Rule #2: The Best Medicine

Make each other laugh. Every day. If that requires putting on an episode of The Office, so be it. If it involves saying “that’s what she said” at inappropriate times, so be it. If it involves quoting Scrubs (“You mean why is there silverware in the pancake drawer?”), so be it. If it involves making fun of how many times people say, “as a first time homebuyer…” on My First Place, so be it. If it involves something other than television… well, you’ve got me there.

The other day, my husband kept ending his questions by saying, “question mark?” in an inquisitive tone. For some reason, it cracked me up. So he did it the entire night, just to make me laugh. It got me every time.

Blog O’ Porno

It’s official.

 

My blog is a magnet for Those Looking for Porn.

 

Seriously. Half of the searches that lead people to my site have to do with “playing doctor.” (The other half have to do with Seinfeld. Which is another story.)

 

Recently, people have been searching for FedEx related… ahem… situations.

 

But the latest porn-related search phrase was rather scandalous, even for my not-so-delicate sensibilities. It involved a married couple and the husband’s friend (or maybe the wife’s friend – it wasn’t clear) and some voyeurism.

 

Which, clearly, is what my blog is all about!

 

Welcome porn searchers! You may not find exactly what you need to get your rocks off… But welcome anyway!

Ultimate Housewife Fail?

So it’s no secret that I suck at housewifery.

 

But hey – I work hard at my job. (Up until 2:00 am twice so far this week; only up until 1:00 last night yay!) Yes, that is sometimes because I take on too many things at once. (I have, ahem, a little problem saying “no,” especially when saying yes means I will save someone’s butt. Superman complex, anyone?) But I’m not draped over furniture dining on caviar and champagne all hours of the day.

 

I work hard and I am good at what I do. But I tend to be prone to idiocy when it comes to matters of the house. Particularly, matters of the kitchen (my husband’s compliment to the contrary aside).

 

Exhibit A: Mysteriously setting our toaster oven on fire while toasting some baguette slices with brie the other day. Turns out – brie tends to get drippy when it gets hot. (Surprise!) And when it drips onto the floor of the toaster oven and melds with the crumbs there, it can flare up into The Great Kitchen Inferno of 2009. (As an aside, this was only slightly less terrifying than The Great Kitchen Inferno of 2005, when I was so caught up in my work that I didn’t notice the rice had turned into a blackened, smoking mess in the kitchen, filling the apartment with acrid clouds that permeated our couch cushions with the smell of my failure for weeks.)

 

Thankfully, Husband responded much too slowly to my flailing and screeches, and unplugged the toaster oven and, you know, blew on the flame until it went out.

 

Exhibit B: The piece of popcorn taunting me from the floor of the Grand Crevasse Between the Stove and the Counter. Do you have one of these? We have two – on either side of the stupid stove. And since we tend to cook things on the stove and prepare things on the counter and move cooked things from the stove TO the counter and by things I mean “food items” we are forever dropping pieces of pasta and stray beans into these Crevasses. Because I live in terrible fear of cockroaches and other critters who live off of misappropriated food, my husband and I spend a good deal of time fishing dropped items out of the crevasses with spatulas and wooden spoons and the like.

 

So when I dropped a single fluffy piece of popcorn into the Crevasse the other day, I tried to fish it out. I used the spatula. I used the wooden spoon. I even tried the super special peanut-butter-and-jelly spreader I got Husband as a stocking stuffer one year.  NOTHING worked. Nothing was long enough or flat enough to reach that piece of popcorn. It just sat there, mocking me with its cockroach-attracting deliciousness.

 

So I did the only thing I could do. I sprayed the entire Crevasse with bleach spray. You know. Because bleach spray is known for its cockroach-repelling properties.  (DO NOT disabuse me of this belief, Internet!!) I check on the popcorn every day. And occasionally give it another liberal dose of bleach spray, just to keep it nice and unappetizing. Lord help me if the popcorn should ever disappear.

 

But now, dear Internet, I am going to perform the Ultimate Housewife Fail.

 

Although my husband’s family is all coming our place for Thanksgiving… I am not going to cook a single thing.

 

Blasphemy, right?

 

Now, I love love love to entertain. It’s in my genes. But also firmly lodged in my DNA is the Super Stress Out Ohmygod ACK! Gene which intensifies a) every time I entertain and b) every time my in laws come to visit.

 

I love my in laws. This is not about them. What I do not love is:

 

* Sharing my kitchen

* Eating food that other people prepare, probably without following my strict germ-thwarting procedures

* The thought of inviting people into my home and then making letting them cook their own food

* The idea of touching anything remotely resembling a “gizzard” or an “innard” or an “organ meat”

* Gravy

* Interacting with my in laws while drunk, which is pretty much what it would take to make me climb down off the ceiling.

 

So, to minimize the stress…

 

I am ordering a fully prepared Thanksgiving meal from our local grocer.

 

When I told this to my mom, she was puzzled. Supportive. But The Woman Who Makes Entire Thanksgiving Dinners on Her Own and Gets Everything to the Table Still Hot was distinctly miffed that I was not only getting a turkey… but also stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, apple and pumpkin pie, cranberry “relish,” rolls, and green beans for good measure.

 

My in laws were confused. I could practically hear my darling mother in law’s brain trying to compute the fact that I wasn’t allowing asking her to bring a single dish. We finally agreed that she could would bring a chocolate dessert of some sort.

 

My friend C just came right out and told me he thought I was being a huge weirdo. “You’re not making ANYTHING?” he said, giving me a look that said plainly “What is wrong with you woman?”

 

My husband, thank god, is being Super Supportive. Plus, he is going to make his famous pumpkin bars. (Recipe to follow I promise! You will DIE they are so good.)

 

You know what? I would love nothing more than to be the woman with the perfect house and the perfect cooking skills who could whip up a perfect and delicious traditional Thanksgiving meal.

 

But I’m not. I’ve never done it before. And Husband is going to be working all Thanksgiving weekend, so I would have to do everything for the first time BY MYSELF. Which is a recipe for disaster – do I need to remind you of the toaster oven fire?

 

So. Housewife failure or not. I am doing what I need to do to remain sane and try to at least enjoy some of my in laws’ visit.

 

It’s taking all I’ve got not to institutionalize myself over the fact that we have good china and no real silverware and I will have to serve Thanksgiving dinner and watch everyone eat it with our everyday flatware ohmygodkillmenow.

The Travel Bug

Paris… Copenhagen… Ljubljana… Montreal… Berlin… Prague… Krakow…

 

With a passport featuring stamps from these cities (and more), you probably wouldn’t expect that I HATE to travel.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I love to see the world. Poking around a foreign country is one of my favorite things. Especially when my husband is right there with me.

 

But the actual traveling part… The packing… Getting to and from airports… Waiting in security lines… Waiting for the plane… Waiting on the plane… Gripping the armrests as the plane takes off and lands… Waiting to see if my luggage has arrived…

 

YUCK.

 

Which is in part why it’s taken me three days to recover from my recent business trip. While I love spending time with my clients, I hate hate hate traveling.

 

Fortunately, travel offers multiple opportunities to enjoy the varied facets of human nature. Here are just a few encounters I had on my recent voyage south…

 

- The people who either have been so beaten over the head with “airline procedure” that they are now blind or are merely oblivious to the world outside them. The airport I flew out of had one of those new air-blower scanners. You know, you stand inside a little chamber, the machine puffs air at you, the doors open, and you walk through. Apparently, you are supposed to wear your shoes while inside the machine. (Although they make you remove them AFTER you go through the machine, and send them through the normal x-ray conveyor. The air puffer thing must still be in beta.)

 

Anyway, there was a big sign posted right before the stacks of plastic tubs into which travelers deposit their purses, coats, shoes, and other paraphernalia. The sign said, in big, bold letters: DO NOT REMOVE SHOES BEFORE ENTERING TRACK SCANNER (or something along those lines)

 

Probably 90% of the people in the security line completely ignored the sign. They removed their shoes. Some of them removed their shoes WITHIN INCHES of the sign. A little TSA agent kept scurrying around, trying to get people to put their shoes back on… and escorting the unshod around the air puffer machine. It was kind of hilarious.

 

- The random people who strike up conversations with you in odd places. First there was the custodian in the airport bathroom who sang songs in between chatting with travelers. She wished me a most blessed day with the sweetest, most genuine voice I’ve ever heard. Then there was the sixtyish woman in line behind me at the newsstand, who told me all about her naughty little dog and how she couldn’t wait to get home to him.

 

Lonely? Socially inept? Just plain friendly? Maybe. But in a world where we are constantly inventing new ways to NOT have personal interactions with others, I find this mix of confidence and cluelessness to be particularly refreshing.

 

- The lovely older couple waiting patiently for the plane to board. The gentleman was wearing a polo shirt, jeans, and an eye patch over his left eye. His companion was wearing jeans, a grandmotherly hairstyle, and a pink shirt that said “Pirate Princess” in sparkly letters across the chest.

 

- All the people who cannot seem to figure out where their seats are. For instance, the cranky confused woman who told me that she was SURE she had the window seat. I smiled at her as she waited for me to give up my window seat. (Hell to the no.) She muttered under her breath as she moved her handbag from under my seat to under the aisle seat.

 

Or the older lady with her elderly mother, who were ousted from one side of the plane to the other by the seat’s rightful occupant. The elderly mother struggled to move, and we waited a good ten minutes for the two of them to maneuver across the aisle.

 

For god’s sakes. It’s not rocket science, people!

 

***

What’s your most memorable travel experience?

 

 

 

An Unexpected Compliment

It is a truth universally acknowledged between my husband and me that he is The Chef and I am The Grateful Eater.

 

I just have never been a super cook. There is food I make that I love. But honestly, the only people I’ve ever prepared food for are my brother and my husband. And, god love them, they would do anything to spare my feelings. Plus, they tend to eat pretty much anything anyway.

 

Husband has never said anything straight out about me being a crappy cook. But he does all the baking and makes most of the meals. So it’s pretty clear whose food we both prefer to eat.

 

When my mom came for a visit recently (yay mom!!), she asked that I make something simple to eat after her long plane flight from the Wild Wild West. So I made French onion soup. Which is, by the way, one of my favorite soups of all time. I looked at a few recipes online to get a general idea of ingredients… went to the store… and made some soup.

 

Because of over caramelization of the onions or perhaps a bit too much sherry, the soup was awfully sweet. So I added a dash of Worchestershire sauce, some salt, and sort of experimented with it until it tasted better.

 

The finished product was pretty darn good. My mom had two bowls. So did I. Yum yum.

 

Then my husband came home from work. And I prepared some soup for him. He tasted it.

 

“This is really good. What recipe did you use?”

 

“Oh, you know, I just tinkered around based on some recipes I saw online.”

 

“You know,” he said to me. “I think you are a hell of a lot better at cooking than you give yourself credit for.”

 

For some reason, this little compliment gave me more pleasure than any other kind words he’s said in a long, long time.

 

***

 

What’s the nicest thing someone said to you recently?

Rocking Your Socks Off

Amanda over at The Mom Job has started a new tradition. Today, I am jumping on the “Things That Rock” train.

 

Here are 5 Things That Are Rocking My World:

 

1. My new pair of Anne Klein Aloe boots. They are super comfy.

(photo from Piperlime.com)

 

2. Bleach spray. Smells clean and kills ALL THE BACTERIA* in my kitchen.

(photo from Amazon.com)

 

3. Sriracha!

(photo from hotsaucedaily.com)

 

This spices up all the Mexican food Husband and I love to eat. Tacos. Burritos. Enchiladas. Nachos. Beans and rice. Mmmmm. Yumsters!

 

4. Maru!!!

(photo from http://sisinmaru.blog17.fc2.com/blog-entry-328.html)

 

5. Kathy Griffin. I love this woman. Hated her back when she was on Seinfeld and Suddenly Susan. Love her on Life on the D-List. Plus, her comedy is hilarious. Thank you, Bravo, for showing me the light.

 

Here are 3 Things That Do Not Rock:

 

1. Spiders. The weather is changing, and I have killed more spiders than I care to think about this week.

 

2. People who copy other people on private e-mails. This is HUGE pet peeve. If I EVER copy someone else on an e-mail I received… I always edit out ANYTHING REMOTELY PERSONAL. Even the “hi how are you” stuff. Also, I always write e-mails with the assumption that some jackass will send it to someone else. But IT STILL BUGS ME.

 

3. Hair. It’s amazing that I’m not bald yet, because my hair gets EVERYWHERE. On the floor. On the counters. On my clothes. Once or twice, in the FOOD that I am COOKING. (You wish you were married to me, dontcha?) So annoying. What’s worst is when it gets wrapped around my toes in the shower. Ick ick ick.

 

 

—

What are you loving/hating these days?

 

—

* Okay. Maybe not ALL the bacteria. But I like to think it does. PLEASE DO NOT BURST MY HAPPY GERM-FREE BUBBLE.

Why I Love the FedEx Guy

Our shower door was seriously effed up. So we let our apartment complex’s maintenance people know. On a random morning at about 8:45 am, the maintenance guy pounded – and I mean earth-shattering pounding here – on my door, scaring the bejeezus out of me.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you would be coming this morning!” I said. The bedroom – which is between the maintenance guy and the bathroom – was covered with little mountains of dirty laundry.

Also, I was WORKING. In my jammies. Without a bra. Cause that’s how I roll.

Maintenance Guy shrugged and tromped through the living room in his work boots. I scurried ahead of him, to move the laundry away from his giant, boot-clad feet. He stomped past me into the bathroom.

“Oh here, let me move that out of your way,” I said, pointing to our beautiful blue bath mat in front of the shower. The one upon which my husband and I dry our squeaky clean, freshly showered feet.

“That’s okay,” Maintenance Guy said, standing Right On Top of the Bath Mat.

***

This is not new. At our old apartment, I refused to call the maintenance people. For three years. Because every time we called them during the first year we lived there, they’d make a Huge Mess. They’d track mud in on their boots. They’d leave paint and sticky black stuff all over the bathroom. They’d leave crud in the bathtub. It would take me at least an hour to clean up after them.

Plus, one time a maintenance guy showed up DRUNK. It was a… um… plumbing emergency. So we’d called him after hours. But he was putting off fumes, he was so far gone.

So I just stopped calling. The handle fell off the stove? Eh… We can deal with it for three years. The tile is falling off the wall in the bathroom? Yeah, let’s just cover it up with something… for three years. The heater doesn’t work in the guest room? Honey, you can wear a sweater when you’re in there, right? The guest room ceiling has a gaping hole in it? Well, we never have guests anyway. No big deal.

***

For the first eighty bajillion weeks we lived here, our cable service was spotty. We had to take the brand new cable box/DVR into the cable office and exchange it for a scratched up old cable box which didn’t work.

After fifteen thousand phone calls with the cable company – where they tried (and FAILED) to fix the problem remotely – they sent out a service worker.

This guy – Cable Guy 2 – showed up and fixed the problem in about five seconds. But for some reason, he had to call the home office and do something over the phone. I was in the middle of the workday, so I was concentrating on work… figuring that a phone call needed no supervision. But while he was on the phone, he walked around. He unscrewed the little wall doohickey and fiddled around with the wires inside.

Then he WALKED INTO MY BEDROOM.

And STARTED LOOKING AROUND.

Dude.

It’s possible that he was looking for another cable box. (Despite the fact that I’d told him that the living room is the only room with a TV. Despite the fact that the bed was unmade. Despite the fact that there was possibly UNDERWEAR strewn about.)

What the hell, Cable Guy 2? Stop poking around in my personal space!

***

The FedEx guy showed up the other day with a 103-pound package. (Heh heh heh – that sounds dirty. And frightening.)

Anyway, it was so big he had to wheel it into the building on a dolly. (Now my mind is STUCK in the gutter.)

“Can you put it by the couch?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said. “But I’ll have to wheel the dolly over the carpet. Is that okay?”

That’s when I fell in love. A man who cares about possibly muddying the carpet?!?! Delightful!

This is about six months since I fell in love with Cable Guy 1. First, he called me BEFORE he was scheduled to show up. Then – before he set a SINGLE FOOT inside my apartment – he covered up both his shoes with the little paper booties surgeons wear.

Madly in love.

Cable Guy 2 and every apartment maintenance man I have ever known? See how it SHOULD be done?

The One in Which I Attempt to Give Some Advice

My blog is not old enough or popular enough to get a whole lot of traffic. But I have noticed that some interesting searches are leading people to this little site…

Allow me to try to guide these poor souls…

“My husband is a doctor and likes to play doctor…”

It’s not clear from this question whether the dear doctor wants to play doctor at work or at home. Both routes pose challenges. If he’s at work, and he’s playing doctor, I recommend that a) you suggest he study more or b) you find a husband who won’t cheat on you at work.

If he’s at home… and he’s interested in playing doctor with YOU… well, why not? Who hasn’t fantasized about going to bed with a hottie physician? You’ve got your own personal Dr. McDreamy wanting to take your temperature or give you a central line or palpate your breasts. I say good times! Stop googling and don one of those sexy backless examination gowns and let your husband examine away!

“Doctors wife reality show”

Sometimes I think that doctors’ wives would be perfect candidates for a reality show. Especially the doctors’ wives of stereotypes. You know – the haughty, uptight women who have money to burn and spend their whole lives ordering the help around and planning charity dinners and getting their hair done. (Do those women exist? I guess in a world that includes the Real Housewives of Atlanta, yes, they probably do.)

But in reality, a doctors’ wives reality show would be ridiculously boring. Lots of TV watching. Lots of watching their husbands sleep.

“Married to a doctor lonely”

I feel for you. I really do. Being a doctor’s spouse is many things. It constantly fills me with awe and pride and sometimes, in my weaker moments, inadequacy. But it can be really, truly, achingly lonely.

The advice that makes the most sense – and which I have the most trouble following – is to get a life of your own. Find a hobby. Volunteer. Form a tight group of friends. Set up nights out with the other doctors’ spouses.

Be sure, too, to spend as much time with your doctor spouse as possible. Have date nights. Have movie nights. Go for long drives together. Cook together. Talk to each other. Husband and I have a ritual on the days he gets home from being on call overnight in the hospital. I crawl into bed with him and we talk about the previous day, the day we didn’t get to see or speak to each other at all. Yes, his eyes are heavy. Yes, I have work to do. But those moments of just us help us reconnect.

God willing, your spouse will have a long career as a physician. So the truth is that you will likely be lonely for a long, long time. I’m hoping that – by taking the measures above – it will get easier. But I know that it will always be hard, if at least less frequent.

So one thing that always works – without fail – is for me to climb under the covers, close my eyes, and think of all the reasons I love my husband. All the big reasons – like his kindness, his generosity, the values we share. All the silly reasons – like the way he buys new books before he’s even finished the last book he bought. All the selfish reasons – like how he eats the tomatoes off my plate at restaurants, and kills big bugs. And all the other million tiny reasons I love him. It staves off the loneliness and puts me to sleep with a smile on my face.

You will get through this.

—

If you have any questions about being a doctor’s spouse, let me know in the comments. Or shoot me an e-mail at lifeofadoctorswife [at] gmail.

Doctors and Patients, Part 3: I Just Need a Little More Time

When you go to the doctor, you want to get her undivided attention, right?

And you want her to address all of your concerns.

My last PCP (primary care physician) was like this. She would always let me get through my rambling explanation of what was wrong before starting an exam or asking me a question. And at the end of every appointment, she asked me if I had other questions or concerns.

Now, I know this is hard to do. Physicians are overbooked. They have no time. So to be calm and unrushed during an appointment is a true gift.

But I think that you can cultivate this type of treatment from your doctor.

First of all, when you make an appointment, have one specific reason for doing so. Don’t postpone appointments until 10 things are wrong.

If you tend to “save up” all your ailments and concerns and then unleash them all at once on your doctor… and if you do this every time you see her… then I’m guessing it will be harder to get the unhurried “I have all the time in the world” treatment.

Yes, I know it’s more expensive this way. And believe me – I hate going to the doctor and dealing with insurance just as much as the next guy.

But I truly believe this will help your physician do a better job… and it will help you get the best care she can possibly provide.

Now, if you do everything right and your doctor still tends to be more of the “rush rush rush” personality type, you may have to coach her a little to respond to your needs.

According to a New York Times article called “Contentious Relationships Between Doctors and Patients,” communicating your needs is key:

“Go to a doctor’s visit with written questions so you don’t forget to ask what’s important to you. If a doctor starts to rush out of the room, stop him or her by saying, ‘Doctor, I still have some questions.’ Patients who are open with their doctors about their feelings and fears will often get the same level of openness in return.”

I also highly recommend – whenever possible – taking an advocate with you to your appointments. This could be your mom, your spouse, your sister, your best friend. Someone who can listen in to what your doctor is saying… ask questions that you may not think of… and recall the doctor’s comments/suggestions once the appointment has ended.

When something scary is going on, my brain tends to freeze up. So I’ve found that having my husband with me ensures that I get all the right information.

If this is impossible, bring a notepad with you. Write down key information. Ask your doctor to repeat things and spell things for you. See if your doctor has any pamphlets or articles on your problem that you can take home.

When it comes down to it, your health is your responsibility. So make sure you don’t let a hurried physician prevent you from getting all the information you need.

—

What say you, Internet? Any advice about making sure you get everything you need from your doctor during an appointment?

The Perfect Fall Meal

Once upon a time I hated the color orange. But then I went to a college whose colors were black and orange… And I suppose I mellowed on the whole subject.

Especially when autumn comes around, and its dozens of shades flame up all around me, it becomes a truly beautiful color.

So much so that I contemplated buying an orange sweater from The Limited the other day. (Fortunately I came to my senses.)

One of my favorite aspects of fall is that it gives me a reason to make soup! It’s cold and rainy and the market is full of beautiful squash. Look how lovely this butternut squash is, all shredded.

I don’t particularly like to EAT squash… so soup it is!

Husband and I swear by America’s Test Kitchen recipes. So we went straight to our America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook for a butternut squash soup recipe that we would love.

It was delicious.

Husband paired his soup with a slice of toasty bread.

I paired mine with a melty brie and mushroom grilled cheese sandwich.  Just look at that sammy up close (and try to ignore the burnt edges – it still tasted like heaven!):

~ Butternut Squash Soup ~

(from America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook – Revised Edition)

Serves: 8          Prep Time: 15 minutes Total Time: 50 Minutes

Stay away from pre-cut squash, as its flavor is usually dull and its texture dry.

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 onion, chopped fine

2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1.5 inch chunks

5 cups low-sodium chicken broth

2 sprigs thyme

Pinch nutmeg*

1/2 cup heavy cream**

Salt and pepper

Step 1: Melt the butter in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the squash, broth, thyme, and nutmeg. Bring to a simmer, cover, and cook until the squash is tender, 20 to 25 minutes.

Step 2: Remove the thyme sprigs and puree*** the soup in batches in a blender (or food processor) until smooth.

Step 3: Return the pureed soup to the pot. Stir in the cream. Bring to a brief simmer, then remove from the heat. If the soup seems too thick, thin it out with additional broth or water. Season with salt and pepper to taste before serving. Sprinkle individual servings with more nutmeg, if desired.

To Make Ahead

This soup can be prepared through step 2****, cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 3 days or frozen for up to 2 months. Reheat over low heat, adding additional water or broth to adjust the consistency, before proceeding with step 3.

* We didn’t have any nutmeg. So husband added a pinch of cinnamon, a pinch of curry, and a few shakes of cayenne. Yumsters!

** We used half and half. It was wonderfully rich and creamy. And I even added a drizzle or two to the soup right before eating. Along with a healthy dash of cayenne.

*** We got a wonderful hand blender so we could blend soup in the pot. Works like a charm.

**** We had quite a large portion of soup left over after dinner. And it saved perfectly fine for three days.

~ Hot and Melty Brie and Mushroom Grilled Cheese ~

Serves: 1          Prep Time: 5ish minutes            Total Time: 10ish minutes

Ingredients:

Some mushrooms, cleaned and sliced. (The smaller the slices, the faster you get to eat!)

Garlic. Lots and lots of garlic.

2 slices of crusty bread

Butter.

Brie

Salt and pepper to taste

Step 1: Add a small pat of butter (or a large pat, your choice!) to a small pan. Melt the butter, on, say, medium heat.

Step 2: Add the garlic to the butter, and sauté quickly. Don’t let the garlic burn.

Step 3: Add the mushrooms. Sprinkle them with salt and pepper. Sauté them until cooked through. (I like them really cooked through. Close to burnt.) Remove the mushrooms from the pan.

Step 4: While the mushrooms are sautéing, butter one side of each slice of bread. Pre-slice enough brie to cover each piece of bread.

Step 5: Once the mushrooms are out of the pan, place the bread butter-side down into the pan. Top the bread with the brie slices. Cover the pan for a minute or two, until the brie starts to melt. (Do not cover too long, or the bread will get soggy.)

Step 6: As soon as the brie starts to melt, add the mushrooms to the cheese. Then put one slice of bread on top of the other – cheese sides touching. (Mushrooms may fall out of the sandwich at this point. It’s okay to eat them, or try to press them back into the cheese.) Cook the sandwich until the bread is golden brown and the brie is nice and melty.

Heavenly when paired with butternut squash soup.

Enjoy!