And to my husband, Pat: Thank you for your continuous love and support over these many years. For being ever so patient while waiting for me to snap one last picture before we eat, and always, always making me laugh. I love you.
Acknowledgments
If theres one thing that I know for certain, its that I wouldnt have fallen madly in love with cooking if it wasnt for you, Mom. Thank you for allowing me to pull up the step stool as a kid to watch you work your culinary magic in the kitchen, for making me try new foods (even if I wasnt too thrilled at the time), and always sharing your wisdom, free of charge. You are a huge inspiration behind this book and the reason why I love cooking from scratch. Dad, thank you for showing me that hard work pays off, how to plant and weed a garden, and for calling me first with all your cooking questions. You do call me first, right?
My (more than just) in-laws, Pat and Brenda, you are amazing second parents to me. Since I was fourteen years old, youve welcomed me into your family with open arms and continue to play a huge role in my life. Brenda, it seems like yesterday we were sitting at your kitchen counter discussing this crazy idea of me starting a food blog and now look! Thank you for the endless cups of coffee, love and encouragement, and for teaching me that if I face my fears today, tomorrow Ill look back and wonder what was so darn scary. You both are one-of-a-kind in-laws, and Im so lucky to have you in my life and in my corner.
My beautiful sisters, Kelly, Christine, and Julie, you girls are such a blessing, and our bond never ceases to amaze me. I wouldnt be here if it wasnt for your love and support and your ability to make me laugh and cry at the same time. Thank you for taking the time to test so many of these recipes (sometimes more than once) and for your helpful suggestions and tips. I am forever grateful to you three.
My bestest of friends, Nichole, Heidi, and Stacey. A huge thanks to you gals for testing recipes, sending encouraging texts, giving hugs, wiping tears, and for getting me out of the house just when I needed it most. I cherish each one of you and our many years of friendship.
This book wouldnt have even been possible without my agent and friend, Michael Sterling. Thank you for finding me among a huge sea of talented bloggers. Knowing you believe in me and this book with so much enthusiasm, plus always saying the right words of encouragement at the right time to keep me going, is appreciated more than you could possibly know. You truly are one of a kind. Lucia Watson, my brilliant editor; Gigi Campo; and the whole team at Avery that has had a hand in shaping and bringing this beautiful book to life, thank you for instantly understanding my vision and making one of my biggest dreams come true.
Last, but definitely not least, thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the Simply Scratch blog readers out therethose of you who take the time to read my sometimes wordy ramblings, make my recipes, leave comments, and send encouraging and heartfelt e-mails. I definitely wouldnt be here without each and every single one of you. This book is for you.
Introduction
I t all started thirtysomething years ago. I grew up in Ortonville, Michigan, a small rural town in the northern part of Oakland County. Imagine your left hand is the state of Michigan; if you were to hold it up in front of you, Ortonville would be an inch over from where the crook of your thumb and first finger meet. Ortonville was (and still is) primarily made up of dirt roads, farms, and a quaint little downtown with that small-community feel. When I was a girl, there were no major shopping malls or fast-food chains, not unless you count the A&W drive-in and the Frosty Boy where wed get ice cream after T-ball games. The lone family restaurant in town had the absolute best breadsticks and kiddy cocktails ever. Next to that, there was a small grocery store. Ortonville, Michiganit was a small town.
My parents packed up and moved from the city so they could build a beautiful two-story home on a two-acre lot. It was the perfect place to raise a family; there was plenty of space for us kids to run wild, the horses had a small pasture to roam, and we grew a beautiful garden. Our property was complete with a horse corral and a tack room, which held the hay, feed, bridles, and essential grooming gear. The tack room floor was scattered with hay, and my sisters and I spent many afternoons playing there. These days, I cant breathe in the smell of hay and not think of that place and the countless hours I spent playing in it as a young girl.
Growing up on a farm meant my family had access to the freshest foods and produce. This was one of the many perks of living where I did. Rather than buying eggs at the local market, we had only to stroll out to the chicken coop to collect fresh ones. Its easy, if not tempting, however, to think that collecting fresh eggs from chickens is a leisurely activitymovies would have you believe that all you need to do is lift up the roof of a chicken coop and take a freshly laid egg straight from a plump hens nest. Actually, its quite the opposite: my family kept a rooster, and we had a deeply rooted fear of him and tried to dodge his attacks while we collected eggs. Hed come after you in a heartbeat. Thankfully, I was too young to collect the chicken eggs; my oldest two sisters had the unlucky responsibility of handling that job. I remember a particular time when they escaped from his clutches, bleeding. I never envied them this chore. That said, Ive never tasted better eggs in my life.