Bourbon, Brown Butter, and Chocolate Chip Pecan Pie

love. thank you.

inhales and exhales thought consciously remembering

how easy love could arrive. how it meant something to thank you. release

all of that, before

a ballon threatened to pop beneath your rib cage each time and you stopped even listening to your breath

and you couldn’t concentrate and suddenly it’s years later and here you are, recalling

love squeaks past the elephant on your chest and you don’t feel there’s enough air to let out thank you.

you start to wonder if this will last forever. you start to wonder when it will ever go away.

and then you remember why it is hard to accept that love would want to be there and why maybe you can’t believe you have to say thank you because it isn’t easy and that when all of it shifts you will have to embody those two things because you will have learned something useful and it dawns on you to ask,

what is it you are trying to tell me?

and it doesn’t answer right away, or it does, and you don’t speak the language yet [love], but this is a start [thank you]

even if you never get there, and your time is spent putting things in the wrong places (chocolate chips in pie crust and browned bits in butter and sea salt on sweet things and taking a slice for yourself before the big event)

it is coming

love. thank you.


Anniversary Espresso Brownie Pie

You know, the best things I’ve encountered are unassuming. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges. Dirt-colored pie crust crumbling on its way to a plate.

I suppose I have seen many things go unplanned in one direction or another since we met.

[It’s been a long time.] And I was thinking-

perhaps a trip down Memory Lane will do us both some good.

Remember that time we had Colorful Kapusniak? That was tasty. And, Zucchini Pizza with Lemon and Chives. Crying. Also, when I drove around Minneapolis dropping off slices of Atlantic Beach Pie for everyone. Because priorities. See also: Warm Spaghetti Squash-ta Salad with Beurre Meunière, Tomatoes, and Feta. Dead. Ugh, and those zingy Quick Pickled Red Onions! And, remembering my dad with my Hibiscus Herbal Tea. Then, mending hearts with Lemon, Mint, and Rose Tea.

We’ve been through a lot together. I made this to celebrate, because surely

the only thing that can make brownies better (and I have done my research) is turning them into pie????

Buttery, crumbly, espresso-ed pie crust meets sea-salt topped, pecan-ed, fudge-y brownie goo. Slightly too much crust, like all pies ought to have. Sightly underdone in the middle, like all brownies ought to be. Because, we’ve been doing this thing for six years now, and I think we all know to do what we like.

Sincerely, though-

thank you for following. Wishing you a future filled with less hate and more. pie.

love to you

❤ kc

Cookies ‘n Cream Cookies

notes on trickery + jack-o-lanterns on oreos:

I realized upon waking that I am not the same person. I have lost

the parts of me that fit, back then.

And I would not describe the loss Ideal,

nor would I admit those limbs have not been phantom, but

we are different now + i am able now

and even the cookies we knew as kids have different faces

when the world keeps turning, with or without,

changing colors and not waiting for permission to move on.

Grapefruit Applesauce

It is okay to see both sides and

still stick where you are stuck. Not everything is understandable at face value

and thank God.

You don’t ever have to be what you seem from your appearance in one dimension

to a single set of eyes on a given day.

Everything will go on, as is, either way.

Salted Butter Chocolate Chunk Shortbread

Simple pleasure:

Opening the windows at night to let the chill in. Freshly laundered clothing on your freshly showered body.

Stopping for brownies on the way home from work. Not setting an alarm for your afternoon nap.

The way the sun shines through the blinds over cookie batter. Cozying on the couch to gossip with your best friend.

Slicing rounds of dough rolled in sugar before baking. Puppy dog kisses. Sitting on the floor watching Harry Potter instead of doing work.

Discovering the television can be turned so you can watch in bed. Little mosaics of chocolate shards and salted butter, melting into pools of perfect shortbread.

Drops of geranium oil over dried lavender sprigs. When you (absentmindedly) move your foot so it isn’t on top of his, and he (absentmindedly) moves his foot so it is touching yours again.

Selecting whichever cookie calls to you from the cooling rack. Bending it in half. Chocolate oozing. Sugared edges crunching before butteriness. Salivating at little sea salt flecks.

(Returning for another.)

The Autumn Playlist 2018

“We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.”

In winter say the snow-bound, “She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.”

And in the summer heat the reapers say,
“We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves,
and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.”

All these things have you said of beauty,
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

(khalil gibran)

Pink Parm Broth

There is nothing quite like

the steam above a saucepan. A reminder,

something is brewing.

Think: an appropriate response to the warmth, with nothing

expecting anything Other. (Occurring) naturally to things in a pot, heating.

[This is all you have to do.]

Vegetables in quarters and thirds, beneath sage leaves and sprigs of thyme. Rinds saved over time. Alcohol poofs into nothingness. Behind it, savory warmth. And then, pink. Oops.