Kathryn Nicolai (5:10)

I've been thinking a lot about aging lately, and not in a fearful way. I believe aging is a privilege. I just want to be practical about it, about how I want to feel steady and capable and as the years go on, how I want to sleep well, move easily and support my health from the inside out, not just chase the appearance of being younger. That's why I was genuinely interested when I learned about Fatty 15. Fatty 15 is built around C15, the first emerging essential fatty acid discovered in more than 90 years. Research shows C15 helps keep our cells strong and resilient, which is foundational for healthy aging. What surprised me is that this discovery came from work with the US Navy studying the health of aging dolphins. That research revealed that when we don't have enough C15, our cells become more fragile and they age faster and that affects how our whole bodies age. There's even a newly identified nutritional deficiency tied to low C15 levels called cellular fragility syndrome, and studies suggest as many as one in three people may be affected. Fatty 15 was developed over more than a decade by doctors working with the Navy to create a pure, optimized, bioavailable form of C15. It's been shown to support sleep, cognitive health, joint comfort, and the body's natural repair Systems. For me, Fatty 15 feels like a long term, supportive choice, something I'm taking for my future health. Not a quick fix, but a steady investment. It's science backed, vegan, friendly free of allergens and preservatives and comes in a beautiful reusable glass jar with refills shipped to your door. Fatty 15 is on a mission to optimize your C15 levels to help support your long term health and wellness, especially as you age. You can get 15% off their 90 day starter kit by going to fatty15.com nothingmuch and using code nothingmuch at checkout.

Kathryn Nicolai (7:31)

Now it's time to switch off the light. Set aside anything you've been looking at or working on. Adjust your pillows and comforter until you feel completely at ease. If you sometimes clench your jaw as you sleep, try resting the tip of your tongue at the place where your upper teeth meet the gums on the inside. That will help to keep your jaw relaxed. Now take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh out through the mouth. Again, breathe in and out

Kathryn Nicolai (8:30)

Good

Kathryn Nicolai (8:33)

Supper Club it had started just because it takes quite a few hands to roll grape leaves. So I'd been called to a friend's house where a dozen of us spent a day cooking and rolling and chatting and eating. I'd never done it before, but by the end of the day I was fairly competent when it came to rolling a well formed dolma and had learned about soaking the rice beforehand, not cinching the roll too tightly as it needed some space to expand as it cooked, and the right mix of spices and lemony broth to make each bite well seasoned and delicious. When we finished, we each had a large platter or baking dish full of the fruits of our labor to take home and feast on for as long as they lasted. It had gotten me thinking how many of my friends and neighbors had foods like that passed down through generations, delicious and possibly a bit labor intensive that we could come together to make. And so we started our supper club. I got a dozen or so of our fellow chefs together and we circled dates on a calendar. Once a month we'd rotate to a different home and make a big meal, then share it. We'd teach each other our family recipes and by the end of a year we'd all have many newly acquired skills and taste buds. And and this was a bonus, we'd get to share a meal together on a regular basis. Just like we were always saying. We that first year we ended up making a lot of dumplings, as it seems like most every culture and culinary tradition has something like it. Some pocket of dough, steamed or boiled or fried, that was stuffed with yummy bits. And those bits were usually some of the most important foods for the people who made them. We'd made pierogies and malai kofta and knishes and loved leveling up as we learn to shape mandu dumplings from the simple half moon we all started with by folding the wrapping and pinching it closed to a slightly more complicated envelope fold and then the Showstopper, a full rose shape that had three dumplings rolled together to mimic petals and a bud. This was not something you could easily learn from a book. This was something you needed to see done in front of you, to hear explained by someone who had done it a thousand times. And even then it simply needed to be repeated over and over to build the skill and muscle memory necessary to do adequately. I found myself so grateful to my friends and neighbors for sharing each process with me, and making them was quite meditative, especially at first. I needed to give all my attention to my fingers as I handled the wrappers and spooned the filling in. I'd hold my breath as I made the first fold, afraid that the delicate dough would tear, and sometimes it would, but we'd just start again. In the summer we made empanadas stuffed with corn and green onions seasoned with paprika and garlic. We made savory noodles, some with potatoes and some with a bready shell. And in the fall we made madombi to top a comforting stew and for dessert, sauce clickies, which were sweet and cinnamony. When the snow fell, we met up for an afternoon of ravioli making, where I learned to roll the dough by hand with a long wooden roller almost as big as a broomstick. As I dotted the filling onto it, I repeated a mantra I'd learned from nearly a year of dumpling making. Less is more. I'd been so eager at the beginning to get as much of the delicious bits into each packet that I'd split dozens of them. A little is enough, I'd tell myself, so often it was. These flavors were concentrated, sauteed down and seasoned, and each bite would have a little of everything in reminded me to savor rather than gulp down, to really enjoy whatever my senses were presented with and take in the details that might otherwise be missed. That first year of Supper Club had left us all with freezers full of meals ready to be enjoyed and new skills and favorite dishes. Even when we'd worked through most of our own well loved family recipes, we felt we'd only just begun our culinary adventures. So we followed it up with A Year of Birthday Meals. These were the dishes you wanted on your birthday when you didn't hesitate to order up your favorites, even if they took a good bit of work. Often they held as much sentimental value as tastiness. We'd meet in the afternoon to start and dole out the jobs, and we aimed for an appetizer, a main course with a side, and always, always a dessert. That became my favorite part of the meal to work on and enjoy. We certainly baked cakes, classic chocolate or vanilla cake with sprinkles, and in the summer, a pale yellow lemon cake with raspberry filling. We also had a fair number of requests for pie, blueberry and peach, and an apple dessert called a pan dowdy. It had a sweet apple filling and a layer of pastry rolled out on top. But halfway through the baking, we took it from the oven and broke up and pressed down on the top crust so that the fruit would bubble up around it. This started a long discussion on crisps and pies, and we found that just as we had many versions of dumplings in our repertoire, we all had a different name for a slightly contrasting fruit dessert baked in the oven. I loved a cobbler, but wouldn't say no to a crumble or a crisp, a betty or a buckle. But my favorite was a Sanker, which turned out to just be a cobbler, a thing which by any name tastes sweet. We were nearing the end of our year of birthday meals, and we had to decide which direction to go in next. We would debate at our next supper whether we might cook our way through a famous cookbook or a box of handwritten recipe cards from a rummage sale. Maybe we try to recreate favorite dishes from places we travel to, or drill down on bread baking or cook a year's worth of meals with ingredients grown in our own county. I'd be eager for my turn to host, that was for certain, to clear the counters and pass around the aprons and for all of us to learn and savor something together. Supper Club it had started just because it takes quite a few hands to roll grape leaves. So I'd been called to a friend's house where a dozen of us spent a day cooking and rolling and chatting and eating. I'd never done it before, but by the end of the day I was fairly competent when it came to rolling a well formed dolma and had learned about soaking the rice beforehand, not cinching the roll too tightly as it needed some space to expand as it cooked and the right mix of spices and lemony broth to make each bite well seasoned and delicious. When we finished, we each had A large platter or baking dish

Kathryn Nicolai (23:04)

full of

Kathryn Nicolai (23:05)

the fruits of our labor to take home and feast on for as long as they lasted. It had gotten me thinking. How many of my friends and neighbors had foods like that passed down through the generations, delicious and possibly a bit labor intensive that we could come together to make. And so we started our supper club. I got a dozen or so of our fellow chefs together, and we circled dates on a calendar. Once a month, we'd rotate to a different home and make a big meal and then share it. We'd teach each other our family recipes, and by the end of a year, we'd all have many newly acquired skills, taste buds and. And this was the bonus, we'd get to share a meal together on a regular basis, just like we were always saying we should. That first year, we ended up making a lot of dumplings, as it seems most every culture and culinary tradition has something like it. Some pocket of dough, steamed or boiled or fried, that was stuffed with yummy bits. And those bits were usually some of the most important foods for the people who made them. We made pierogies and malaikafta and knishes I'd loved leveling up as we learned to shape mandu dumplings from the simple half moon we all started with by folding the wrapping and pinching it closed to a slightly more complicated envelope fold. And then the showstopper, a full rose shape that had three dumplings rolled together to mimic petals and a bud. This was not something you could easily learn from a book. This was something you needed to see done in front of you, to hear explained by someone who had done it a thousand times. And even then, it simply needed to be repeated over and over to build the skill and muscle memory necessary to do adequately. I found myself so grateful to my friends neighbors for sharing each process with me. And making them was quite meditative, especially at first. I needed to give all my attention to my fingers as I handled the wrappers and spooned the filling in. I'd hold my breath as I made the first fold, afraid that the delicate dough would tear. And sometimes it would, but we'd just start again. In the summer, we made empanadas stuffed with corn and green onions seasoned with paprika and garlic. We made savory noodles, some with potatoes and some with a bready shell. And in the fall, we made madombi to top a comforting stew. And for dessert, susques, which were sweet and cinnamony. When the snow fell, we met up for an afternoon of ravioli making, where I learned to roll the dough by hand with a long wooden roller almost as big as a broomstick. As I dotted the filling onto it, I repeated a mantra I'd learned from nearly a year of dumpling making less is more. I'd been so eager at the beginning to get as much of the delicious bits into each packet that I'd split dozens of them. A little is enough, I'd tell myself, so often it was. These flavors were concentrated, sauteed down and seasoned, and each bite would have a little of everything in. Reminded me to savor rather than gulp down, to really enjoy whatever my senses were presented with, and to take in the details that might otherwise be missed. That first year of supper club had left us all with freezers full of meals ready to be enjoyed and new skills and favorite dishes. Even when we worked through most of our well loved family recipes, we felt we'd only just begun our culinary adventures. So we followed it up with a year of birthday meals. These were the dishes you wanted on your birthday when you didn't hesitate to order up your favorites, even if they took a good bit of work. Often they held as much sentimental value as tastiness. We'd meet in the afternoon to start and dole out the jobs, and we aimed for an appetizer, a main course with a side and always, always a dessert that became my favorite part of the meal to work on. Enjoy. We certainly baked cakes classic chocolate or vanilla cake with sprinkles, and in the summer a pale yellow lemon cake with raspberry filling. We also had a fair number of requests for pie, blueberry and peach, and an apple dessert called a pan dowdy. It had a sweet apple filling

Kathryn Nicolai (34:36)

and

Kathryn Nicolai (34:36)

a layer of pastry rolled out on top. But halfway through the baking, we took it from the oven and broke up and pressed down on the top crust so that the fruit would bubble up around it. This started a long discussion on crisps and pies, and we found that just as we had many versions of dumplings in our repertoire, we all had a different name for a slightly contrasting fruit dessert baked in the oven. I loved a cobbler but wouldn't say no to a crumble or a crisp, a beddie or a buckle. But my favorite was a sanker, which turned out to just be a cobbler, a thing which by any name tastes sweet. We were nearing the end of our year of birthday meals and had to decide which direction to go in next. We would debate at our next supper whether we might cook our way through a famous cookbook or a box of handwritten recipe cards from a rummage sale. Maybe we'd try to recreate favorite dishes from places we'd traveled to, or drill down on bread baking, or cook a year's worth of meals with ingredients grown in our own county. I'd be eager for my turn to host, that was for certain. To clear the counters and pass around the aprons. And for all of us to learn and savor something together. Sweet dreams.