Mouth party recipe: that melted Brie thang!

That Melted Brie Thang Recipe. I took to the how-tos on my IG story a bit ago and many of you asked for the low-down, here ya’ll go. PS - let your tastebuds be the measuring tool.
Toss onto a table:
Brie
Pastry Sheet
Port
Mushrooms, about a pound
Dried Cranberries
Buttah
Onion
Shallots
Garlic
Thyme
Salt
Pepper
Chop: mushroom, onion, shallots, garlic, and thyme nice and fine.
Cook: what’s chopped above with lots of butter. Add port, your call on the pour. Add salt & pepper to flavor. Cook until liquid is nearly gone. Then add cranberries.
Prep: lay out the squared pastry sheet on to a flour-tossed cookie sheet. Slap the Brie in the middle of pastry. Spoon what you’ve cooked on top of Brie and around, nice and tight. Best if it’s cooled. Fold opposite corners of pastry sheet into a top-bow. Paint the sheet with egg, closing up any cracks.
Bake: about 12-18min at 375-400 degrees. Really, just watch it until the pastry turns a tantalizing golden brown, you’ll know when it’s ready, you’ll smell it too. If some cheese leaks and gets a little crusty on the baking sheet, consider yourself lucky to have a little peel and crunch to your buds.
Serve: with crackers, pears, and apples. Knife and spread the melted goodness onto to crackers, layered with fruit. Welcome to the mouth party!

stephanie birch

There's room for it all, us all

There’s room for all of it. Believing it so makes it so. All the yoga, all the art, all the life. Be swayed by the love you make, the art you create, and the life you breathe into this big, beautiful world. Be moved by your heart, wild with emotion and truths. It hasn’t always been this way for me. In fact, I’ve often felt hardened by this world.

And still in some ways, play hard. My attempts to patrol take me away from purpose.It has taken my life to flip completely upside-down in order to turn me around to see with such softness. It’s like a sturdy breeze, the kind of love that has granted me with ease. It doesn’t mean I fall victim to yes or not challenged by the boundaries I keep. If I am to give myself fully in this life, it is not to be kept by the old people-pleasing ways. My genius knows too well what is at stake, I’ll not cost my spirit to play comfort to plate.

Tell me all the ways you are for and ahead for this world to bear witness to the genius and lover that is you. These are the ways that we make, there’s room for us all, give and take.

The senses that tether to memory.

Sick days stink. A weekend of all-nighter clean-ups, dress and linen changes, and unrestricted-whatever-you-need-to-feel-comfortable while racing to and from the porcelain. Poor little-big guy with endless upsets, frustrations, and exhaustion. His please and thank yous tethered in pain.
I could smell it coming, him getting sick. I can smell when Steve is getting sick. Or any loved ones. I could smell my friend’s dad when he had cancer. I can’t quite place it but I smell it coming. I can smell when other people are sick or have an illness, like a powder coat of paint, there’s an indescribable stench. Like insides. Hospitals smell like this to me. My grandmother’s care facility smelled this way to me. Only her facility was an elixir of heated metal vats filled with sheets and tubed food. Like death. The kind of morbidity mixed with relief. Maybe it was the morphine drips. I don’t know. There’s a smell. And it makes me think of my grandmother years ago and her final grip begging me not to leave her side. She couldn’t remember me. Not in that room anyway. It’s a memory I want to forget; her reaching out like that of a child but I do, I remember the ache. I remember her this way by the smell of the present, near death, for her. It is strange, the memories tied to our senses.
Soon, our house will be on the mend. There will be another smell. Our Christmas tree is with great attempt to waft fresh fir. This week, like every holiday, we will remember our loved ones and beyond with great cheer, away from the death grips, and share fond memories of lives once well-lived. #lovealltheway