Comfort Food for Complicated Seasons

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Hello, friend.

I don’t know about you, but we are in premium comfort food mode at my house.

The holiday season arrives in all its full, glittering glory—with friends, family, and fun…or with seasonal horror. And no, I’m not talking about the movie Gremlins. I’m talking about the loneliness, the depression, the grief, and the trauma that so often hitch a ride this time of year.

I could rail on about how our culture runs on wildly unrealistic expectations to be festive and joyful at all times in December.

And you know what?

Fuck that shit all the way down the chimney.

The hard truth about the holidays

Listen—the holidays can be traumatic. They’re often drama-filled. And a lot of people carry genuinely terrible memories of holidays past.

My first husband dreaded Christmas every year. When he was a child, it meant his dad wouldn’t come home, and his mother would cry all day. I worked my ass off trying to change what Christmas meant for him.

And then his sister died the day after Christmas.

The next year, my grandfather passed on the Solstice.

And when the impending divorce came, I medicated myself into sleeping through the holidays entirely.

A lot of people have stories like this. And when the calendar rolls around again, it just magnifies the weight of it all.

These days, my holidays are mostly peaceful—but they’re still not free of painful memories.

So if this season feels heavy for you, remember this: you are not alone. And making—and eating—good food is one of the most reliable ways I know to feel even a flicker of happiness and joy.

(Looking for alternatives to potentially-depressive libations? Check out this issue’s sponsor, Pique, for an alcohol-free alternative. The link is at the bottom of the newsletter.)

If you’re struggling to find your “holiday spirit” this year, make your favorite foods. Feed yourself well. And remember that Anthony Bourdain loves you… and so do I.

The ghost told me to tell you that.

He got a little choked up when he said it, too. It was a bit awkward, but we smiled and blamed it on chopping onions. Like ya do.

So…what did we make this week?

After all that buildup, we went all-in on comfort: Chicken Pot Pie (Appetites, p. 160).

I used to make chicken pot pie from scratch back when I was catering meals for folks who could no longer really cook for themselves—but still wanted excellent food to eat. My favorite crust choice, for both ease and flavor, was puff pastry.

(No, I did not make that from scratch.)

I briefly considered that shortcut again—my feet were really starting to protest—but one look at the ghost told me that was not going to fly. He was watching closely. Fully aware of my history.

So. Everything was made from scratch.

I didn’t even buy a rotisserie chicken. Instead, I bought the required three pounds of bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs. The package was actually three and a half pounds, which meant a little extra for the dogs and cat…and some leftover chicken stock to boot.

Pets, after all, cannot live by kibble alone.

The recipe calls for poaching the thighs in chicken broth, and the result was exceptional—juicy, tender meat that fell easily away from skin and bones. I didn’t even bother chopping it. I just pulled it apart with my fingers, leaving big pieces, exactly as the recipe dictates.

And that is…a lot of chicken.

When I looked at the ingredients lined up and ready to go, the pile of meat noticeably dwarfed the vegetables. The potatoes sat somewhere in the middle, quietly confident.

The “Platonic ideal” of pot pie

In Appetites, Anthony Bourdain describes the “Platonic ideal” of chicken pot pie as the version from Horn & Hardart.

That line stopped me in my tracks. Wasn’t Horn & Hardart responsible for the Automat? Quick Google search says yes, but they also had restaurants.

Can’t you just see little Anthony skipping through this courtyard on his way to eat some chicken pot pie?

Let’s talk vegetables and crust

The remaining ingredients—diced carrots and celery, pearl onions, sage, thyme, sweet peas, and russet potatoes—were straightforward enough to prep. Simmering the diced potatoes in the same stock used for the chicken is an inspired move. No notes.

Then there’s the crust.

This is a top-crust-only situation, baked in a 9” × 13” casserole dish. Making the dough was simple—though dragging out the food processor probably took as long as the dough itself.

Cold cubed butter, all-purpose flour, and salt get pulsed until crumbly. Then ½ cup of ice water goes in all at once. If you’ve made pastry before, that probably sounds like too much water.

It isn’t.

The dough is tender and borderline sticky at first. An hour in the fridge makes it workable, but even then it rolls out effortlessly. It’s smooth and creamy. Transferring it onto the pie was easy, too, being thicker than many crusts I’ve made.

The texture is a little different from a traditional pie crust—not especially flaky, but deeply satisfying and delicious. And another odd thing - 20 minutes into the baking time, the recipe says to remove the pot pie from the oven and brush the crust with an egg wash. Then continue baking. Never, in all my days…

Judging by how much chicken pot pie we ate last night, there are at least four very generous servings still waiting for us. They will be enjoyed happily over the next day or two.

The quiet joy of making this dish—and the deep, enveloping comfort of eating it—was more than enough to make the sore feet worth it.

A small pause before the new year

I wanted to let you know that I’ll be taking next week off. My beautiful, thoughtful mother sent us a ham and all the fixings for our holiday meal, which means I suddenly have time for baking.

Pecan sticky buns?
Croissants?
Sourdough bread?
All of the above?

We’ll see.

I’ll be back in two weeks. I hope you find a piece of delicious joy to brighten these winter days. And thank you for being part of my joy.

See you next year.

📬 A small ask, if this resonated

In rebellion and reverence,
Michelle Davis
Your kitchen medium

Meet the Best Alcohol Replacement of the Season

As the nights get colder and holiday gatherings fill the calendar, I’ve been craving a new kind of ritual—something warm, social, and feel-good, without the fogginess that often follows a drink. And this season, I found it.

Meet Vesper, Pique’s brand-new, non-alcoholic adaptogenic aperitif—and truly one of the most exciting launches they’ve ever released. Crafted with rare botanicals and science-backed ingredients, it delivers everything I love about a drink: the unwind, the mood lift, the sense of connection… just without the alcohol.

Each sip brings a soft drop in the shoulders, a gentle lift in spirit, and a clear, grounded presence. Sparkling, tart, and herbaceous, Vesper feels luxurious and intentionally crafted—perfect for holiday parties, cozy nights in, and an elevated start to Dry January.

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