Watching Chip and Joanna Gaines makes me want to take a sledgehammer to my walls. As they tear homes down to the shiplap, transforming them from what appears to be an abandoned Breaking Bad set to Elle Decor cover-worthy house, I think, "yeah, I could totally do that!" Then, six hours into my IKEA hack, I realize I am both (a) not Joanna Gaines and (b) woefully inept at anything that requires a hammer and nails.
Rather than beat a dead dresser, a casual scroll of Gaines's blog made me realize there is some way I can emulate her life. Joanna loves to cook and bake—she recently opened a bakery, and has talked about launching a cooking show—and she regularly posts her recipes. I may not be able to get her style, her hair so perfectly glossy it rivals Connie Britton's, or her flipped homes (the Gaineses only work in Waco, TX, where they're based), but hey, I could cook like her. And if you are what you eat, maybe, just maybe, replicating the Joanna Gaines diet would bring me one step closer to getting my shiplap together.
When you think of Waco, and the couple's rustic, Southern-tinged aesthetic, you might think of heavy, comfort foods and Texas staples, like brisket, chili and meat-and-three platters. But, for the most part, JoJo's recipes are much more vegetable-based (and yes, after cooking like her for a week, I feel creepily close enough to her to warrant a restraining order—and the ability to call her JoJo). Though Gaines often posts photos of biscuits, cupcakes and Syrian doughnuts on Instagram, many of the dishes on her blog seemed pretty healthy—a far cry from the bacon, cheese and ranch-dressing slathered dishes I whip up in the Delish kitchen daily. Cooking a la Gaines would be like giving my diet a demo day.
Instantly, I was hooked, and wasted no time downloading Gaines's meal prep printable—a weekly planner to help you figure out your grocery list and what you'll be cooking each day—which I promptly left on the kitchen table, realizing my error the instant I walked into Whole Foods. (Gaines recommends snapping a pic of the list, then sticking the printout on your fridge for reference during the week. Fail!)
With groceries in hand, here's what I made—and what everyone thought of each dish.
Breakfast: Summer Smoothie
At first, I was tempted to make Chip's favorite breakfast—pancakes, fried eggs, bacon and a glass of OJ—but, since that's my go-to weekend brunch (see my Nutella-stuffed, piña colada, Boston cream and s'mores versions) it seemed like cheating. Plus, the couple doesn't have a recipe listed for their flapjacks. They do, however, have a recipe for mango-pineapple smoothies, which seemed just as delish—and way better for my waistline.
Gaines blends up a mango, 1/2 cup of pineapple chunks, a splash of pineapple juice and coconut milk, creating a thick, bright-orange smoothie. There's no sugar or yogurt added, and frankly, you don't miss it. The fruit is sweet enough on its own, and it's super thick (especially if you use pureed mango instead of pineapple juice), making it more filling than the typical grab-and-go drink.
Even people who said they weren't crazy about smoothies demolished this drink faster than Chip can tear down a wall.
Get the recipe.
Lunch: Simple Spring Quinoa Salad
OBSESSED. I don't even mind the small eternity it takes for quinoa to cook to make this light-yet-filling salad, because it's that good. Edamame adds a nice crunch to this protein-packed meal, and the quinoa takes on a slightly tangy flavor, thanks to the lemon- and lime-based dressing.
You won't miss meat or carbs here; but, fair warning—you may want to eat the entire bowl in one setting. Not that I've done that. ...Twice, or anything.
Get the recipe.
Appetizer: Caprese Skewers
If you can pop popcorn, you can make this app. And it's way more impressive to serve to a crowd than a bowl full of Orville Redenbacher. You just layer pearl-sized mozzarella balls, fresh basil leaves and cherry tomatoes on a skewer, until each kebab has been filled.
The hardest part is waiting for the balsamic vinegar and honey to reduce to a syrup. (Just follow a mixture of 4 parts balsamic to 1 part honey.) If the thought of reductions freaks you out, many grocery stores sell balsamic vinegar glaze you could use instead.
Get the recipe.
Drink: Sparkle Punch
This one required me to go rogue. Gaines features "sparkle punch" in her Fourth of July tablescape, but she doesn't exactly break down what that is. Thankfully, the Internet does. A casual search showed that sparkle punch is a thing—a thing that often involves citrus soda or seltzer, lemonade and berry flavoring (the latter either in the form of fresh fruit, fruit juice or Jell-O mix).
Left to my own interpretation, I skipped the strawberry Jell-O and used a 50-50 mix of lemonade and cranberry juice, then topped it off with ginger ale for a little fizziness. The cranberries' tartness kept the drink from tasting too sugary sweet. It was crisp and refreshing, though admittedly, many thought it'd be even better spiked with vodka as a big-batch cocktail to serve at summer parties.
Get the recipe.
Dinner: Margherita Pizza
As soon as a recipe calls for active dry yeast, I cringe. For no reason. I'm always paranoid whether the hot water is just hot enough—110 degrees, to be exact—to wake up the yeast. Then I debate how bubbly the yeast should be to be "creamy," while simultaneously being a little grossed out by the concept of creamy yeast in general. But honestly, freaking out over yeast is like sitting it a rocking chair: It gives you something to do, but it doesn't get you anywhere. And, 90 percent of the time, the yeast works just fine—unless it's way past its expiration date. Or you use boiling water to try to activate it, killing it off instead.
Joanna's crust is worth the internal battle. It's flecked with dried basil and turns out light and chewy, but not gummy. (If you really hate yeast, spare yourself the agony and go with store-bought dough, then top your pie with extra basil. No worries.)
Really, this dish is only as good as your ingredients. If everything's fresh, people will shower you with compliments, making you believe you could give Mario Batali a run for his Sunday sauce. If the tomatoes are mealy and the sauce is jarred, you'll want to keep Papa John's on speed dial.
Get the recipe.
Dessert: Strawberry Lemonade Ice Cream Pie
It's early July, and the thought of preheating my oven brings on a level of disgust that can only be rivaled by your reaction to that episode of Fixer Upper when Chip eats a dead roach. (HGTV fans, you know what I'm talking about.)
I'm not big on strawberry ice cream, but when the weather can best be described as somewhere between balmy and Satan's breath, I'm all about pink lemonade. And, well, anything frozen. Gaines's recipe calls for less butter than the typical graham cracker crust (just 2 tablespoons), creating a no-bake base that's more like a crumble. If you like fruit and granola yogurt parfaits, though, you'll love the texture.
The pie filling itself requires a little work, some of it (sadly) over a hot stove. First, you cook fresh strawberries, lemon juice and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat, just until the berries have softened and released their juices. Then you strain the juice, refrigerating it until it's cold, and then mix it with a pint of softened vanilla ice cream, before spreading it onto the pie crust and freezing it until firm.
It's a process—one that starts melting in record time—but even strawberry haters couldn't resist stealing a slice. Within half an hour, the entire pie was gone, which was good: In that time, it had already turned into a milkshake-like slush. Not that anyone cared.
Get the recipe.
The Big Reveal
While these dishes didn't surprise people as much as the tiki-themed treats served when I lived la vida Lauren Conrad—and didn't cause the "What's that smell and can you make it stop?!" reaction I received during my Gwyneth Paltrow diet days—they were universal crowd-pleasers. The smoothie and quinoa salad became an instant weekday staple. When it comes to the pizza and pie, I'd simplify both dishes, using store-bought dough for the former, and mixing fresh lemon zest and a spritz of lemon juice to strawberry ice cream, instead of heating and straining fresh berries, for the latter.
The moment I typed that last sentence, it hit me: Maybe it's all the shortcuts I'm taking—not just when cooking, but anything DIY—that keep my IKEA hacks from looking less Magnolia Market and more straight-up Pinterest fail. Probably.
But I'm still not ready to take a sledgehammer to my walls.
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