Rise to the occasion.

Have you ever met that person who makes their presence known from the minute they get to the party? They're bubbly, have mastered conversation and whether they know anyone or not, they'll leave the party with a handful of new friends. I was never that person.

But can you look past the social guy to see the wallflower in the corner? Party of one? That was me for a long time. Too long.

This story sums it up best. Past, present and future, I have always loved to dance. When I was about four years old, my mom signed me up for a ballet class, which--no surprise--I loved. BUT. But at the end of the class, the teacher invited each of us to form a circle and dance however we wished in front of the class. When it came time for me to dance like no one was watching, I cried and couldn't do it. Needless to say, I only lasted a few more classes.

Year later, when I was working as a receptionist, I would break a sweat when I had to call a complete stranger on the phone. God forbid if they didn't pick up and I had to leave a message. Words were jumbled; I suddenly became amazing at being inarticulate. I never went alone to parties and it always took me a little longer to warm up to a room of people. Even if it was a family party, I would stay quiet and listen to everyone else until I felt comfortable enough to open up.

It's hard to pinpoint when your core characteristics start to grow and change, but I started to fake it until I felt it. Reaching outside your comfort zone and embracing the uncomfortable is a wonderful, addictive feeling.

Fortunately, I wound up with two jobs that constantly reaquainted me with being uncomfortable: Writing and Cooking.  Talk about vulnerability! Write a story or poem from your heart and share it with a friend. Recognize how uncomfortable it starts to get for you when they begin reading it. Cooking, too. Everyone eats and everyone has an opinion on what they eat. They might not know how to cook an egg, but they'll have plenty of corrections to make when they go to that new restaurant in town. Make a new dish and feed someone. You'll notice how you wait for their reaction, or any small signal that lets you know whether they approve or not.

Fortunately, I genuinely can't remember what it feels like to be that shy. I'm able to talk to new people without stuttering and fumbling through words. I need to remind myself not to take up all of the air time when I'm out with friends. Whether or not it gets read, I write. And whether or not it gets eaten, I cook. Oh, and I dance...like everyone is watching. We all should.

Chocolate Souffle
Serves 2-4 (courtesy of Gourmet)

As far as desserts go, souffles are pretty gutsy. They're the go-for-the-gold dish. Will they rise? Will they be fluffy? The suspense is fun and you don't have to feel to uncomfortable--this recipe is a classic--you're in good hands.

• 1/3 cup sugar plus additional for sprinkling
• 5 oz bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped
• 3 large egg yolks at room temperature
• 6 large egg whites
• Accompaniment: lightly sweetened whipped cream
• Special equipment: a 5 1/2- to 6-cup glass or ceramic soufflé dish

Preheat oven to 375°F. Generously butter soufflé dish and sprinkle with sugar, knocking out excess.

Melt chocolate in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring occasionally until smooth. Remove bowl from heat and stir in yolks (mixture will stiffen).

Beat whites with a pinch of salt in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until they just hold soft peaks. Add 1/3 cup sugar, a little at a time, continuing to beat at medium speed, then beat at high speed until whites just hold stiff peaks. Stir about 1 cup whites into chocolate mixture to lighten, then add mixture to remaining whites, folding gently but thoroughly.

Spoon into soufflé dish and run the end of your thumb around inside edge of soufflé dish (this will help soufflé rise evenly). Bake in middle of oven until puffed and crusted on top but still jiggly in center, 24 to 26 minutes. Serve immediately.

(acorn) squashing writer's block.

I was an English major. For me, this meant learning to navigate murky post-modern novels, while dissecting Shakespeare and writing decent papers. In my first semester, I heard two contradicting sentences uttered by my professors that altered my relationship with my pen.

Statement A: Philosophy Class. “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” –Socrates

Statement B: Journalism Class. “Write what you know.”

Statement A rang very true for me. Usually, when you think you’ve figured it out, whatever it is, you find yourself back at square one, admitting that you, in fact, still need to figure it out and learn a little more. 

Statement B was downright scary. Write what I know, I thought. What do I want to devote myself to learning enough about, to know that I can write about it? I didn't know.

If I write what I know, and I know nothing, then I write nothing.

And that’s what happened, dear friends. For the next ten years, I put writing aside. Well, let me clarify. I wrote professionally about weddings and beauty products and other people. When it came to me, there was radio silence. The expansive white computer screen was intimidating beyond imagination. With every blink of the cursor, I was reminded that I was speechless.

But everyone has stories to tell.

Thankfully, I've learned that jumping head first into something is the best way to learn/cope/get out of your comfort zone. Dipping my toes in the water allows too much time to think about whether I'll sink or swim. So now, whether or not I feel inspired or chatty or creative, I write. It has to be total submersion or bust.

When a lack of inspiration strikes in the kitchen, this little all-in-one dish saves the day. 
The stalls at the farmer's market were looking a little sad this week, still offering the sloppy seconds of winter's produce: squash, root vegetables, onions. The stuffed acorn squash that ensued turned a bitterly cold day into a brighter one. The best part is that they can be assembled in advance with whatever vegetables you have on hand and baked off when you're ready to eat--comfort food at its best.

Roasted Acorn Squash with Parsnip Stuffing
Serves 4

2 acorn squash, halved with seeds and pulp removed
3 T. extra virgin olive oil

2 large parsnips, grated

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 leek, white part only, thinly sliced

1 cup roasted broccoli florets

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup toasted pecan pieces

Salt and pepper to taste

4 T. butter

¼ tsp. nutmeg

Pinch cinnamon

Minced chives to garnish
1/2 cup shredded fontina cheese (optional)

1.) Arrange squash halves cut side up on a sheet pan and drizzle with olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and roast at 350 degrees for 35 minutes, until cooked through.

2.) Heat a medium skillet and coat the bottom with olive oil. Add the leek and garlic and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the broccoli and parsnips to the mixture and saute for 3 minutes--parsnips should be soft and golden, but not heavily browned. Stir in the pecans and cranberries. Season to taste.

3.) Make the sauce: Slowly brown the butter in a small skillet over low heat. The butter should take on a medium golden color and have a warm, nutty fragrance. (If it becomes black or starts to smoke it's gone too far.)
Once the butter is browned, add the nutmeg and cinnamon and a pinch of salt to season. Set aside.

4.) Fill each squash half with the vegetable mixture and drizzle one tablespoon of the brown butter sauce over each half. Broil on low for 2 minutes until the tops are golden. Cut each squash in half, sprinkle with chives and serve. Note: If you're a cheese lover, and who isn't, sprinkle the tops with shredded fontina and broil until a golden crust forms on the top.

Photos by Jamie Federico