience, the more there is to chew on at 1:30 in the morning.

But, today, for me, love is everywhere. It’s in the people who, at some point on my birthday, will think of me with love. It’s in listening to the song that Ruark wrote me for my birthday last year. In wearing the pink chef coat that Erika gave me today. In flipping through the “Cook” Book that Dalane made me of all the menus and quirky texts I’ve sent him since starting my chef job out east.

It’s in Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies. The new “I love you very much” person’s favorite sweet. I love making people’s favorites for their birthdays – cheesecake, Snickerdoodles, apple pies, brownies… they’ve been my way to say “I love you” when celebrating someone’s birth. Today, as I transcribe and clean and ponder on the conjunction of a few harmless, full words, I’m thinking “love” with butter, flour, and chocolate.

– Jacqueline

Chewy Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

Makes about 18 cookies

Note: these are adapted from America’s Test Kitchen / Cooks Illustrated, which I find incredibly reliable when you want to nail something specific. They’re chewy and soft, but very sweet. In general I love subtle sweets, so while these are perfect for those who want bakery or Toll House-type cookies, don’t say I didn’t warn you if, like me, you prefer them with a bit of heft from nuts or oatmeal or almond butter. Sometimes love is baking outside your box.

Ingredients:

  • 10.5 oz gluten-free flour blend (mine was 6 oz brown rice flour, 3 oz. tapioca flour and 1.5 oz millet flour, more or less)
  • 1/2 tsp xanthan gum
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 12 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled
  • 1 cup dark brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup coconut palm sugar (or white sugar)
  • 1 large egg
  • 1 large egg yolk
  • 2 tsp vanilla extract
  • 1 cup dark or semi-sweet chocolate baking chips (regular or oversized, as I used here)

Preheat oven to 325°. Line two large cookie sheets with parchment.

Measuring out the flours in a medium bowl. Add xanthan gum, salt and baking soda. Set aside.

In the bowl of a standing mixer with the whisk attachment (or hand mixer), beat sugars and butter until thoroughly combined. Add egg and vanilla and beat until smooth and slightly fluffy. On low speed, add flour mixture until just combined. Fold in chocolate chips.

Scoop into balls (about 1/4 cup or smaller, depending on how you like your cookies). Crack a ball in half and then fit the smooth sides together, so the rough dough from the middle makes the edges rougher and gives more surface area for texture. Place at least 3″ apart on baking sheets.

Bake for 15-18 minutes, rotating halfway through, until edges are slightly crispy but centers are still soft.

Cool on baking sheets (this will help the insides continue to cook but the edges stop before getting too crispy).

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