Yes, kitchen fails. The thing that happens to everyone, and I mean EVERYONE! Even those of us who write food blogs and pretend we have our lives together because we photograph cookies on cute linen napkins. Spoiler: we do not.

So picture this. I had this entire plan—this vision—to bring you the most stunning, silky, swoon-worthy pumpkin cheesecake made in the Instant Pot. I was basically already writing the post in my head like, “Wow, Christine, you’ve peaked. Your ancestors are proud.”

But then… life.

Ivy and I have both been sick this week, and let me tell you—nothing tanks your culinary confidence like trying to bake while sleep deprived and oxygen-deprived. My brain was functioning at the level of an exhausted sloth. So what did I do? I overmixed the cheesecake batter. Like… a lot.

Friends.
It became the ugliest (yet still surprisingly delicious) cheesecake you have EVER seen. I wanted to cry. I wanted to slink away into a corner and suck my thumb. I considered switching careers and becoming a professional cloud watcher or something.

But then—
I pulled up my sweatpants (which had long since surrendered to the chaos), looked myself in the mirror, and said:

“Girl. You need a win.
Bake some cookies.”

Earlier in the day, I’d bought some clearance Ghirardelli caramel squares. (Totally for baking, of course. Absolutely not because I wanted to inhale them while hiding behind my pantry door for some caramel-based emotional support. No. Never.)

So I chopped them up.
Stuffed them inside a super simple chocolate cookie dough.
Sprinkled a little flaky salt on top.
And BOOM.

Back to being the queen of my kitchen.

Or at least, a benevolent duke. Either way, we’re counting it as a win.

And even if you don’t feel like royalty today?
Don’t stress. You’ve got this.
These cookies will lift you up like pumpkin-spice-scented angels and carry you to glory.

Salted Caramel Stuffed Chocolate Cookies

Makes 18–20 cookies
Soft, gooey, chocolatey, caramel-filled perfection.

Ingredients

• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

• 1 cup granulated sugar

• 1 cup brown sugar, packed

• 2 large eggs

• 2 tsp vanilla extract

• 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

• ½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

• 1 tsp baking soda

• ½ tsp baking powder

• 1 tsp kosher salt

• 1/2 cup chocolate chips (more chocolate is always better)

• 18–20 Ghirardelli caramel squares, roughly chopped

• Flaky sea salt for topping

Instructions

1. Preheat & prep

Preheat your oven to 350°F and line two baking sheets with parchment.
Prepare your soul for greatness.

2. Cream it

In a mixing bowl, beat the softened butter with both sugars until fluffy—
like “wow, that actually looks professional” fluffy.

Add the eggs and vanilla, and mix until combined.
Try not to think about failed cheesecakes. Move forward.

3. Dry ingredients incoming

In another bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, mixing just until combined.
Resist the urge to overmix like you did with the cheesecake. We are healing.  Now grab a spatula and fold in those chocolate chips.

4. Stuff ‘em

Scoop about 2 tablespoons of dough into your hand, flatten slightly, and place a spoonful of chopped caramel square in the center. Seal that dough around it like you’re tucking in a tiny, delicious, caramel baby.

Place on the baking sheet, spacing about 2 inches apart.

5. Bake

Bake for 10–12 minutes until the cookies are set on the edges but still soft in the middle.
They’ll look slightly underbaked. This is correct. Trust the process.

6. Salt + cool

Immediately sprinkle flaky sea salt on top—this is the crown.
Let them cool on the sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack.

7. Eat while warm

The caramel will be gooey and magical.
You’ll feel emotionally restored. Possibly powerful.

Final Thoughts

If your cheesecake flops, your cookies burn, or your week goes sideways—
you can still pull up those sweatpants, dust yourself off, and bake something that brings you a little joy.

These salted caramel stuffed chocolate cookies?
They’re joy.

Now go get your win, friend.

You deserve it.

BRRRR.
I mean it. BRRRR.
It is getting crazy cold outside — the kind of cold where you open the door, feel personally attacked, and immediately wonder why you ever decided to be a functioning adult who goes places.

Back when I was a kid (you know, a gazillion years ago), I used to get so excited when my mom made potato soup on a cold day. There’s just something so comforting about a bowl of creamy potatoes when your eyelashes are freezing together and you’re questioning your life choices.

And listen, I still love a good potato soup. I would fight a snowdrift for one.
BUT when I discovered that you can make a soup that has potatoes, beer, and cheese?
Ok, that’s my love language.

This is the soup that makes you feel like a true Midwesterner — even if you’ve never stepped foot in a cornfield or said “ope” when bumping into someone. Midwesterners know how to cope with cold, let me tell you. We see a blizzard and say, “Guess I’ll make soup.” It’s basically cultural heritage at this point.

So do yourself a favor:

Make this soup.
Dunk those sourdough Bavarian pretzels we made earlier (yes, you should have some leftover — and if you don’t, no judgment, I get it).
Then tell the weather it’s not the boss of you.

And after you climb out of your carb-induced coma, come back and tell me how it goes!

Midwest Beer Cheese Soup Recipe

Ingredients

• 4 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped

• 1 medium onion, diced

• 2 carrots, diced

• 2 celery stalks, diced

• 3 cloves garlic, minced

• 3 tablespoons butter

• ¼ cup flour

• 2 cups chicken or veggie broth

• 1 cup beer (lager or pilsner works great)

• 2 cups whole milk

• 1 cup heavy cream

• 2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese

• 1 cup shredded Colby Jack or pepper jack

• 2–3 medium potatoes, peeled and diced

• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

• ½ teaspoon smoked paprika

• ½ teaspoon dry mustard (optional but very “Wisconsin grandma”)

• Salt and pepper to taste

• Chives, scallions, or extra cheese for topping

Instructions

1. Cook the bacon
   In a big ol’ Dutch oven (bonus points if it’s the one you “borrowed” from your mom 10 years ago), cook the chopped bacon until crispy. Remove and set aside, but leave the magical bacon fat.

2. Sauté your veg
   Add onion, carrots, and celery to the pot. Cook until softened and smelling like cozy soup season. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.

3. Butter + flour = roux magic
   Add the butter and let it melt into the veggies. Sprinkle the flour over everything and stir until it looks like a weird vegetable paste. This is what thickens the soup — trust the process.

4. Add the broth and beer
   Slowly whisk in the broth, scraping up all the browned bits (those are flavor confetti). Pour in the beer and let the whole thing simmer for 5–7 minutes.

5. Add the potatoes
   Stir in the diced potatoes and cook until they’re tender, about 10–15 minutes.

6. Milk, cream, and cheese time
   Lower the heat and add the milk, cream, smoked paprika, Dijon, and dry mustard. Then add the cheeses a handful at a time, stirring until melted and smooth.
   If it looks too thick, add a splash more milk or broth. If it looks too thin, keep simmering and pretend you meant to do that.

7. Season and serve
   Taste and season with salt and pepper.
   Top with the crispy bacon, chives, extra cheese, or all of the above.
   Dunk your sourdough pretzels like the winter-fighting champion you are.

If this soup doesn’t warm you right down to your Midwestern soul, nothing will.
Enjoy — and seriously, report back. I need to know if you also abandon all responsibilities and eat three bowls like I do.

Friends, the holidays are practically HERE. The neighbors have fully committed — the giant inflatable Santa is waving ominously at passing cars, someone down the street has already synchronized their lights to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and the whole neighborhood smells faintly like cinnamon brooms and impending burnout.

And the Denver Christkindl Market? Oh, it’s happening. And this year, it’s being hosted right on Ivy and her brother's college campus (Auraria Campus). I am thrilled for them… and also wildly jealous in that supportive-parent-who-also-wants-steaming-hot-snacks kind of way.

Because listen. After any class —calculus, accounting, FAA ground school,  underwater basket weaving, whatever kids take these days — they can just stroll over and grab warm candied almonds, fresh fudge, or a Bavarian soft pretzel the size of their torso. Meanwhile, I’m over here still trying to remember where I stored the extension cords from last year.

Now, candied almonds and fudge will have their moment (trust me, I’ve already plotted the pan sizes), but today? Today I needed pretzels. Real pretzels. Chewy, dark, shiny, deeply bronzed Bavarian pretzels. The kind that makes you feel like you should be holding a stein and singing with strangers.

And in the spirit of authenticity — and mild recklessness — I decided to go full German grandma and use a lye dip. Yes, lye. The real stuff. The caustic “don’t put this near your eyeballs or any part of your body you’re fond of” stuff.

Before you panic on my behalf:
I did my research, wore the gloves, donned the glasses, and did not swallow it.
(If you attempt this: look it up, gear up, don’t do anything wild. YouTube is your friend. Your tap water is your friend. Your bare hands are NOT your friend.)

But you guys… it was SO worth it. Those pretzels came out glossy, chewy, golden, and more beautiful than the inflatable Santa riding the inflatable polar bear next door.  And the beer cheese soup that I used as a dip...swoon city.  I'll be sharing that recipe with you next.

Will I still be buying a pretzel bigger than my head when we go to the Christkindl Market?
Absolutely. You can’t stop me. I will also be inspecting this year’s commemorative mug like it’s a limited-edition artifact. (Don’t worry — I’ll take photos for you.)

In the meantime — feed your festive little self with a warm soft pretzel. And if the lye scares you? Totally fine. Swap in a baking soda dip. I won’t judge. But I might still whisper “lye is better” under my breath like a pretzel-obsessed gremlin.

Alright. Let’s bake.

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Sourdough Bavarian Pretzels (Lye or Baking Soda Dip)

Ingredients

Pretzel Dough

• 1 cup (240 g) active sourdough starter (100% hydration)

• 1 cup (240 g) warm water

• 3 tbsp (40 g) unsalted butter, melted

• 1 tbsp brown sugar

• 1 tbsp coarse sea salt

• 3 ½–4 cups (420–480 g) bread flour

• 2 tsp instant yeast (yes, even with the starter — it helps with that tight pretzel crumb!)

Lye Dip (Authentic Option — Handle Carefully!)

• 1 liter of cool water

• 20 g food-grade lye pellets
  (Wear gloves, wear glasses, add lye to water — not the other way around.)

Baking Soda Dip (Friendly Option)

• 8 cups water

• ½ cup baking soda

Topping

• Coarse pretzel salt

• 4 tbsp melted butter (optional but… why would you skip it?)

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Instructions

1. Make the Dough

In the bowl of your mixer (or a big bowl if you’re feeling swole), combine:
starter, warm water, melted butter, brown sugar, salt, and yeast.

Add 3 ½ cups of the flour and mix until a dough begins to form.
Knead 5–7 minutes until smooth and elastic.
Add more flour only if the dough is sticky-sticky, not tacky.

Cover and let rise 1–2 hours until puffy but not necessarily doubled. Sourdough is a free-spirited creature.

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2. Shape the Pretzels

Divide the dough into 8–10 pieces.
Roll each into a long rope — about 20–24 inches.

Make a U-shape → twist the ends twice → flip the twist down.
Pretzel shape achieved!
Feel free to retrace your steps repeatedly until satisfied or until your family wanders in asking if you're okay.

Let the shaped pretzels rest on parchment while you prepare your dip.

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3. Prepare Your Dip

If using lye:

Put on gloves and glasses.
Add lye to cold water (never the opposite). Stir with a stainless or silicone utensil.
It will go from “hmm” to “chemistry class flashback” extremely fast.

If using baking soda:

Bring water + baking soda to a simmer.
This method is safe and lovely and will not make you feel like you're committing alchemy.

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4. Dip the Pretzels

One at a time, lower the pretzels into the lye or baking soda solution for 10–15 seconds.
Remove with a slotted spatula and place back on parchment.
They’re slippery little suckers — be gentle.

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5. Bake

Sprinkle liberally with pretzel salt.
Bake at 450°F (230°C) for 12–15 minutes or until deep golden brown and shiny like they belong at Oktoberfest.

Immediately brush with melted butter if you want them soft and luxurious.

(You want them soft and luxurious.)

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Serve Warm & Feel Very Accomplished

You did it! You made real Bavarian-style sourdough pretzels.

You battled yeast, dough ropes, potential lye anxiety, and the holiday chaos creeping into your neighborhood — and you still came out victorious and properly salted.

Now go enjoy one… or three.
Tell me how it goes!

Listen, I love pecan pie. Like, really love it. Gooey, sticky, nutty perfection that tastes like autumn wrapped itself in a warm blanket and decided to hang out on your dessert plate. But here’s the thing — as with so many things around here — I’m the only one.

How can a girl get her pie fix without making a whole pie and then eating it entirely by herself? (Because let’s be honest, I would eat it entirely by myself. And then I’d spend the next week pretending it “just disappeared” while mysteriously needing extra stretchy pants.)

Well, if you’re this girl, you make Maple Pecan Bars and pretend you’ll share them with other people. You even say things like, “Oh, I’ll bring these to the neighbors!” or “These will be great to share with coworkers!” But deep down, you know you’re just lying to yourself.

Still, the good intentions are there. And I did manage to give a few away last time — after, you know, I ate the uneven edges and one or two (fine, three) “test” squares.

Now, because I am apparently a glutton for punishment (and optimism), I’ll even try to convince Ivy to try one. She’s a smart, funny kid who’s brave in a thousand ways — but when it comes to food, ARFID makes her look at these pretty little bars and see a bunch of brown that she just can’t trust. Unless it’s chocolate brown. Chocolate brown is safe. Chocolate brown is known.

And nuts? Forget it. The only ones she’s cool with are the Cinnamon Sugar Candied Almonds from the fair. (Honestly, same. Those things are addictive.)

But if she did try these bars, she’d realize they’re basically fall in bar form. Like, imagine the scent of maple syrup meeting toasted pecans in a buttery hug. The kind of dessert that makes you want to wear flannel and talk about the foliage. They’re chewy and caramelly, but the crust is buttery and crisp, and the whole thing just sings with cozy, golden-brown deliciousness.

So yeah — I can’t get my family to try them. But you totally should. And when you do, please comment and tell me how it went. Did your people love them? Did you end up hiding them from everyone like I do with the good chocolate chips? Either way, solidarity, my friend.

Alright, let’s get to it before I talk myself into baking another batch.

🍁 Maple Pecan Bars Recipe

Makes: about 16 bars
Prep time: 15 minutes
Bake time: 35–40 minutes
Total time: just long enough for your kitchen to smell like heaven

Ingredients

For the crust:

• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted

• 1/2 cup brown sugar

• 2 cups all-purpose flour

• 1/2 teaspoon salt

For the filling:

• 3/4 cup pure maple syrup (the real deal, please — this is not the time for pancake syrup)

• 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed

• 2 large eggs

• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract

• 1/4 teaspoon salt

• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

• 1 1/2 cups chopped pecans (toast them if you’re feeling fancy — it’s worth it)

Instructions

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C) and line a 9x13-inch baking pan with parchment paper. Leave some overhang for easy lifting later — because no one likes scraping gooey edges with a spatula while muttering “why didn’t I just do this right the first time?”

2. Make the crust: In a bowl, stir together melted butter, brown sugar, flour, and salt until it looks like crumbly cookie dough. Press that mixture evenly into your prepared pan. You want it packed tight — think “firm handshake,” not “death grip.”

3. Bake the crust for about 15 minutes, or until it’s lightly golden. Let it cool a bit while you make the filling.

4. Mix the filling: In a large bowl, whisk together maple syrup, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla, and salt until smooth. Then whisk in the flour. Stir in those glorious chopped pecans.

5. Pour the filling over the slightly cooled crust and spread it out evenly.

6. Bake for 20–25 minutes more, until the filling is set but still just a little jiggly in the middle (kind of like me after too many waffles).

7. Cool completely before slicing — I mean it. These need time to set, or you’ll have sticky, gooey pecan lava all over your counter. Delicious, yes, but also mildly tragic.

8. Slice and enjoy! (Optional: dust with flaky sea salt if you’re feeling extra fancy or want to distract from uneven cutting. Works every time.)

🥄 Tips, Tricks, and Confessions

• Toasting the pecans really does take things up a notch. Just 5–7 minutes at 350°F on a baking sheet until fragrant. Your nose will tell you when they’re ready.

• Storage: Keep them covered at room temp for 3 days or refrigerate up to a week. (Not that they’ll last that long.)

• Freezer-friendly: Yes, you can freeze them! Just wrap tightly and thaw before serving — perfect for when you “need something sweet” at 10 p.m.

• Sharing is optional.

I know, I know — I’m probably supposed to say these bars are “great for parties” or “perfect for Thanksgiving dessert tables,” and sure, they are. But between you and me, these are even better eaten standing over the kitchen counter while you “just even out the edges.”

Or maybe that’s just me.

Honestly, there’s something therapeutic about baking something this lovely even if you’re the only one who’ll eat it. There’s no pie crust stress, no rolling pins, no waiting for the right occasion. Just simple, buttery layers of cozy comfort.

And okay, yes — part of me wishes I could get Ivy to take one tiny bite. I imagine her face lighting up, realizing that something brown and nutty could be sweet and soft and not scary at all. But food is complicated for her, and that’s okay. I’ll keep making the foods she does love, and every now and then I’ll make something like this — just for me.

Because sometimes that’s what fall baking is all about: a quiet kitchen, the smell of maple and butter in the air, and a warm square of something that tastes like self-care.

So, go forth and bake these Maple Pecan Bars. Share them, hoard them, or gift them to your mail carrier (I won’t judge). Just promise me one thing: enjoy every sticky, nutty, maple-sweet bite — because you deserve it.

And if your family turns up their noses? No problem. More for you.

P.S. Seriously, let me know if you make them! Did you share them like a responsible adult, or did you find yourself “evening out the edges” into oblivion too? Asking for a friend.