Which Is Better...

[samurai.]

The Sound of Comfort: A Simple Meal

Ingredient List

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (or breasts, if preferred)

1 cup buttermilk

1 tablespoon hot sauce (optional, but adds a nice kick)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon onion powder

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

Salt and pepper to taste

Vegetable oil for frying (about 3 cups)

A handful of fresh parsley for garnish (optional)

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It was the sort of quiet that settled deep into your bones, making everything seem slower, more deliberate. As the sun dipped behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the garden, I found myself thinking about a dish I hadn’t made in some time. Fried chicken.

It wasn’t a recipe I’d ever set out to perfect, but over the years, I’d found a rhythm in it—simple, steady. There was something in the crisp of the breading, the way the hot oil would crackle and hiss, and the deep golden color that would rise with the heat. It was a comforting thing, like the way the rain softened the land after a dry spell, or the warmth that came from a fire when the day’s work was done.

I’d learned that the most satisfying meals were the ones that required patience but didn’t demand perfection. And fried chicken, in its simplest form, had a way of grounding you. Maybe that was why it felt like home.




“Some meals are meant to be enjoyed slowly, savored in the quiet moments when the world outside feels far away. This fried chicken is one of those meals—crispy, tender, and full of warmth.”
— Graham


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Instructions:

Marinate the chicken.

Place the chicken pieces in a bowl and pour the buttermilk over them. Add the hot sauce, if using. Stir gently, ensuring the chicken is fully submerged. Cover and let it sit in the fridge for at least an hour—or overnight, if you have the time. This step isn’t just about flavor; the buttermilk tenderizes the meat, giving it a softness that will hold up against the heat of the oil.

Prepare the flour mixture.

In a shallow dish, mix together the flour, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, salt, and pepper. It’s important to get the right balance of seasoning. The flour should be lightly spiced but not overpowering, just enough to bring out the natural flavors of the chicken. Stir well.

Coat the chicken.

Remove the chicken from the buttermilk, allowing the excess to drip off. Dredge each piece in the flour mixture, pressing down gently to ensure an even coating. The flour should cling to the chicken, creating a thin layer that will crisp up beautifully when it hits the hot oil.

Heat the oil.

In a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven, heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat until it reaches about 350°F (175°C). To test if the oil is ready, drop a small bit of flour into it. If it sizzles and rises to the surface, it’s time to start frying.

Fry the chicken.

Carefully add the chicken pieces to the hot oil, being mindful of any splatters. Work in batches if necessary, making sure not to overcrowd the pan. Fry the chicken for 8–10 minutes on each side, or until the coating is golden brown and crispy. The internal temperature of the chicken should reach 165°F (75°C).

Drain and rest.

Once the chicken is cooked through and crispy on all sides, remove it from the oil and place it on a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Let the chicken rest for a few minutes before serving. This allows the juices to settle and the crispness to set in.

Serve and enjoy.

Garnish with a bit of fresh parsley, if desired, and serve hot. There’s nothing quite like the contrast between the crunchy outside and the tender, juicy meat inside. It’s the kind of meal that feels right in your hands and stays with you long after the last bite.

Graham’s Notes:

There’s a rhythm to frying chicken. The sound of it crackling in the oil, the gentle patience it requires—it’s a reminder that good things often come when you take the time to make them right.

This dish is a favorite when I want something that feels like more than just food. It’s the kind of meal that can be shared in a quiet moment, or enjoyed alone with no need for conversation. The crisp skin and tender meat make for a satisfying experience—one that reminds you of simpler times, of the joy in savoring the small things.

If you have any leftovers, the chicken makes for a lovely sandwich the next day, perhaps with a bit of coleslaw or pickles for contrast. But don’t rush it. Let the meal rest in your memory for a while before thinking of what comes next.

[samurai.]

The Quiet of the Garden: A Moment to Pause

Ingredient List

4 medium carrots, peeled and chopped

3 large potatoes, peeled and cubed

1 small parsnip, peeled and chopped

2 small onions, diced

3 cloves garlic, minced

2 tablespoons olive oil

6 cups vegetable broth (or chicken, if preferred)

2 sprigs rosemary (fresh, if possible)

1 bay leaf

Salt and pepper, to taste

A small handful of parsley, chopped (optional, for garnish)

A pinch of dried thyme (optional, but it adds depth)

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The rain had just begun to fall, soft at first, as though the sky was only testing the air. I’d been out in the garden, my hands deep in the cool soil, planting the last of the spring flowers. The earth felt alive beneath me, the way it always did after a good rain. It was a strange comfort, knowing that the land could absorb whatever the sky had to give and continue on, unchanged.

I thought about the stew I’d make later. There was something soothing about the rhythm of cooking, about knowing that the simple ingredients would come together to create something whole. It reminded me of the garden, in a way—the way each plant, each flower, had its place, no matter how much the seasons shifted.

The sky had darkened by the time I turned back toward the cottage. The warmth of the fire would be waiting for me, just like it always was. And there, in the quiet, I would let the stew simmer, letting time move slower and simpler than it often did. There was no need to hurry. Not today.

I’ve learned that there’s something important in letting life unfold at its own pace. And sometimes, the best things come when you simply allow yourself to be.


“There’s something about the earth beneath your hands that always leads you back to simple truths. When the rain falls and the air turns crisp, this stew brings warmth—not just to your body, but to the quiet spaces in your mind as well. It’s a meal that asks for patience, but rewards you in the end with something that feels like home, even if you’ve never quite found it.”
— Graham


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Instructions:

Prep the vegetables.

Take your time with this. There’s no need to rush. Peel the carrots, potatoes, and parsnips with care—feel the rhythm of the knife as you slice through the vegetables. Set them aside in a large bowl. The chopping should be deliberate, a process that gives your hands something to focus on while your mind unwinds.

Heat the olive oil.

In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Let the oil warm, swirling gently in the pan, the scent of it rising into the air like a quiet promise.

Cook the onions and garlic.

Add the diced onions to the pot. Let them soften in the oil, stirring occasionally, until they become translucent. Then add the minced garlic and cook for another minute, allowing the scent to fill the air. There’s something grounding about this step—the first notes of a meal starting to take shape.

Add the root vegetables.

Toss in your carrots, potatoes, and parsnips. Stir them well, letting the oil and onions coat the vegetables. The texture of the potatoes as they soften in the heat will remind you of the earth you tend outside—simple, yet full of promise.

Pour in the broth.

Slowly pour in the vegetable (or chicken) broth, watching it swirl around the vegetables like the rain outside filling the garden’s puddles. Bring the soup to a gentle boil, then reduce the heat and let it simmer. Add your rosemary and bay leaf, then cover the pot. The smell should begin to rise, filling the room with something comforting, like a memory of a place you’ve always known.

Simmer and season.

Let the stew simmer for 45 minutes, until the vegetables are tender. Stir occasionally, checking the pot as it continues to fill with warmth and color. Taste and add salt, pepper, and thyme as needed—season it until it feels just right. Remember, it’s about balance, the quiet harmony of the ingredients coming together.

Serve and enjoy.

Ladle the stew into bowls, allowing the steam to rise in slow curls. Sprinkle a little fresh parsley on top, if you like, and take a moment before you take your first bite. There’s satisfaction in the simplicity of this meal, in the knowledge that the effort you put into each step is reflected in the nourishment it provides.

Graham’s Notes:

This is a meal that holds up well in the quiet of evening, when the rain continues to fall outside, and the fire crackles in the hearth. It’s a meal for moments of reflection. I find that, in the act of cooking, the world outside seems to fade away. The vegetables—rooted deep in the earth, the broth soaking in their warmth—become a reminder of the simplicity of life and the comfort of small things.

If you’ve got a bit of bread to dip, it will greatly enhance your enjoyment of this dish. The crusty edges will soak up the broth, and you’ll find, as I did, that it’s the small joys like that that make a meal truly satisfying.

[samurai.]

A Taste of the City: A Hearty Bowl of Ramen

Ingredient List

4 cups chicken broth (or vegetable broth for a lighter version)

2 cups water

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon miso paste (optional, but adds a deeper umami flavor)

1 tablespoon sesame oil

2 garlic cloves, minced

1-inch piece of ginger, sliced thinly

2 packs of ramen noodles (or your preferred noodle)

2 eggs (soft-boiled)

1/2 cup sliced shiitake mushrooms (or any mushroom you like)

1 small carrot, julienned

1/2 cup spinach (or bok choy, if preferred)

1/2 cup sliced green onions

1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds (optional)

1/2 cup cooked pork belly (or chicken breast, if preferred)

Chili oil (optional, for a little extra heat)

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The city had always felt like a world away—noisy, fast, and full of energy that seemed to hum through every street and building. I’d spent a few years there, back when life was a blur of work and fleeting connections. There was something exhilarating about it, but also something exhausting.

One of the things I remember most about those days was the ramen shop at the corner of my street. It wasn’t fancy! But every time I walked through its door, the rich, savory smell of broth hit me, grounding me in a way nothing else could. The hot steam rising from the bowls of noodles, the tender slices of pork, the sharp tang of fresh vegetables—it felt like the city had packed its entire soul into that bowl of ramen.

I don’t make it often, but on days when I want to taste that energy again, to remember the feeling of being swept up in something bigger than myself, I make a bowl. It’s not the same as sitting in that small, bustling shop, but it’s close enough.











“A bowl of ramen is more than just food; it’s a moment to pause, a moment to savor the balance of flavors in a way that feels alive. It’s the taste of the city, all packed into one steaming bowl.”
— Graham


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Instructions:

Prepare the broth.

In a large pot, combine the chicken broth, water, soy sauce, and miso paste. Stir until the miso is dissolved. Add the sesame oil, garlic, and ginger. Bring the mixture to a simmer over medium heat and let it cook for about 10 minutes to allow the flavors to meld together. The kitchen will start to smell like the city, a comforting, savory fragrance that promises warmth.

Cook the noodles.

While the broth is simmering, bring a separate pot of water to a boil. Drop the ramen noodles into the boiling water and cook according to the package instructions (usually 3–4 minutes). Once cooked, drain and set aside.

Prepare the toppings.

Soft-boil the eggs by placing them in a pot of water and bringing it to a boil. Once boiling, reduce to a simmer and cook for 6 minutes. Remove the eggs, peel them, and set them aside. For the pork belly (or chicken), if you have leftovers, simply slice it thinly. If not, sear the pork belly in a hot pan until crispy on both sides or cook your chicken and shred it into strips.

Assemble the ramen.

Divide the cooked noodles between two bowls. Pour the hot broth over the noodles, making sure they’re well-covered. Arrange the mushrooms, carrots, spinach, and green onions on top. Add the soft-boiled egg to each bowl, cutting it in half to reveal the perfectly golden yolk inside.

Garnish and serve.

Sprinkle sesame seeds over the top for a little crunch, and drizzle with chili oil if you prefer a bit of spice. The combination of tender noodles, the richness of the broth, and the freshness of the vegetables creates something that feels familiar and comforting.

Graham’s Notes:

The beauty of ramen is in its balance. The rich broth, the chewy noodles, the crunch of vegetables—it’s all about creating something that works together. There’s no need for perfection, just a blend of flavors and textures that feel right.

The soft-boiled egg is essential. Its creamy yolk enriches the broth in a way nothing else can. If you’re pressed for time, though, you can skip it, but I highly recommend giving it a try.

I like to make this when the days feel longer and the air outside a little too quiet. It’s a reminder of the city’s energy, of the warmth that comes when you sit down with a bowl in front of you and let the world fade away for a while.

[samurai.]

Simple Comfort and Perfect for Leftovers

Ingredient List

For the filling:
1 lb ground lamb (or beef, depending on what you have)

1 onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 carrots, diced

1 cup frozen peas

1/2 cup broth (vegetable or beef)

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Salt and pepper to taste

2 tablespoons olive oil

For the mashed potatoes:
4 large potatoes, peeled and cubed

3 tablespoons butter

1/2 cup milk (or cream if you want to be indulgent)

Salt and pepper to taste

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Some days, I just want a meal that’s easy to make, filling, and doesn’t require a lot of fuss. Shepherd’s Pie is perfect for those days. It’s straightforward, doesn’t take much effort, and it’s one of those dishes that tastes even better the next day. There’s something about the combination of savory meat, vegetables, and creamy mashed potatoes that makes it the ultimate comfort food, and it’s even better when you don’t have to cook it from scratch every time.

This version of Shepherd’s Pie is as simple as it gets. You don’t need anything fancy—just some ground meat, a few vegetables, and a batch of mashed potatoes. And the best part? It’s a great way to use up leftovers, whether it’s some extra mashed potatoes from last night or a bit of meat you’ve got hanging around in the fridge.

These ingredients don't need to be exact. This is a "feel it with your heart" kind of meal!









“Easy, filling, and perfect for leftovers. A meal that warms you up and saves you time for tomorrow.”
— Graham

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Instructions:

Make the mashed potatoes.

Boil the potatoes until they’re soft, about 15 minutes. Drain them, then mash them with butter, milk, salt, and pepper until smooth. Set them aside.

Prepare the filling.

In a pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and garlic, and cook until softened. Then, add the ground meat, breaking it apart as it cooks. Once browned, stir in the carrots and peas, then pour in the broth and tomato paste. Simmer for about 10 minutes until everything’s combined and the sauce thickens. Season with salt and pepper.

Assemble the pie.

Preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C). Spread the meat and vegetable filling in a baking dish, then top with the mashed potatoes. Smooth the potatoes out with a spatula, and if you like, add a sprinkle of cheese on top.

Bake the pie.

Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the top is golden and the filling is bubbling. If you want a crispier top, pop it under the broiler for a couple of minutes at the end.

Serve and enjoy.

Let it cool for a few minutes, then slice and serve. The leftovers, if there are any, are even better tomorrow.

Graham’s Notes:

If you have leftover mashed potatoes, this is the perfect way to use them up. You can even make the filling ahead of time and assemble it just before baking. Less work and more time to enjoy the meal.

Feel free to switch up the veggies based on what you’ve got—green beans, corn, or even spinach work great here.

This is the kind of dish that’s great the next day. It stores well in the fridge and reheats beautifully, making it a no-fuss lunch or dinner for later in the week.

[samurai.]

Competition-Style Chili: Bold, Flavorful, and Sure to Win You Over

Ingredient List

1 lb ground beef (preferably chuck, for richer flavor)
1 lb ground pork (for depth and balance)
1 onion, chopped
1 bell pepper, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes
1 can (15 oz) kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 can (15 oz) pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1/2 cup beef broth (or stock)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon chili powder (or more if you want extra heat)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (adds a subtle warmth)
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (for that extra kick)
1/2 cup dark chocolate or cocoa (for richness)
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar (adds a tangy kick)
Salt and pepper to taste
Olive oil for cooking
Optional: 1-2 jalapeños, finely chopped (for extra heat)

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There’s something special about a great bowl of chili. It’s not just about the heat or the richness—it’s about layering flavors, building depth, and finding the perfect balance of spice and savory goodness. This competition-style chili takes things up a notch, with extra seasonings, a touch of smoky flavor, and a variety of beans and meats that create a chili that's hearty and complex.

The first time I brought out this chili was maybe two years after I moved here. I had only just started to integrate within my community, but this threw me into it full force. After entering, people began to clamor to come visit and get a taste of whatever I was cooking! I appreciated the company, as a lot of the time I fought loneliness. This chili was good enough to haul me all the way to the state competition. I didn't win there, but every year my techniques get a lot better, and I aim to reach nationals one day.

This chili is perfect for when you want to impress, whether it’s a gathering or simply a cozy evening at home. It’s the kind of recipe that’s been refined over time, making sure that every spoonful is packed with layers of flavor, heat, and a touch of unexpected complexity. This isn’t the chili you’ll whip up on a weeknight—it’s the kind of chili that deserves your full attention, even if it’s just for a few hours. Trust me, it’s worth it! If you don't cook it for yourself, come by the next chili competition so I can give you a bowl.





“This is the chili that stands out in a crowd. Deep, smoky, and bold with just the right kick—sure to win over even the toughest critics.”
— Graham


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Instructions:

Brown the meat.

In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat a bit of olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and ground pork, breaking them apart as they brown. Cook until the meat is fully browned, about 8-10 minutes. Drain any excess fat, but leave a bit behind for flavor.

Cook the vegetables.

Add the chopped onion, bell pepper, and garlic to the pot. Sauté until softened, about 5-7 minutes. If you’re using jalapeños, add them at this point for some extra heat. The combination of the vegetables and meat will create a solid base for the chili’s flavor.

Add the spices and flavors.

Stir in the smoked paprika, chili powder, cumin, coriander, cinnamon, cayenne, and a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Allow the spices to cook for a minute or two to release their aromas and blend together. Then, add the tomato paste, Worcestershire sauce, and apple cider vinegar, stirring everything to combine.

Simmer the chili.

Pour in the diced tomatoes and beef broth, scraping any bits stuck to the bottom of the pot. Add all the beans—kidney, black, and pinto—along with a handful of dark chocolate or cocoa. The cocoa adds a rich, slightly bitter undertone that will deepen the overall flavor of the chili. Stir everything together and bring the chili to a simmer.

Slow-cook the chili.

Reduce the heat to low and let the chili simmer, uncovered, for about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Stir occasionally, and let the flavors meld together. If the chili becomes too thick, add a bit more broth or water to reach your desired consistency. The longer you let it simmer, the more the flavors will develop.

Taste and adjust.

After it’s done simmering, taste the chili and adjust the seasoning. Add more salt, pepper, or chili powder if needed. If you like it spicier, toss in some hot sauce or extra cayenne pepper.

Serve and garnish.

Ladle the chili into bowls. You can top it with shredded cheese, sour cream, chopped green onions, or even some crushed tortilla chips for texture. Serve with cornbread or crusty bread on the side, and enjoy!

Graham’s Notes:

The dark chocolate or cocoa might sound unusual, but trust me, it’s a game changer. It adds a layer of depth and richness to the chili that you won’t be able to get from just the spices alone.

The simmering time is key here. The longer it simmers, the more developed and balanced the flavors become. If you have the time, let it go for a couple of hours.

If you’re looking for an extra smoky kick, you can add a bit of chipotle chili powder or some smoked salt.

This chili also freezes really well. If you make a big batch, freeze the leftovers for a quick meal on a busy day.

[samurai.]

The Slow-Cooked, Tender, Flavorful Meal You’ll Want to Share

Ingredient List

1 whole beef brisket (10-12 pounds)

1/4 cup olive oil or mustard (for binding the rub)

1/4 cup coarse kosher salt

1/4 cup black pepper

2 tablespoons smoked paprika

2 tablespoons brown sugar

2 tablespoons garlic powder

1 tablespoon onion powder

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 tablespoon chili powder

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 teaspoon ground mustard

1 teaspoon cayenne pepper (for a bit of heat)

1/2 cup apple cider vinegar (for spritzing)

1/2 cup beef broth (for the pan)

Wood chips for smoking (hickory or oak are ideal)

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The first time I smoked a brisket was years ago, shortly after I moved into the cottage. I was still adjusting to the quiet of country life, still learning how to make peace with the solitude. It was a time when everything felt new—the sounds of birds in the morning, the scent of the damp earth after the rain, and the steady rhythm of my own thoughts in the silence. But there was something about the idea of cooking a brisket that felt grounding. It seemed like the kind of dish that would connect me to the land, to the traditions of those who had come before me, and to the kind of life I was beginning to build here.

I had no idea what I was doing. But there was a local butcher, a quiet old man who had been smoking meats in the town for decades, who sold me a beautiful, marbled brisket. He looked at me over the counter with a knowing glance and said, “You’re in for a long day. But it’s worth it.”

He wasn’t wrong. That first brisket took hours, a full day in the smoker. And while I learned that patience was key, it wasn’t just the brisket that taught me something—it was the quiet hours spent tending to the fire. It gave me space to think, to reflect, and to come to terms with everything I had been running from.

By the time the brisket was done, it wasn’t just a meal—it was a kind of catharsis. It marked the beginning of my love for slow cooking, for the kind of meal that forces you to slow down and enjoy the moment. Over the years, I’ve made it many times, always remembering that first one, always grateful for the lessons it taught me about patience, resilience, and the importance of nurturing things—whether it’s a piece of meat or a part of yourself.





“Patience is key, but once you’ve tasted that smoky, tender brisket, you’ll agree that the wait was absolutely worth it.”
— Graham

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Instructions:

Prepare the brisket.

The first thing you need to do is trim the brisket. Remove any large pieces of fat, but leave a layer of about 1/4 inch of fat on the top. This will render down during the cook and help keep the meat juicy.

Apply the binder.

Coat the brisket with a thin layer of olive oil or mustard. This helps the rub stick and gives the meat a nice, even coating.

Make the rub.

In a bowl, mix the kosher salt, black pepper, smoked paprika, brown sugar, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, chili powder, coriander, mustard powder, and cayenne pepper. This rub is a balance of sweet, smoky, and spicy, just the way I like it.

Season the brisket.

Generously rub the seasoning mixture all over the brisket. Make sure to coat it evenly and press it into the meat. Let the brisket sit for about 30 minutes while you prepare your smoker.

Prepare the smoker.

Preheat your smoker to 225°F (107°C). Soak your wood chips for about 30 minutes before placing them in the smoker. Hickory or oak is my preferred choice—there’s something about the deep, rich flavor they impart to the brisket.

Smoke the brisket.

Place the brisket fat-side up on the smoker rack. Close the smoker and let it cook for about 1 to 1.5 hours per pound. The beauty of brisket is in the slow smoking process—every hour, I like to spritz it with apple cider vinegar to keep the surface moist.

Wrap the brisket.

After about 4-6 hours, the brisket will reach an internal temperature of around 160°F. At this point, wrap it tightly in butcher paper or foil to keep it cooking evenly and prevent it from drying out. Continue smoking until the internal temperature reaches 200-205°F, which will take another 4-6 hours.

Rest the brisket.

Once the brisket reaches 200°F, remove it from the smoker and let it rest, still wrapped, for at least 30 minutes. This step is crucial for letting the juices redistribute throughout the meat.

Slice and serve.

After the brisket has rested, slice it against the grain into thin slices. Serve it with your favorite sides—whether it’s coleslaw, potato salad, or baked beans, it’s the perfect complement to that rich, smoky flavor.

Graham’s Notes:

The key to a great brisket is time. Don’t rush the process. Give yourself the space to enjoy the quiet moments that come with it. There’s something meditative about tending the fire, checking the smoker, and watching the brisket slowly transform.

The rub can be adjusted to suit your taste. If you like more heat, add extra cayenne. If you want more sweetness, bump up the brown sugar.

Leftovers are fantastic. Use them in sandwiches, tacos, or chili (like the one I've posted previously)—the possibilities are endless.

[samurai.]

A Simple, Soul-Warming Dessert

Ingredient List

For the filling:
6-8 apples (I prefer a mix of tart Granny Smiths and sweet Honeycrisps)

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Pinch of salt

For the topping
1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cubed

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There’s something about a warm apple crisp that always takes me back to my childhood. I can remember the way the house would smell when my grandmother baked it, filling the air with the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon and baked apples. It was a dish that didn’t need to be fussy—just simple, honest ingredients, slowly baking away in the oven, and soon enough, everyone was gathered around the table, sharing stories and enjoying the comfort of something homemade.

It’s a dessert that’s tied to family for me, and now, out here in the quiet of the countryside, it has become a kind of ritual—one that I often make on a cold evening when the fire is crackling and the rain is pattering against the windows. I’ve learned that, in this life, sometimes it’s the simplest things that bring the most comfort—like a warm dessert after a long day of working the garden or tending to the fire.

There’s no need to overcomplicate it. The apples come from a local orchard just down the road, and the oats for the topping I buy from a nearby mill. It’s all very simple, but in that simplicity, there’s something beautifully grounding.




“A dessert that reminds me that the best things in life don’t have to be complicated. Just a few good ingredients, a little time, and the warmth of the oven to bring it all together.”
— Graham


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Instructions:

Preheat your oven.

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). While it warms up, peel, core, and slice your apples into thin wedges.

Prepare the filling.

In a large bowl, toss the sliced apples with lemon juice, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a pinch of salt. Make sure the apples are evenly coated in the mixture, and then transfer them to a greased 9x13-inch baking dish.

Make the topping.

In a separate bowl, combine the oats, flour, brown sugar, granulated sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Stir to combine. Add the cold butter cubes and use your fingers or a pastry cutter to work the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

Assemble the crisp.

Evenly sprinkle the oat mixture over the apples in the baking dish. Don’t worry if it looks a little uneven—that rustic look is part of the charm.

Bake the crisp.

Bake the apple crisp in the preheated oven for 45-55 minutes, or until the topping is golden brown and the apples are bubbling around the edges. If the topping is getting too brown before the apples are fully tender, cover it loosely with foil and continue baking.

Rest and serve.

Let the crisp rest for 10-15 minutes before serving so the juices can thicken up. Serve it warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a dollop of freshly whipped cream if you like.

Graham’s Notes:

Don’t skip the lemon juice—it brightens the flavor of the apples and balances the sweetness of the sugar.

I prefer using a mix of tart and sweet apples to give the crisp a nice depth of flavor, but you can use whatever apples you have on hand.

This dessert is best served warm, fresh from the oven, but if you have leftovers, it keeps well in the fridge for a couple of days. Just reheat it in the oven to bring that crisp topping back to life.