I wanted to wait until I knew for sure, but the world didn't end tonight. Although people predicted this midwestern snow storm surely would leave the world dark and doomed, I think we're all going to have to head back to work next week. Just for coincidence sake, part of my world ended today, a chapter that was filled with an overwhelming kind of uncertainty. Like the people building savvy bunkers in their yards, none of us know when the world will end. But what's fascinating is that people can become obsessed with doomsday, when each of our own last days could be tomorrow, or today. And as this year has taught us that loved ones can be taken from us in the blink of an eye, we've become so fixated on some Mayan prediction. We never know what the right, or wrong, decisions are; we never know if we'll look back on now and feel heavy with regret or thankful for the steps it took to get there. Sometimes it's not easy being uncertain, but you'll never know which experiences were the right ones until you've tried a couple doors.

I woke up groggy-eyed on Sunday to a dimly lit bedroom; the sun barely peeked through the curtains, but the ground was dusted with our first bright, white snow. Welcome, December! The past few weeks have been a rollercoaster with so much work to finish that some days I worry Christmas will be here and I will have never enjoyed peppermint cocoa, or Love Actually, or the streets lined with lights. Time flies by so quickly until you realize it’s been weeks since your last entry, and the inspiration pickings are slim. Until later when I regain my thoughts, enjoy some photos from a memorable night well spent in downtown Milwaukee with great food and wonderful company, how easy is that?

I promised myself that before I could write this blog post, and leave for Milwaukee to see the one and only, I would finish my stats homework. I wouldn't take a nap, or heat up some (surprisingly delicious) butternut squash soup, or sing a single note. I’m sure it’s not a surprise to any of you that I did just exactly that, minus the homework.

A belated Thanksgiving to all of you, readers! Before I was lazy this week, I was sappy last week. I cried thinking of everything that I am grateful for – the opportunities I've had, the people I've met, and the people that are stuck spending every holiday with me for many years to come. Needless to say I have set the tears aside and enjoyed two very wonderful Thanksgivings last week, and couldn't wait to share them with all of you. Most likely you were there – 90% of my fan base shares my DNA.

And the other 10% are begging to.

What would Thanksgiving be without two pies for four people? We had a wonderful pecan and a pumpkin pie this year, but I think the pecan stole the show for me.

While the biscuits rose, Dad enjoyed maniacally carving the turkey.

Lastly, we wrapped up our weekend by saying goodbye over a delicious breakfast at one of my favorite Madison restaurants, Marigold Kitchen, followed by a stroll through the capitol to see the tree being put up. Actually, we said our real goodbyes over whiskey gingers and tears induced by a Packers loss. And Aaron Rodgers' mustache.

And after all the excitement of seeing his favorite people, someone was very happy to be home.

Old Fashioned Pecan Pie

I would hope that my sisters would agree that this pie is repeat worthy. I adapted this recipe from America's Test Kitchen, and am glad that I came across it one afternoon when Molly sister and I were slacking off reorganizing our priorities. First, the recipe calls for you to toast the pecans beforehand, and it really developed a deep flavor from the nuts - and this is coming from a girl who argues that nuts have a place but not in dessert. To do this, toast the pecans on a baking sheet at 350 degrees F for 5-7 minutes or until they are fragrant. I hope this recipe makes a believer out of you, because it was a rich but very delicious end to a special dinner.

1 cup maple syrup
1 cup light brown sugar
1 Tbsp. molasses
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 Tbsp. butter, cut into cubes
1/2 tsp. salt
6 large egg yolks
1 1/2 cups toasted pecans, coarsely chopped
1 uncooked, single crusted pie shell, chilled for at least 30 minutes
(a 9-inch deep dish defrosted store bought pie shell will also work here)

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

To make the filling:

Combine maple syrup, brown sugar, molasses, and heavy cream in a medium saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat, let simmer for three minutes, and allow the brown sugar to dissolve. Once sugar is dissolved, remove from heat and let cool for five minutes before incorporating the eggs and other ingredients. Add butter and salt to saucepan and whisk until incorporated. Once butter is incorporated, add egg yolks. Make sure your mixture is cool before adding the yolks to prevent the eggs from curdling, adding the cold butter will help with this too.

To assemble and bake:

Arrange pecans in bottom of pie crust, and pour filling on top of the nuts. Place the pie on the lowest oven rack and immediately turn the oven temperature down to 325 degrees F. This rapid temperature change will ensure that the unbaked pie crust doesn't get soggy. Bake for about 1 hour or until the crust is lightly browned and the pie still jiggles when shaken. At this point, the pie is under baked but will continue to cook while resting on the counter. Allow pie to rest and finish cooking on the counter for one hour and then chill the pie in the refrigerator for at least 3 hours.

Bourbon Whipped Cream

1 cup chilled heavy whipping cream
2 Tbsp. bourbon
1 1/2 Tbsp. brown sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Whip the ingredients together either with a stand or hand mixer on medium speed until the cream forms nice, stiff peaks. Serve with your favorite pie, but there won’t be any judgment on this end if I catch you spoon in hand.

Tomorrow I’m signing up for my last class schedule as an undergrad. It feels like just yesterday I was getting a fresh start, still getting lost in Madison, falling out with a few friends and finding my best, taking my first class that I loved and taking a note from a boy that someday I would, too. There are still so many things that I haven’t done in Madison – the arboretum, Picnic Point, and the Vilas zoo. And a first for me this Saturday, going to my very first Badger football game as a badger. I can remember a time that I wasn’t sure that Madison was for me, but in the same token neither was Milwaukee, or Waukesha, or Cedarburg either. As I was walking home from orchestra last night, snow fell all around me, getting stuck in my bushy Puzzo eyebrows, chapping my face with the wind. It swirled around the street lights, creating a cool haze of white flakes above me, signaling the first of many cold nights to come. And for a second the loneliness that I had been feeling left and I was surrounded by a peaceful solitude that reminded me of how lucky I am. A luckiness to be scurrying back to a place that feels like home, where my sleeping pup waits for me to shower him with kisses as I walk through the door. And yes, at times this little big town can feel huge, but walking down my snowy street, quiet and all to myself, it was peaceful and I was reminded that I have made a wonderful decision. I’ve finally made it, and making it feels kind of good.

I first started watching cooking shows when I was around ten or eleven years old, probably when I should have been outside running around with the other neighborhood kids. I actually remember very vividly flipping the channels and I stumbled on Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals on the Food Network at 5:00pm. I also have a feeling I just woke up from a nap, some habits you never kick. I don’t remember at all what she was making, but I remembered watching her and, probably because it was dinner time and I was hungry, I was captivated. I wish I could explain it without it sounding like a revelation. But it kind of was. Giada de Laurentiis was on before Rachael, and Paula Deen afterwards, but there was something about Rachael Ray’s lack of culinary pretentiousness that my ten-year-old self could relate to. She made easy dinners, taught me how to cut an onion and what zest was, what spices went with which cuts of meat, and how “in the time it takes you to watch this show, I’ll have made a delicious and healthy meal from start to finish”. And I liked that. I didn't gravitate toward baking at first, and in fact I found myself craving to make dinner more than anything else. The kitchen slowly became my domain, and somewhere along then it became in a sense my identity.

I remember my first few cook books were America’s Test Kitchen, Live! and a children’s cookbook on decorating Christmas cookies. I also always remember feeling challenged, one time in particular after I made my first pie in a cake pan when I was twelve, not knowing the difference in bake ware and feeling foolish for being corrected by my mom and grandma. It was the same kind of foolish I felt when my first blueberry pie didn't thicken right, much to my dismay at a family party at my boyfriend’s house in high school, and his family gave me pity and humbly drank my pie with a spoon. But I learned, and most importantly I had the support of those around me. Whether it was my mom teaching me my first entrée, scrambled eggs, or my family waiting patiently for dinner as I discovered the importance of time management in preparing meals.

It wasn't until I was 14, in eight grade, that I realized that cooking was a career, and could be my career if I wanted. I shadowed a chef at the Chancery restaurant in Waukesha that year and I remember feeling so excited that she let me actually stir the sauces, cut the peppers, and didn't just stick my scrawny 14-year-old self on dish duty. Knowing much more now than back then, it wasn't service time while I was there so the kitchen was relatively quiet, mostly just prep work. In high school I reveled in the fact that there was a Culinary Arts program available , and in fact many my friends that stuck with it are now graduating from Le Cordon Bleu and The Culinary Institute of America. Jealous. But it was in that Culinary Arts program where I learned how not to ruin an angel food cake, and where I won my very first omelette competition. I can’t say I've ever won any more, but it’s a silent victory in my head when my French tri-fold doesn't rip, exposing the cheesy guts.

So finally, I’d like to share a recipe from Jamie Oliver, another one of my longtime celebrity chefs that I've pined after for too many years. I especially like this soup because it’s simple, most of the ingredients I actually had on hand, and it’s a lighter version of a soup that is very comforting in this weather that we’re having. Plus it came together in roughly 30 minutes, and doggone-it, Rachael would be proud.

Vegetarian Corn Chowder
Yields four servings

A Few notes to add about this recipe. First, at my grocery store here on campus they didn't sell 1% milk in the amount that I needed without having too much leftover, so I opted for 2% instead. The soup turned out to be the perfect creaminess, in my opinion. If you’re looking for something very thick like your traditional chowder, you might want to try whole milk or even a combination of whole milk and half and half. Also, more traditional corn chowder, or many of the recipes that I looked at, have bacon as a staple ingredient. I wanted to make this vegetarian friendly for Molly, and also wasn't up for buying a pricey package of bacon only for a few necessary slices. That being said, if you have bacon on hand I think this soup would really benefit from rendering down a few slices and using the grease to sauté your onions and celery rather than butter. Then of course you can garnish with the crispy bacon bits. And lastly! I didn't season with salt and pepper until I was ready to serve, after realizing this soup needed quite a bit of salt for my taste. I would recommend doing just a bit of salt and pepper seasoning at the veggie stage, and then again before serving to taste.

1 celery stalk
1 medium onion
1 1/2 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
3 cups 1% milk
1 medium Yukon Gold potato, peeled and cut into little cubes
3 scallions
2 cups frozen corn
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives and/or parsley (optional)

Pull the leaves from the celery stalks and set them aside. Chop your celery and onion.
Heat the butter in a medium saucepan over a medium heat. Add the celery (not the leaves), onion, and thyme. Stir until the vegetables start to brown.

Sprinkle the flour over the veggies and stir for a few more minutes. Pour in the milk, add the potato and bring to a boil, stirring the whole time so the soup doesn't stick to the pot. Cook until the potatoes are tender, but not mushy – this will take around 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, chop the celery leaves, trim the ends off the scallions and slice them thinly. When the potatoes are tender, stir in the corn, scallions and celery leaves. Bring the soup back to the boil, then serve with crusty bread or a garnish of sharp cheddar and scallions like Molly and I did.

Friends and family, yours truly is one short cake, pie, or stock trading scandal away from becoming Martha Stewart. A few Saturdays ago I spent most of the day baking, and I spent a good chunk of my last Saturday morning throwing together a lobster costume.

1. Scour through your closet and drawers to find a mildly dumpy red sweater
2. Thrift a child’s bright red hat from your nearest Target, and proceed to wear it for a day and a half to stretch it out on your large head
3. Snatch some ping pong balls from a friend’s house, one who is the best beer, um, soda pong partner and color ‘em in with a permanent black marker
4. Hot glue red pipe cleaners and beady little eyeballs to your stretched out hat
5. Find a couple claw shaped oven mitts on the internet ($5 for a pair mind you!), buy them, and e-mail your sisters to question your sanity – not because you just purchased lobster claw oven mitts but because they’ll make a great addition to your kitchen collection
6. Grab your best girl friend, and hit the town knowing you don’t have to fend off any males on Halloween because your costume probably does it for you

Either that or you're hanging around your best friend's boyfriend in a train costume.

I have so many wonderful recipes and stories that need telling, and when my life pauses just for a second and I can finally breathe again, I promise I will share them with you. Think caramel, hearty stews, and pie. Not in the order, or certainly not together, but I have a lineup of recipes begging for their spot in the limelight. Until then, wishing you all a wonderful start to November, although crazy mine is shaping out not half bad.

My roommate, Molly, told me this weekend that she could never be a baker because of the delayed gratification – the cooling, the waiting, and everything in between. I smiled and nodded in agreement even though sometimes I’m just as bad as the rest of you, because I’ll admit that for some things I'm a stickler for instant gratification. Wait, that came out wrong.

I’m talking about yeast, folks! Those little kitchen microorganisms need some extra love and attention, but are well worth the wait. This past weekend I spent a good part of Saturday proofing, or rising, dough for pumpkin cinnamon rolls that I had been hoping to make all month. I had wanted to share pictures of proofing the dough but low and behold I got so carried away washing dishes and simultaneously singing that I only snapped some lousy photos of my zester and the finished product.

Topped with cream cheese icing, and these boys were the perfect treat to celebrate a Packer win. Enjoy.

Pumpkin Cinnamon Rolls
Courtesy of Smitten Kitchen

I’d like to introduce you all to someone that has become very dear to me, my favorite mug.

I first fell in love with my amethyst, floral scrawled, uniquely me mug when I stepped into anthropologie. Had I known I would fall in love with everything in that store I should have stopped myself there, turned around, and marched right into the chocolate shop next door to teeter on to another addiction. Although I think my waistline is thanking me.

I bought my mug for my last birthday not too long ago, and rightly justified my purchase by how much use I would get out of it, and justified it was. I begin almost every day the same, minus Mondays and Wednesdays when I’m out the door in a hurry before the sun has even had time to wake up. I greet every other morning by having my me time - mug in hand, blue heeler in mug, Good Morning America on TV, and Whitey around, on, or near my lap. This has become my happy trigger, something that I always look forward to and it really can make me forget the awful week I've had, or will have.

The weekends are another story. I will admit I am guilty of buying coffee on the go two or, gasp, maybe three times a week. My weekend happy trigger is going to the farmer’s market early on Saturday mornings when most of the noisy visitors are still recovering from their previous nights out. I’ll sometimes get a coffee at Michelangelo's, my favorite pre-market stop, and mosey around the capital square until I've taken in all the fresh produce, cheese curds, and baked goods that my senses can handle. After this I feel like I can officially start my day, usually homework or heading out to get groceries.

Tonight, though, my mug is holding tea. Aside from sugar-laden sweetened and flavored iced teas, I didn't grow up really appreciating the different flavors and notes of hot tea until I was a little older. While I couldn't get enough of the creamed and sugared coffee as a kid, tea is something that I’m learning to appreciate because of my roommate, Molly, who is an avid tea expert. I've chosen “nighty-night” tea tonight to promote nighttime relaxation and, well, my heated blanket and statistics homework don’t hurt either.

I also enjoy tea at night when I’m reading to wind down before bed. Having been a light sleeper for most of what I can remember growing up, I’m easily woken by Whitey when he shifts throughout the night adjusting to get his little joints nice and comfortable. Recently, I've been trying to incorporate non-school books into my nighttime routine which has really helped with my restlessness, tiring out my eyes before it’s time to zonk out. My most recent purchase is The Sweet Life in Paris written by David Lebovitz, a pastry chef and American turned Parisian, and not to anyone’s surprise one of my favorite food bloggers. The book is filled with witty anecdotes about his adjustment to living in Paris, after he decided to move there 30 years after making a post-college trip to taste his way throughout the City of Light. (Swooning). It’s wonderfully written, laden with delicious recipes and shows David’s colorful personality that has left me almost finished with the book in three short days. Needless to say, it comes highly recommended by this girl right here who, incidentally, also has a copy to share.

And yet, we've come full circle to my mug. Or at least I feel we have. A mere $8 kind of impulse purchase that greets me every morning and tucks me in every night, but I feel holds much more than the 12 ounces it actually does. Goodnight readers; I hope you’re reading wonderful stories before bed and waking up feeling refreshed with whatever your mug has in store for the next day.

I woke up the other day to take Whitey out for our morning walk, and I knew autumn was here. Of course the temperature for the past month affirmed that it was truly autumn, but for the first time last week I felt it. The street silent, except for puppy paws crunching through some orange leaves, I realized that the smell of the air reminded me of a Rentscher tradition: the Halloween candlelight hike at Harrington beach. When we were kids, Mom and Dad would bundle up the Rentscher girls, and the Rentscher dogs, and we would head to Harrington Beach Park along Lake Michigan for their annual Halloween night walk. The forest trail was lit by nothing other than milk jugs with tea lights, and the air was crisp and chilly. I remember the dogs paving the trail ahead of us, and Dad’s maniacal laugh trying to spook us as we walked along, probably telling a scary story or two. Although it was dark and the trail led us to no place in particular, we never complained and looked forward to it every year.

I know that I should be prepping for my seminar presentation tomorrow, but I keep coming back to the smell of damp leaves nestled underneath our feet as we crept alongside the dark quarry only lit by those small lights and a bright moon above us. It’s times like these that I am so thankful that my parents helped create memories like this. Because I'd much rather associate wet leaves with a Rentscher tradition, than painfully remembering that winter is on its way. I hope someday to recreate these memories for my family too, paws and all.

Sometimes it takes the little things in life to get through the bigger ones.

Spooky Cat Cookies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Place spooky cookie of choice on baking sheet, being sure to space each cookie two inches apart.

Bake 8-10 minutes, and allow to cool on baking sheet for one minute before removing to cool completely.

Share with your roommate, and enjoy.

This past week I was reminded that the days of potato salad and grilled corn will soon be far behind us. In the same way that this realization is frightening, it also welcomes the arrival of my favorite time of year: autumn. I like to think that the start of every season is my favorite. There’s nothing like the first blossoming of tulips in spring, warm muggy nights of summer, and that first snowfall that leaves you craving Christmas trees – hypnotized into forgetting winter does, indeed, last for months. But the first cold nights, the nights when you leave the windows open, the air conditioning off, and a heavier blanket wrapped around you and someone you love, are most certainly my favorite.

Mom's Pumpkin Bread (yields two loaves)

Although I'm sure my mom would insist that this recipe is nothing special, I know to my sisters and I that autumn is nothing special without it. Technically this is a cranberry pumpkin bread, and while you could substitute chocolate chips for the cranberries, or omit them entirely, they really help in making the bread more moist especially if using fresh cranberries.

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups flour
1 Tablespoon pumpkin pie spice
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
2 cups granulated sugar
1-15 oz. can pure pumpkin
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup frozen, fresh, or dried cranberries

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease two 9 x 5 loaf pans and set aside.

In a small bowl combine the eggs, sugar, oil, and pumpkin and mix until well blended.

In another bowl combine the flour, pumpkin pie spice, baking powder, and salt and mix until well blended as well.

Add the pumpkin mixture to the dry ingredients and mix until just moistened. Be careful not to over-mix. Fold in the cranberries.

Bake at 350 degrees F for 55-60 minutes or until fully cooked when a tester is inserted and comes out clean. Allow to cool, slice, and enjoy.

I have been lagging on my end of the deal, haven’t I? Promising you funnies and food, and so far I have been busy feeding jokes to the masses instead of my favorite recipes. Without further ado, I introduce the newest cookbook to my collection. My roommate, Molly, surprised me with a copy of The Farm: Rustic Recipes for a Year of Incredible Food written by Ian Knauer for my birthday and I couldn’t wait to share it with all of you. One of the wonderful things about this cookbook is not only how beautiful the pictures are, but also that the recipes are categorized according to the different seasons and when ingredients are at their peak. It’s laden with soups and stews that I’m dying to make, soon no doubt, when autumn makes its entrance. But when I should have been finishing my statistics homework last Sunday I decided to enjoy one of summer’s last treats: blueberries. This Blueberry Crumble was incredibly easy and not surprisingly it didn’t last more than a few days on our counter.

There is no way to make the final product look neat, but my two loves didn't seem to mind at all.

Blueberry Belle Crunch (serves 6 to 8)

For the berries:

12 ounces fresh blueberries
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

For the crunch:

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup quick-cooking oats
1/2 cup light or dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into cubes

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F, with a rack in the middle. Generously butter a 9-inch pie plate

Make the berries: Toss the blueberries with the sugar, flour, lemon juice, and salt. Transfer the berries to the pie plate.

Make the crunch: Stir together the flour, oats, brown sugar, vanilla, and salt. Blend in the butter with your hands until well combined. Crumble the topping over the berries in large clumps.

Bake the crunch until the berries are bubbling and the crunch is set and browned in places, 25 to 35 minutes.

Let the crunch cool slightly before serving. Serve with ice cream, or whipped cream as we did.

It’s like someone knew that this family full of sisters needed a little brother, and that’s exactly what they gave us. Two years and exactly one week after I made my arrival, this sweet boy made his.

I feel so proud to be a big sister. I have always wanted to mentor and support someone in the ways that my older sisters have done for me and I hope I have been successful in fulfilling that silent promise to myself.

Mike is so talented in everything he puts his heart into. For the friends and family who haven’t had the chance to meet or time to get to know Mike, he is brilliant. When it comes to anything that he loves to do, he excels. Whether it was spelling as a boy, skate boarding as a teen, or diving into film making and technology as a young man, you can see the almost maniacal look that comes across him as he devotes himself to something.

Mike was the first batman. Before there was Christian Bale, or George Clooney (sigh), there was Batman Mike and his sidekick boy wonder, Robin (when the batman costume needed to be washed, someone had to fill in to save the world). Some of my fondest memories and funniest stories come from him sitting at the kitchen table finishing coloring book after coloring book in his costume-of-the-day.

Or watching Big Daddy, over and over, for years until each of us knew the lines perfectly.

Or reading Pippy Longstocking to him before bed, before it wasn’t cool to hang out with your big sister.

Happy 20th birthday, Mikey. I’m so proud to be your big sister.