Uffda Jen
@uffdajen
A Minneapolis girl living in a St Louis world! Gin-eyerolls-awkward-shenanigans-snark-shaking my iced coffee-casual mentions of One Direction.
I saw one hummingbird. So I bought a hummingbird feeder. Then the hummingbirds actually showed up. Now I’ve become the neighborhood hummingbird concierge. I’m making fresh sugar water, obsessively cleaning feeders, and assigning them names like they’re tiny coworkers.
Limited-time pastries activate something primal in me. Nathaniel Reid Bakery said this lemon raspberry croissant is only here today and tomorrow, so naturally I treated it like an emergency.
The Porch Goose is squeezing every last drop out of summer like it’s the final inch of sunscreen in the bottle.
She may look like she has unresolved issues, but underneath it’s pretzel crust, peanut butter mousse, dark chocolate ganache, and homemade whipped cream. All made from scratch and with only a few curse words. Don’t judge a pie by its piping.
I made banana bread for the first time. Turns out the secret ingredient is waiting until your bananas look like they’ve seen some things. I was prepared for a dense little loaf of disappointment, but instead I made something epic. Moist? Yes. Chocolate chips? Double yes!
If your brownie doesn’t leave fingerprints of chocolate on everything you touch, is it even trying? I did a semi-homemade Vietnamese brownie. Mixed in coffee, condensed milk, and white chocolate chunks into the batter. Then it is topped with a dark chocolate and espresso glaze
Bruce and I are emotionally preparing for the new Little House on the Prairie series by embracing our pioneer era. He’s got the bonnet. I’ve got the snacks. Neither of us plans on churning butter or surviving a winter in a one-room cabin.
Against all odds (and despite several moments of “that doesn’t seem right”), I successfully made a NYT Blackberry Yogurt Pie. Did I learn things? Yes. Did I trust the process? Absolutely not. Would I make it again? For that buttery Ritz cracker crust alone… absolutely.
The free library at the Y reminds me of summers at my grandma’s, reading books that 12 year Jen had no business reading. I learned a lot about the gold rush, homesteading, and English caste systems
The good news: Bruce and the porch goose wear the same size. The bad news: Bruce and the porch goose wear the same size. So here’s your exclusive sneak peek at next month’s porch goose outfit, modeled by The Cathole because apparently he’s available for freelance fashion work now.
I found a recipe that didn’t require a special trip to the grocery store, random niche ingredients, or a minor emotional breakdown. Peach brown sugar spoon cake. Pantry staples. Peaches. Vanilla ice cream. I’m either becoming a baker or this recipe is doing all the heavy lifting
The best part of finishing a crochet project is forgetting how much work it was. This Northern Lights-inspired blanket was fiddly, time-consuming, and occasionally tested my patience. And I am in love with it! And yet… I’m already excited for the next one.
Adult money is wild. As a kid, I thought being a grown-up meant paying bills and making responsible decisions. Turns out it means buying a neon sign that stores your Diet Coke and proudly labels them “fridge cigs.”
Some people go to happy hour for cocktails. I go for an unreasonable amount of dips. Hummus, walnut dip, and baba ghanoush from No Ordinary Rabbit. A spread so beautiful it deserved its own group photo before we demolished it. No regrets. Not even a little.
Me: I’ll just make a simple dessert. Also me: Creates a four-layer Dubai Chocolate Rice Crispy Bar featuring dark chocolate ganache, pistachio kataifi, pistachio cream rice crispies, and cocoa rice crispies. This is less a dessert and more a luxury condo development.
Everyone at the Forest Park Forever lunch looked elegant and sophisticated. I wore a homemade porch goose hat. Not a goose hat. A porch goose hat. There’s a difference. Whilst others served garden party chic, I served “Midwestern front porch icon with seasonal outfit changes.”
Current status: porch = tiny urban jungle oasis. Emotional status: deeply attached to these plants despite knowing full well I now have 10 new opportunities to disappoint Mother Nature. If keeping all of these alive becomes my summer personality, so be it.
Chewy really said “Happy Mother’s Day to the woman raising this absolute menace” and sent me a painting of The Cathole! Honestly though, this is wildly thoughtful customer service from a company that keeps my chonky feline tyrant stocked with his fancy diet food. 10/10 emotional manipulation, Chewy
The cathole is channeling his inner passenger princess and getting cat hair all over our favorite 5 year olds booster chair.
I made a whole stack of crochet squares and The Cathole immediately filed a formal claim as “his emotional support pile.”
It’s my birthday, which means I’m fully leaning into the important things: a ridiculously pink, fluffy strawberry cake and a glass of something equally pink and sparkling.