Sneak Peak! "A Unifying Blend: A Complication of Stories and Recipes Celebrating all that Makes us Human"

If you are a fan of real talk and baking, let me introduce you to the woman who has built a business on pairing these exact things: Dayna Altman.

Dayna has written two books thus far, her memoir entitled “Mix, Melt, Mend: Owning my Story and Finding my Freedom,” as well as her first mental health cookbook entitled, “Bake it Till You Make it: Breaking Bread, Building Resilience.”

And now, Dayna is releasing a follow-up version to her first cookbook with a second edition called, “A Unifying Blend: A Complication of Stories and Recipes Celebrating all that Makes us Human.”

Dayna’s cookbooks include a story or poem paired with a recipe that holds significance for the story’s author. How cool is that?

And guess, what? The cooler news keeps getting cooler: I am beyond excited to announce that I will be featured as one of the authors in “A Unifying Blend!”

To awaken your taste buds for this incredible book, I’ve decided (with permission of course) to share my piece in Dayna’s new cookbook with you, along with one of my favorite things to make: fresh rosemary bread.

Bon Apetit!

 

Baking Bread, Breaking Cycles of Abuse

When I asked my mom how she chose my name, she responded with, “I don’t know, it just sounded good together.”

And so that’s how I got my name, Emily Rose. 

When my Nonna answered the phone call from my parents at the hospital and heard the announcement that her first grandchild was born, she shouted “Ah! Amelia Rosa!” and my mom laughed and repeated, “no, it’s Emily Rose.” “That’s what I said,” my Nonna replied. 

And so I grew up with the most popular name of my birth year, and the year after that, and the year after that.

There were so many Emilys on my soccer team and in the halls at school that I developed the terrible habit of not responding to my name until I heard it for the third or fourth time.

“Oh, me?”

“Yeah, I’ve been calling you!”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” 

I am 50% Italian, Sicilian specifically, and 50% German/Welsh/Miscellaneous European. My mom isn’t totally sure. 

Growing up, we lived a few streets away from my Italian grandparents and I spent so much time there in my childhood that I smelled almost constantly of fried zucchini. Each Sunday was a spread: chicken cutlets, fresh bread, pastina (what we called Italian wedding soup), lasagna, meatballs, you name it. 

But even in another language, I could tell what my grandfather was saying based on my grandmother’s slumped shoulders and quick exit to the kitchen to get something or clean something or spend a minute without worrying about composure in front of “the family.” 

Two hours west in rural Ohio, lived my mother’s parents. Our meals were also incredible yet wildly different than my other grandparents.

Appetizers included Jell-o shaped like race cars, fruit pizza, chips, and a veggie tray with lots of ranch. We sat down in the dining room that overlooked the field and my grandpa would shout, “Look! A deer!” and steal food from our plates.

Even when we knew the deer was our grandpa, we reacted the same each time - a wide eyed gasp, then a frown, then a laugh. There were mashed potatoes, buttered noodles, chicken and gravy, corn casserole, sweet rolls, and pop. 

My older boy cousins at times were rough or mean to me, and I would tattle for relief. Once after dinner I tiptoed down the basement stairs and saw my uncle beating my cousin so badly he could hardly breathe through the tears. I walked back up the stairs feeling no longer like a child and sick to my stomach, as I looked at my mom who looked at her sisters who looked down at their plates. 

In both houses we ate and talked and laughed. 

In both homes we ignored and pretended and stood still through the storms. 

When I was 25, I could no longer weather the storm in the same manner that I had for my whole life. I could no longer look down at my plate, tiptoe down stairs, or shove my feelings to the depth of my being. There was no room left to shove. 

I wrote my dad a letter after years of emotional and psychological abuse, telling him that I could no longer live a life with him in it. It was the hardest thing I ever did, and my brain and body seemed to break in response to this hard stop.

My nightmares got worse, the tension in my body increased, I clenched my jaw as if this constant state of activation and alertness could keep my brain and body safe.

In the five years since I wrote that letter, I have grown into a person. I slowly started to breathe. I slapped mortar on each brick one by one and built boundaries that were supportive of my dreams. I consumed the stories of others and found healing, then started slowly to tell my own. 

Abuse and trauma can at times feel like a comparison game. “Well he/she didn’t ___, so it’s not that bad.” Or “I always had a roof over my head and access to a good education.”

But under that roof was suffering, and suffering is not up for debate or comparison. 

Because I chose to step away to heal, I lost many of the relationships I once had. I regretted not learning the recipes I enjoyed as a kid from my Nonna, and felt too guilty for standing up for myself and “tearing apart the family” to go back and ask her to teach me. 

In 2019, I learned how to make bread from a recipe I found while scrolling Pinterest. “No Knead Rosemary Bread.” It involved very few ingredients and looked downright delicious from the picture.

When I kneaded the dough, I felt a rush of emotions - nostalgia, joy, pride, and immense sadness. I used to help knead the dough for bread with my Nonna or squish the ingredients together for the meatballs, and my contact with these ingredients felt familiar and somehow lost in time. 

The smell of garlic and rosemary filled my tiny kitchen, and the bread came out perfectly. I looked at it and shouted to no one, “I made bread!” 

I love bread. Bread is my favorite food group, and yes I count it as its own food group. But making this bread symbolized so many things and in a way I didn’t even mean it to. 

It felt like an accomplishment, that I could do something my ancestors did, and on my own. It felt like a door creaking ever so slightly open, that I could call my grandmother and share my success and maybe slowly repair an aching rift. It felt like the negative things got quieter, and the positive things got louder - breaking bread and laughing started to tip the scale toward forgiveness for the things gone wrong. 

It also just felt damn good to cut into and lift that first slice to my nose and inhale as if I were taking my first breath all over again. 

I am Emily Rose, and I can move through life with an understanding and open heart. I can move through the good and the bad, and choose which I keep. I can make important decisions with impermanence and trust myself to make new decisions as people change, or don’t change. 

And you can, too. 

You can make choices that you need to make, feel what you need to feel, shove when you have to and unpack when it’s safer.

You can live your life as you choose, and you can definitely make bread. 

Yours in rising,

Emily Rose // Miss Magnolia

Recipe: No Knead Rosemary Bread 

Ingredients 

-3 cups all purpose flour 

-3 large garlic cloves, minced 

-1 tablespoon (or more, to taste) finely chopped fresh rosemary 

-1 ¼ teaspoon kosher salt 

-¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 

-½ teaspoon instant yeast 

-1 ½ cups room temperature water 

-2 tablespoons cornmeal 

Directions 

1. In a large bowl, combine flour, garlic, rosemary, salt, pepper and yeast. 2. Using a wooden spoon, add water and mix until a wet sticky dough forms. 3. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and let it stand at room temperature for about 18-24 hours. 

4. Lightly oil a 10 inch cast iron skillet and sprinkle with cornmeal. 

5. Working on a lightly floured surface, shape the dough into a round. 

6. Place dough into the prepared skillet. Cover with a dish towel and let stand at room temperature until dough has doubled in size and does not spring back when poked with a finger (about two hours). 

7. Preheat the oven to 450F. 

8. Place in the oven and bake for 30-40 minutes, until golden brown. 

9. Serve warm. 

Here is the link to order, “A Unifying Blend: A Compilation of Stories and Recipes Celebrating all that Makes us Human” by mental health advocate Dayna Altman.

If you’d like to get on Dayna’s email list and get regular updates about all the cool things she is doing, head to her website here.