Beef Bourguignon

I don't know about you but this December has been full of all things congestion, respiratory ailments and fever. After traveling for the holidays, our family came back a little more under the weather and in serious need of a home-cooked comfort meal. I have had a go-to pot roast recipe I rarely deviate from but decided to change it up and finally try a beef bourguignon.

I'll tell you, I thought I was saving this recipe for a nice dinner or a hosting opportunity. There's something about the name alone that just sounds all Frenchy and fancy. But when thinking of something to make and feed our family, it felt like a perfect sick-day-feel-better-pajamas-on-the-couch meal too, so it can go either way, dressed up or dressed very down! I look for dishes that are robust with flavor and this did not disappoint. It is important to reduce the wine to the point where it is syrupy, then slowly add in the other ingredients for the sauce, a little at a time, continuing to reduce, so that the flavors are very poignant in taste.

I followed this recipe as a baseline, but also took my own liberties. For example, I don't do mushrooms. Someone once looked at me and said how can you call yourself a foodie if you don't eat one of the most delectable flavors there is? Well, I have tried, it's not for me, and I get by. I just hate the texture of them and can't do it. They are a umami, so I know the flavor elevates a dish. I've cooked with them before if it's an easy discard but this wouldn't be that. I decided to use onions instead because that is my "umami". Instead of full on soy sauce, I did part soy, part Worcestershire for more diverse flavor. Finally, I used butter to give it that final kick of dimension for rich, velvety goodness.

I also like to shred my meat rather than cook it cubed. I feel like it is more tender and flavorful that way. However, this method can also soak up more of the juices or sauce which depletes from the final result when time to serve. Making this for the first time, I used potatoes in the cooking process and the amount of sauce in the pan worked well. If I were to omit the potatoes when cooking and save them for a cauliflower/potato mash or polenta, I would have wanted this to have a bit more sauce to it. If you plan to serve over a starch, I would go heavier on the liquids by about 1/4 a cup each so you have plenty of sauce to serve with your dish.

I use a dutch oven when "slow cooking" because the flavor to me is better, but many prefer to use the crock pot. For crock pot instructions, refer to the linked recipe above, but come back here for step-by-step cooking directions.

Yields 6 servings
Prep time: 30 min
Cook time: 2 hours

• 5 slices of bacon
• Salt and pepper
• 3 lb. beef chuck roast, cut into large sections (about 5 for that size)
• 1 cup red wine (I used a Pinot Noir which is a Burgundy and perfect for this dish) 
• 2 cups beef broth
• 1/2 cup tomato sauce
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
• 2 tbsp. butter
• 1/4 cup all purpose flour
• 5 garlic cloves, sliced
• 2 tbsp. thyme
• 1 cup carrots, chopped
• 1 cup baby potatoes, chopped (I used smaller pearled potatoes and cut them in fourths)
• 1/2 onion, chopped in larger chunks
• fresh parsley for garnish

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. On medium-low heat, add the bacon to the pot and allow to crisp. As it does, it will create a nice pot of grease for you to use in the next step! While bacon cooks, season beef with salt and pepper. When bacon is crisp, remove and discard. 

Next, turn up the heat to medium-high and add your sections of beef to the pot to sear in the bacon grease, about 1-2 minutes per side. This locks in the flavor and will make your beef even more tender. Once all is seared, remove beef to a plate and set aside. 

Next, add in the wine and turn up to simmer to allow the wine to reduce. Scrape the brown bits from the sides of the pan from the bacon and the beef. Reduce by about half and it should look a little syrupy, then add in the beef stock about 1/2 cup at a time, keeping the heat high. Next add in the tomato sauce, then soy sauce, followed by the Worcestershire. Let this all simmer together for about 5 minutes, then stir in the butter until melted. Final step for the sauce is to thicken it with the flour. Turn down the heat to medium and add the flour, about a tbsp at a time, and whisk constantly until all combined without lumps. 

Add the beef back in and settle around the pan, then add the garlic, carrots, potatoes, onion and finally the thyme. Give it all a big stir, put the lid on and place in the oven for 2 hours. 

When the timer goes off, remove from the oven and using tongs, remove the meat to shred on a plate, discarding any additional fat, then adding meat back into the pot. You can allow this to sit on the stove over low heat until ready to serve! 

For a bonus recipe, make this super easy and delicious roasted parmesan green beans side from Skinnytaste to pair with your Beef Bourguignon. 

The Darkness of Grief at the Holidays

In those first six months after Hudson died, the darkness had a way of always winning in most circumstances. It was harder trying to fight it than just succumbing to it and letting the sadness take hold. There were times it would come out of nowhere, and other times you could feel it, as if it were under your skin, boiling and waiting to erupt at the right time. The darkness would set in when I was alone with my thoughts, like in the car, the shower, and at night as I tried to drift to sleep.

The darkness would differ. Sometimes it would be flashbacks to the hospital, moments that were really painful and ones that I never did write about or talk about. Like the elevator ride from Labor and Delivery to the anti-partum floor. They wheeled Hudson and me through the service elevators for an attempt at privacy, yet another doctor happened to hop on as the elevator was closing and I sat there in my wheelchair holding Hudson, trying to shield him from view. The doctor was on his phone and without looking at us, simply said congratulations, beautiful baby. Nurse Katie was horrified that it happened, the look on her face scanning mine to see my reaction, let me know that. I stared at the back of that doctor’s head until they got off the elevator with a mix of horror and hatred. Or how from the moment Hudson left our arms for the last time, I could hear a baby crying constantly from down the way as we waited in that room to be discharged and go home. Little details like that would surface and replay over and over in my mind. It would also surface as recollections of emotional breakdowns I would have from triggers resulting from his passing. It would be thoughts of what would our life be like right now if he were here? These are the ways the darkness would seep in.

The darkness has a way of inserting itself when it isn’t welcome or wanted. No matter the amount of self care or proactive work you may be doing to keep it away while trying to stay happy and thankful for the blessings in your life. It just shows up sometimes and refuses to leave. 

The darkness is cruel. It has a way of distorting your feelings of sadness into anger, which can then become jealousy, and then bitterness, and back to sadness. It can make you see a situation differently far later on and become newly emotional, changing your perspective when it’s something you thought you had worked through.

The darkness still finds me. The opportunities for it to find me are fewer and farther between than they used to be to allow it to creep in and settle, but every now and then, it takes hold. Last night I couldn’t fall asleep and I was thinking about the new baby wiggling away. I flashed back to specific times I remember Hudson moving and then I became so consumed with thoughts of him and fears of something happening to this baby. Though we had just had a wonderful appointment with no flags raised. Yet there were these intense moments of my pain, and realizing I was still in a lot of pain that I’ve hidden away until it needed to come out.

For families of loss who do have a living child, either born before or after their loss, there seems to be a common misconception from the outside world of non-grievers that that living child fills the void the non-living child/children has left, or because the parents have them, it makes things better and their grief has passed. Just like putting a time frame on grief, that’s simply incorrect. Having Hadley helps the grief, but she is not "a cure" for it. She is one member of our family, just like the new baby is, but we have a child that will always be missing. If you have children, I ask you to imagine the holidays without one of them. What if your first baby was born, but you never got to take them home with you? What if one of your children was gone from your life altogether? A piece of you would be too, regardless of the others you do have. 

Our first Christmas as bereaved parents, I was living in the darkness and the week of Christmas, I remember carolers coming to our door. I believe it was the neighborhood early childhood PTA group and as they would arrive to your house, you were to join in and follow for this big group of holiday cheer door to door. Something my non-grieving self would have jumped at the chance to do! I was watching TV and cuddling George on the couch, Max was outside working in the garage. They knocked on the door and then the chorus started with We Wish You a Merry Christmas. I sat there frozen on my couch and was torn between wishing I felt up to opening the door to enjoy and then wishing they would leave. I couldn't get up and open that door because the tears were falling and I wanted to tell them there was nothing to be merry about this Christmas, my baby was dead and I didn't know when we would be blessed to have a living child. I thought if Hudson were there, how fun to stand on the big porch together, bouncing him on my hip as we sang along, and then put him in the carrier to go caroling as a family with the group. They kept singing and went onto song two which was Silent Night, a Christmas song that was now very hard for me. The windows in our front door made it impossible to get up and walk out of the room without being seen, so I just laid there crying until they moved onto the next house and I could move to the back of the house to not hear the echos of the carols on the street.

Two days later we left on a trip to escape Christmas and the pain of not having Hudson by making Christmas completely different than what we traditionally do. Instead of the normal routine we knew and the pain of his glaring absence from it, we traveled just the two of us to Quebec, only to end up lost in a cemetery on Mont Royal and our escape down the side of the “mountain” to civilization again. A dark-humored account I shared in this post.

Last year I had compartmentalized my grief and was really caught up in life transitioning from newborn to infant craziness. I had little time alone and was soaking up the joy that she brought, I did a pretty good job of ignoring the darkness and pain that was looming. Finally, on Christmas Eve, I was tired of staving it off and as I held my two-month-old in a room lit by only our Christmas tree, I was overcome by grief wishing for our family to be in its entirety, with Hudson there too.

This year the darkness snuck in and on Tuesday, December 5, I had an emotional meltdown in the aisle at Target at 12:53 PM.

I was there to pick out the Christmas gift for an underprivileged child who we were assigned through a community organization that is important to me. They have an annual toy drive and after preparing my heart for it since last Christmas, I was ready to do it in Hudson’s honor and be assigned a boy his age. I had a few other things to get at the store so I let that distract me from the true reason I was there as I moved about the aisles, checking things off my mental list. Then came time to grab that last item, the toy. I could have Amazon Primed the gift to our house, but that was taking the easy way out. I wanted to pick it out, it needed to be personally chosen for this child. This little boy’s description said he loved music and toys that would light up. He wanted a Leap Frog Music Beats Activity Table. I told myself, okay, we have one of those at home, I can do this because I wouldn’t be picking that toy out for Hudson right now. We got one for Hadley at nine months, so surely, this is something we would have already had for a long time if Hudson were here.

But Target didn’t have it. They were all out of those tables. I stood in the aisle and felt the darkness rising in the form of panic as I tried to think through what to do. I had to get a toy that day because we were headed out of town and there was a deadline to get it to them in order for his wish to be fulfilled by the volunteers at the toy drive warehouse, this was the only time I had to do it before we left. I wanted to pick this out for him, he deserved that personal touch chosen with love, I needed to pick something out for him because I couldn’t personally pick out anything special for my son at Christmas. I had this little boy I could bring joy to, one I could give to, because I didn’t have my own son to do it for. These thoughts continued as I looked around the aisle, scanning it to triple check I hadn’t overlooked the item listed on that card. He likes anything that plays music and lights up, the wish list said, offering additional hints for other gifts if the donor preferred or needed other options. I had readied myself to come pick out that specific item, and my heart was in a place to do just that, but now that item wasn’t there and I was surrounded by other toys asking, what else would this 2.5 year old boy want? Well I don’t know, my 2.5 year old isn’t here. I should have one here and I should know what else I could pick out. I stood there trying to stop the tears or to at least silent cry but unable to hold back as the darkness won.

A man in a Target red shirt tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if he could help me find something. I turned around and by the look on his face when I did, I knew it was apparent I was ugly crying. His face changed and just said softly, how can I help you ma’am? I told him I needed to find something special for a little boy who is two and a half, and I can’t find this item that he wanted, so I don’t know what to get instead. I was embarrassed and judging by his reaction to me, I knew I was visibly shaken. I wanted to explain myself but I didn’t want to say anything more at the same time. I wanted to crawl in a hole for standing in that store in the toy aisle, red and blotchy with tears down my face. I didn’t want to cry in public, I hate crying in public. I was frustrated and mad at myself because I wanted to be stronger, I should be stronger. I wanted to feel at peace with this for doing this in Hudson's memory. I wanted to feel warmth and comfort in my heart knowing what it would mean to this little boy who was in foster care to feel loved and receive something special, just for him. Yet, grief wasn’t allowing that in the moment. Now there were more people shopping the aisle and I wanted to give up and go but I felt trapped.

I held out my paper, to which he took and examined, then told me to follow him. We went four aisles down and he apologized things were out of order, they were in process of unpacking new shipments as the store was going through a remodel and they were expanding the section for the holidays. They didn’t have the Leap Frog, but this was a new Fisher Price display on an aisle that was transitioning from sporting equipment to more toys. We found a similar activity table and he handed it to me. I choked out a thank you and again tried to stop the hot tears. He wished me a happy holidays and said he hopes the gift makes the little boy very happy.

I did the self-checkout and got to my car. My car, a place that was like my sanctuary for emotion and release for a very long time after our loss. It’s where the darkness found me through a song on the radio or sudden thought that would sneak into my head. I sat in my car and gave the darkness the power again. I needed to because finishing that emotional release would allow me to get back to the normal so I could go back to work and finish my day as if nothing was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t ready to do this yet like I thought. Or maybe it will be this difficult but evolving each time, as I always wonder what my son would want/need for Christmas that year. But it was a start to something I have wanted to do to honor Hudson even though it was met with more grief than anticipated.  

With Christmas a few days away, the darkness has continued to try to creep in however it can as I carry one baby, raise another, and still long for our first. It will be our third Christmas without our son and each year is proving to be a new kind of difficult. In addition to the Target meltdown, last week we had a Christmas program for Hadley’s school. I had worked with some other parents to get the Potluck lunch organized for families of the school and wanted to be there for the whole thing, though Hadley's class was too young to really perform in it or take part in the lunch. As each age group came up to do their thing, I had to excuse myself due to the inability to calm the emotions from watching the 2 year old classes perform. The thoughts whirling around wondering would Hudson be like the kid in the red sweater hugging his teacher and crying through the whole performance? Would he be like the one on the end jumping around? Would he be like the curly head one shouting the lyrics and giving the audience big smiles? Then there was the program title, Because of a Baby Boy. I find that to be a very emotional part of the holiday for me, the various references to the baby boy. Finally, there was our sweet little girl brought in with her class dressed as an angel, to my surprise. 

The darkness will continue to seep through at times the heart is vulnerable throughout the year. It will infiltrate the holiday cheer, and weigh heavily because someone who is incredibly loved is terribly missed. No amount of other children or distraction will take the place of that. As I organize our home office containing Christmas gifts, I can’t help but picture what is missing. I see that toy aisle from Target in my mind as I scanned it for other 2.5 year old gift options and wonder what I would have grabbed for Hudson, what I'd be wrapping up or building out with Max for Christmas morning for him. I still can’t listen to Silent Night. If it comes on in the car, I change it immediately. I anticipate excusing myself early at the Christmas Eve service on Sunday because it is always the last song sung. This year we will travel on Christmas to visit family. A Christmas we haven’t done since we announced our pregnancy with Hudson. I anticipate the darkness, because that memory is still a hard one, but at least I expect it. So maybe I can prepare mentally for it. Maybe it will just find me in the quiet moments alone to myself. Maybe I need that.

For those struggling this holiday due to loss in your life - however distant or recent it took place - know that you are not alone in that. It is my hope that the magic of Christmas can outweigh or at least counterbalance the darkness that may arise, the pain that will be present in your hearts. Here's to finding tidings of comfort and joy through the darkness in a world full of light. 

A Letter to My Littlest

Sweet baby,

I am 22 weeks pregnant with you and had an appointment today to check in and see you. Everything about you is perfect and I’m thankful to have the ability to make sure of it, even though I still hate the reason why we do. You will be born into a family with a big sister 18 months older than you, and you have a big brother who is in Heaven. It’s because he left us before we could experience life together that we get to see you so much and make sure you are okay. Now our doctor and her team takes every precaution to ensure nothing is wrong and we get you here safe and sound.

You’ve been making some stronger movements lately and it has made me stop what I’m doing to just be able to pause and enjoy. The movements of my babies are the most special parts of my pregnancies. They are what I look forward to the most in a pregnancy and the first thing I miss when I’m not pregnant anymore. I’ve been feeling you consistently for about two weeks now, but you are strong enough to be felt by outside touch now too, so the other night, Daddy got to feel you kick for the first time. I ate a Christmas cookie while finishing up some work at home, then within 15 minutes, you started hopping around. Big bold movements on my left side. We had just been talking about your big sister’s newfound strength and how she wrestled the doctor’s ear thingy (it is a technical term) away when at the Pediatrician earlier that day and I said, speaking of strength, this baby has some if you want to come feel? He did, and then you did you thing, and I smiled. Daddy’s eyes got all big and he said whoa, hey there baby! Just like he did with Hudson, just like he did with Hadley. I remember each of the moments when he felt his babies kick for the first time and the look on his face to get to experience it too.

Your big sister has become very cuddly and she loves to lay her head on the baby belly. You always become more active when she does, so I like to think you two are already channeling a little sibling bond. It's like she is being protective the way she lays her head and hand where you are, then you react to that touch by letting her know you are there. We’ve been working on teaching her to say baby, but you may be called puppy for a while.

You were kind of against our odds. To learn we were pregnant with you, even my doctor was in disbelief given some issues that should have made it more difficult. You are determined and strong, little one. We thought it would be months and months of waiting again. The way you began was a great surprise, so the way you arrive will only echo that when we find out just who you are. Our time together with you on the inside feels like it is flying by, which on the one hand makes me relieved because with our history, I’m ready to get you here, in my arms, breathing and crying. However, outside of the fear and anxiety that will always exist at some capacity, I truly love being pregnant and want to cherish this time with you – my last baby. We learned at the last appointment that my placenta did move and I no longer have placenta previa to worry about, so that is one less thing to stress over during this time together. Today we saw that the cyst on my ovary has completely shrunk too! 

We have a list on the fridge with our favorite names, mixing and matching firsts and middles. It’s been a fun game and while I think the right ones are evident, I’m going to keep working on your Daddy a bit more and enjoy this little name game.

I get teary eyed every time I think about the moment when we will get to meet you. That moment I held my babies to my chest for the first time was an indescribable feeling of finally getting to see and feel that long awaited miracle. While your big brother’s was also met with deep pain because his hello also meant a goodbye, your big sister’s was a joy we hadn’t experienced ever before in that way, and one I cannot wait to experience again with you. 

I can’t wait to keep getting to know you in there, and even more so, I can’t wait to meet you out here when the time comes. Again we are trying to conquer faith over fear and though there have been moments, we are so far, so good. 

I love you Squish and look forward to seeing you again at our next appointment. 

Mommy