If you wish to be a writer, write.

Recently I asked a friend how she consistently finds time to write for her blog. I asked simply because as much as I want to write regularly, I don't. It's not that my life is so impossibly full that I can't possibly find time in my day... although that is usually what I tell myself. I was an avid journal-er until my early twenties, and after I filled the last page of the last one, I quit. My life didn't stop happening, I just never picked up another blank book. Although I browse for one occasionally, I have more or less written off writing as a way to keep life interesting before it actually became interesting.

But I miss it. If I'm being honest, I've missed it for a long time. I quit writing because I thought I didn't need it anymore. I had an English degree in hand, a grown-up job, a husband, and a sense of self-confidence I hadn't possessed all those years I had made regular entries in my journal. Quite simply, I know who I am, I know where I'm going, so I no long need to write as in order to discover those things. I came to see writing as another childish artifact of my youth, and truly believed I had outgrown it.

I now realize that it's more than that though. Writing is a way to record how life's moments make you feel, make you think. How do you work through those things without a pen and paper? I've managed as much for the last seven years, but while I have memories of how I felt on my wedding day or when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I can never go back and read exactly what I thought about those events as they happened because I neglected to write about them.

Somewhere along the way I got the idea that I had run out of interesting things to say. Even as I write this, I'm questioning whether it's worth anyone's time to read it. And at the same time, I know that I didn't always write worrying if anyone else found my words interesting. I wrote to sort things out and generate new ideas -- it didn't matter that it was only for me. At some point I stopped treating writing as personal, and felt like it wasn't necessary if an audience wasn't involved. So I've strung together some small food writing pieces and a couple of humorous posts about mountain biking, but I've refrained from even attempting to tackle anything of substance. Writer's block? Maybe. But if anything, it's self -imposed. I stood in my own way, convinced I knew best about what's blog-worthy and refused to write anything that didn't fit my definition. A lot of good that did; not only did I fail to write anything blog-worthy, I failed to write anything at all.

Those who know me best know I'm capable of turning a good phrase, and remember when I used to make time for journaling or how excited I became when the spark of an exciting idea came to life. Then those same people ask why I haven't written anything lately, and I'm too embarrassed to admit I don't know where to start. I stopped practicing and what once came easily now seems so daunting that I talk myself out of trying before I even start.

My friend's answer to how she manages to find time to write? She says you have to be a little bit crazy, and now that I think about it, when you write regularly, the urge to write can become so intense that it feels like if you can't get to it immediately, you might go a little bit crazy with the waiting. And I've ignored that itch for so long that I didn't even realize what was causing it. It's harder than it used to be, finding the words, arranging them in the proper order, and getting them out of my head and onto paper, but I'm willing to make the effort so long as the words are still willing to come.

Moonshined Bailey's Irish Cream

Growing up in more than one neighborhood meant I had the opportunity to eat a variety of family meals that were vastly different from the Midwestern food served at home. I've enjoyed Sedar dinner at the Mirandas, tamales at the Lunas, and Tandoori at the Raos. One of the most memorable foods that ever came from a neighbor's kitchen, and has essentially become a tradition within my own family, is Moonshined Bailey's Irish Cream.

I've been fascinated by homemade Bailey's since I first saw it served during the only Christmas I spent in the Chicago suburbs. The Matthews lived two houses down, and were a large, fun Irish-Catholic family. Mrs. Matthews was true White Sox-loving Chicago stock, and as a little girl, I admired Mrs. Matthews not just because she was tall, blonde, and beautiful, but also because her house had air conditioning in the summer, and I thought only rich people had AC! Just before Christmas that year, while the other neighbors swapped cookies like I'd seen in my other Illinois neighborhood, Mrs. Matthews showed up with a Mason jar of Bailey's. To my five year-old eyes, it looked like the creamiest chocolate milk I'd ever seen, and I was devastated when I learned that bottle was only for grown-ups.

Each year since we left Chicago, my mom has made at least one batch of Bailey's for Christmas parties or family gatherings, and each year I couldn't wait to finally receive a glass of the beverage the adults so looked forward to each year. I wasn't allowed my own glass until the eve of my 21st birthday, but it was everything I had hoped it would be: a little chocolately, very creamy, and full of down-home sophistication.

Here's what you need to make a couple pints of your own:

3 eggs
1 14 oz can Eagle brand milk
1/4 tsp coconut extract
1 16 oz carton Coffee Rich, thawed (sold frozen, and really hard to find in my experience. In years where I couldn't get my hands on any, I've subbed in another non-dairy creamer such as Mocha Mix with good results.)
1 cup blended whiskey or bourbon (I like Jim Beam)
3 tbsps Hershey's syrup

Dump all ingredients into a blender, and blend until creamy. You'll get about 2 1/2 pints, and you can keep it in your fridge up to 3 weeks. Shake well, and serve over ice.

Ginger Ale Bread

My mom and I periodically share a good laugh about our fundamental differences in the kitchen. We actually just had this conversation on Thanksgiving when I said, "who actually measures out a half teaspoon?" And she said, "well, if the recipe says so, I do!" Which is so true.

Honestly, I can see her logic -- if you follow the exact same steps with precision each time, the food should always taste the same. But I can't bring myself to cook that way -- I experiment because if I follow the exact same steps with precision each time, how will I ever discover anything new?

I'm not sure where my mom came across this recipe, but it's crazy-easy. Fortunately, it's also delicious, especially this time of year as a go-with for soups, stews, and casseroles. Since we're talking about bread, this recipe should be made with precision. I'm no where near as capricious when it comes to baking, so I follow my mom's recipe just as it's written.

Slightly unconventional, but here's what you need:

12 oz can of ginger ale (brand doesn't matter here)

2 tbsps of sugar

3 cups self-rising flour

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. In a large bowl, combine sugar and ginger ale. Slowly pour in flour, stirring just enough to moisten. It's really important not to over-stir the dough, so really just stir it enough to get it damp. Pour into a 10x6 bread pan, and bake for 40-45 minutes, until browned.

Country Bumpkin Latkes

Although I don't have any Jewish heritage to speak of, latkes have graced the dinner table for longer than anyone in my family can remember. Thanks to my grandfather's insatiable love of potatoes, my hog-farming, house-keeping grandmother literally cooked with potatoes morning, noon, and night. Baked, boiled, mashed, or fried, potatoes were an inexpensive way to keep Grandpa Ewing's hungry belly satisfied.

As any Great Depression survivor -- including my grandma -- will tell you, waste nothing and save everything. Instead of following the traditional latke recipe which involves ricing or shredding potatoes, these latkes are a delicious way to use up leftover mashed potatoes. Not being a struggling farmer's wife, I like to make extra large batch of mashed potatoes so I'm sure to have some leftovers on hand for latkes the next day.

To get started, you'll need only five ingredients:
about 2 cups of leftover mashed potatoes
about a 1/2 cup of flour
a generous pour of vegetable oil
salt & pepper

Set a large skillet on medium heat. Add a hearty pour of vegetable oil, enough to cover the bottom of the entire pan. Pour your 1/2 cup or so of flour into a shallow bowl. Next, scoop out about a handful of mashed potatoes, about the size of 1/4lb burger. Gently work your potato into a little cake, much like how you would shape a burger patty. Coat with flour, and salt and pepper each side to taste. With this amount of leftovers, you should end up with 4-5 latkes.

Once your oil is hot (to test, a droplet of water should skitter across the pan), ease each cake into the skillet. You must handle your cakes with extreme care, or you will end up with a big mushy pile of mashed potatoes in the bottom of you pan. Cook each side until golden brown, about 7 minutes per side. When you go to flip, use a spatula in your strong hand, and a slightly curved spoon in the other hand to guide the cake up and over. Once the second side is through cooking, remove latke from the oil and onto a plate lined with paper towels to drain before serving.

Serve latkes with applesauce, sour cream, or ketchup for dipping.

J's Chicken Quesadillas

I know Jeremiah because I know his wife Cassidy. And I know first hand, Jeremiah loves good food. So much so, that he raided my fridge when he arrived late to a party, hopeful to find a few more pieces of cheesy garlic bread. Cassidy was horrified -- mostly because this was Jeremiah's first visit to my house, and generally a person doesn't pillage the hostess's fridge for snacks until he really gets to know her.

A while back (a long while back, if you ask Jeremiah), he came to me for a chicken quesadilla recipe. I make quesadillas for a quick lunch regularly, but I haven't ever given much thought to the process. I've done it so many times, I flip a quesadilla based on intuition, and I have no idea how long it takes or what the best combination of ingredients might be.

Tortillas are a blank canvas -- you can try any number of ingredients on them until you get the flavor profile you desire. Without having tasted the epic chicken quesadilla that prompted this specific recipe request, I am offering up my favorite combo of ingredients. Once you know the process, you can swap ingredients and invent all kinds of delicious meals.

Here's what you need to get started:

8 medium-sized flour tortillas (getting good tortillas is vital to making good quesadillas. Don't waste your money on a supermarket brand. If you're lucky enough enough to live near a Mexican market, get your tortillas there, especially if they make them in-house. While you're there, get yourself some freshly made pico unless you have intentions of chopping tomatoes, onions, and cilantro when you get home.)

1 cup shredded Colby Jack cheese (my favorite for it's melty factor, plus it isn't as overpowering as cheddar or pepper Jack. It blends nicely with the other flavors instead of trying to steal the show.)

2 scallions, sliced (optional -- I prefer my crunch to come from the pico, not the quesadilla itself)

1 cooked chicken breast, chopped into bite-sized pieces (I generally use leftovers. See below if you plan to cook chicken specifically for your quesadillas.)*

Pico de gallo, sour cream, guacamole, salsa, etc., for dipping

Set a large skillet on a stove with medium heat. Let it get hot. In the meantime, build your quesadillas. Lay out 4 tortillas, and top each with 1/4 cup cooked chicken, 1/4 cup cheese, and scallions if you like that extra crunch. Make sure to spread the ingredients evenly, creating a nice flat layer of chicken and cheese. Top each one with another flour tortilla.

Gently transfer the first quesadilla to the hot skillet, and allow it to brown until you can smell the tortilla. I make mine using scent as my timer, because the skillet gets progressively warmer with each quesadilla, so the cook time becomes progressively shorter. The first one can take as long as 3 or 4 minutes before it's ready to flip. Once you get a whiff of tortilla, flip the quesadilla to brown the other side. This requires a bit of grace, much like flipping an omelet or a pancake. Slide the spatula under the center of the quesadilla with your right hand (reverse this if you're a lefty), hold the skillet handle with your left hand, and gently turn the quesadilla upside-down, lifting and angling the skillet to catch the tortilla so you don't lose any chicken or cheese out the side.

Brown the other side, about 2 minutes (again you're really waiting for the smell to change). Gently lift the edge of the top tortilla -- if the cheese is melty and sticky, it's probably ready. Remove from skillet, and flip the quesadilla so the side you cooked last it facing up. If you put the hotter side down, the tortilla will sweat and create damp spots (and no one wants that). Repeat for the remaining quesadillas, remembering that each one will brown a little faster than the one before it.

Use a pizza slicer to cut the quesadilla into quarters, and serve with pico, sour cream, guacamole, and/or salsa for dipping. Pico is my favorite, but your really can't go wrong with any of these dippers.

*For the chicken:

3 uncooked chicken breasts (serve 2 for dinner today, use the remainder for your quesadillas tomorrow!)

2 cups orange juice

1 tbsp lemon pepper seasoning

Sprinkle chicken with lemon pepper, and place in a resealable plastic bag. Pour the orange juice over the chicken, and seal the bag. Allow chicken to marinate in the fridge for 2 hours before grilling. When you're through marinating, set the grill to medium heat, and grill chicken 7-10 minutes on each side (depending on their size). Beware of any hot spots on the grill, and move the chicken around as needed to prevent a burnt exterior. Cook until juices run clear. If you've grilled the chicken expressly to make quesadillas, allow it to stand for 5 minutes before you chop it into bite-sized pieces, so you don't lose all the juices to the cutting board.

Minnesota Chicken & Rice Casserole

When it's finally cold enough for comfort food in the great state of Arizona, I go on a soup, stew, and casserole diet. I first had this casserole at a friend's house about 15 years ago, and I still look forward to its stick-to-your-ribs deliciousness each year when the chilly autumn nights finally arrive. Even better, it's about as simple as it gets to assemble.

Here's what you need:

1 can of chicken (shoot for the 12-15oz size)
1 can cream of chicken soup (the standard issue soup can size)
1 can cream of celery soup
2 cups milk
1 cup rice

A word about the cream soups -- this is the original combo, but in a pinch, cream of mushroom, cream of onion, or a second can of cream of chicken will do just fine. I wouldn't recommend two cream of celery soups, but otherwise, you really can't mess this part up.

Preheat your oven to 325 degrees. Put the rice on the bottom of a 2qt casserole dish. Don't bother greasing it -- it doesn't help with the after dinner scrubbing. Ideally, someone else will do the dishes for you since you made dinner!

In a separate bowl, mix both cans of soup and the milk. Pour half of this on the rice. No need to get technical here. Just eyeball it.

Add the chicken and it's broth to the casserole, then pour the remainder of the soupy milk mixture over the top. If you really want to get fancy, you can sprinkle a small amount of Lipton's onion soup mix (the kind that comes in a little pouch) on top.

Cover and bake for 1 hour, 45 minutes. After one hour, check in on things, and give it a stir. In the meantime, watch a movie, read a book, or do anything else but slave over a hot meal. Remove the lid for the last 15 minutes, then serve with fresh crusty bread and homemade applesauce.

Sweet Katie Ray's Sweet Puh-Taters

This concoction was born out of frustration -- do you know how challenging it is to find a decent sweet potato recipe? No, I don't want them mashed. No, I don't want to reinvent a classic. Of course I want mini marshmallows on top! This doesn't seem like too much to ask, but apparently, it is. There isn't a sweet potato tradition in my family, so I turned to my dear sister-in-law, the woman responsible for my all-out sweet potato lust each November. A known chatter, I expected more information about sweet potatoes that I could possibly use; instead, I got "lots of butter and lots of brown sugar." Hmmm. I'm pretty clever in the kitchen, but really?

At this point, my unbridled desire for sweet potatoes took over. Not to mention, this was the year of my first ever solo Thanksgiving endeavor. In case you ever find yourself in a similar bind, here's how to make a super-traditional, extra gooey, melt-in-your-mouth sweet potatoes... Katie Ray style.

To serve 6 for dinner (and still have some leftovers for yourself the next day), you'll need:
2 1/2 lbs yams
1 cup packed brown sugar
5 tsp cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/2 cup hot water
3 cups mini marshmallows (don't even bother wasting your money on marshmallows not made by Kraft. You'll be disappointed.)

Place the yams, whole and unpeeled, in a large stock pot and cover with water. Put a lid on it, and bring to a boil. Once boiling, cook for about 30 minutes, or until mostly cooked. Remove yams, and set aside to cool. Now would also be a good time to preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Once the yams are almost cool, get a small saucepan. Before you ever set that saucepan on a burner, add the brown sugar, cornstarch, salt, cinnamon, and cloves. Add the hot water (it shouldn't be boiling, but hot enough to hurt a little when you touch it), and stir. Set the saucepan on the stove on low, and continue to stir occasionally. The heat should help this mix create a thick liquid, about the consistency of good maple syrup.

Your yams should be plenty cool by now. I won't lie, this is the most pain-in-the-you-know-what part of this dish. But it's so worth it. Anyhow, carefully, gently, peel those cooked yams. Then dice them in to nice little bite-sized chunks. Evenly spread your yams into a greased 9x13 glass baking dish. Remove your brown sugar sauce from the stove, and pour over the top of your yams. Top with mini marshmallows. Bake until bubbly, about 25-30 minutes. You'll know it's ready when your mini marshmallows are toasty.