It’s complicated.
Life. Laundry. Developing a rotation of recipes that can feed a family of four every week on repeat.
It’s also the title of my favorite Nancy Meyers movie, It’s Complicated, which is so unexpectedly real, yet still a feel-good classic. Naturally, after rewatching it with my husband the other night, I kept looping on how badly I’ve always wanted a Nancy Meyers kitchen, and I knew I needed to slip into that vibe in the best way I know how… through food.
What better way to spend a summer evening than staring through the window watching my eldest daughter play in the backyard with Dad while I cook up a Nancy Meyers feast? After all, I love a movie scene where everyone gathers around the kitchen island, and I’ve always dreamt of creating that same magic for my own family.
So, with a crisp glass of Chablis in hand, off I went.
I decided to tackle the following: croque monsieur, homemade Caesar salad, marinated olives and feta, and blueberry pie.
Ambitious? Yes. Packed full of romcom deliciousness? Also, yes.
When you think of Nancy Meyers, you may think of something like a perfectly roasted chicken with sautéed green beans and mashed potatoes, but it’s simply too hot in Colorado right now to even attempt something so warm. I’ll save those for another day!
Plus, let’s get real, I had to do all of this with a baby strapped to my chest, a toddler eating the olives before they even made it into the pot, and a miniature dachshund named Duchess lingering nearby hoping for morsels to fall to the floor.
Menu set, I ventured to the store in the 100-degree heat. Despite feeling like I was living inside a blow dryer, I was legitimately tickled to be grocery shopping. The joy had already begun before the cooking even started because I knew the meal and the moments I had ahead of me.
So yes, even on a Saturday afternoon, in Whole Foods, in Boulder, shopping was a dream.
Once home, I unpacked my haul and pulled out my favorite dusty blue apron. I was just about to set to work on the blueberry pie when, of course, Adeline woke up. Simultaneously, my favorite little toddler tornado, Rose, came home from her morning at the pool with Dad, and the pie was forced to wait.
Pause, reset, take two.
There’s nothing like hand-placing tiny palettes of cold butter on top of the pie before applying the top crust to make you feel legit. Even with a store-bought crust, because, remember the baby, I was floating on a cloud of accomplishment.
Love the blueberries. Love the pie. Love everything. Love it.
It took me back to baking with my grandmother, and a feeling of deep-rooted connection to the women in my family hugged me tight.
Ultimately, the crust was burnt because once again I had to get Adeline up from nap right as the pie needed to come out of the oven, but alas. The blueberries still bubbled in their thick, syrupy juices, almost overflowing through the cracks in the golden crust. The spell remained unbroken. Despite the faint hint of char in the air, and the constant interruptions, it all just somehow worked.
Next up was the dressing.
Obviously, I used the good Dijon, because I put that stuff on and in everything. And yes, I used anchovies, because to me, it’s just not Caesar without them. But no, I didn’t tell anyone.
Olives and feta followed, and it was all so very simple that I flew through the prep in a flash. Feeling very-much-the-chef with my lack of precise measurements and ‘cooking from feel vibes’ that were rapidly taking over.
Listening to my ‘Nancy Meyers’ Kitchen’ playlist, I practically danced my way through the afternoon to the likes of Do You Believe in Magic, For Once In My Life, and I Say a Little Prayer, and it was glorious. Joe turned me down for a dance, but he happily poured me another glass of wine, so all was forgiven.
On to the main event, the croque monsieur, which was so shockingly easy that I can’t believe I’ve never made them before. The hardest part was trying to stir the béchamel sauce continually while also bouncing Adeline nonstop.
Crispy, cheesy edges. A delightfully soft and fluffy center without even the slightest bit of mushiness. Just the right amount of nutmeg to balance the generous dash of black pepper. Even Joe had to admit they were “pretty dang good,” mouth full and everything.
To be fair, Rose was not a fan at first and exclaimed, “It’s not good,” after her first bite. You better believe Joe and I laughed with our whole bodies when she said that one. Thankfully, she proceeded to peel the ham out of the middle and devour almost her entire plate. I’ll take it as a compliment to the chef despite her initial trepidation.
I’ll admit, everything was a smidge more hectic than I anticipated when I set out on this endeavor. And none of it would have been possible without Joe helping me tag-team the girls. But it was also far more enjoyable.
It reframed the entire day from feeling like an obligation to an opportunity. An afternoon to cook with purpose, with love, with joy–with the anticipation of all of us sitting around together and laughing over a meal that may or may not turn out quite like it does in the movies. A random Saturday became an event to cherish, not just another weekend dinner in.
Attempting to inhabit the romance of a Nancy Meyers kitchen turned out to be so much more than just living in the movies for an evening.
To me, the longing for a Nancy Meyers kitchen isn’t really about the aesthetic, or even the magically delicious food. Though yes, the copper pots, giant marble islands, and bowls full of heirloom tomatoes, fruit, and even actual artichokes are divine.
The magic is all about what people bring to the space.
The intention.
The way an ordinary moment can still be enchanting.
It’s the love we see flowing across those marble islands that we truly crave.
I spent one spectacular evening in Nancy’s kitchen, and thought it definitely wasn’t perfect; it was so delightfully us. Even if we only gathered around the table for 20 minutes until Rose had eaten her fill, the sense of presence from that day still lingers with me. The delight, the mindfulness, even the confidence, has stuck around.
So, will I do a full-out, slightly complicated dinner like this every night moving forward? No.
But will I purposefully bring a lighthearted intentionality to even the most mundane Wednesday night dinner in? Yes, yes, I will.
For when the attention is there, we can experience the wonder in the life we already have. No movie magic required.
Katherine Rose Woller is a FoodFamilyTravel.com contributor. Her travel advice has been seen in Forbes, her parenting insights in Parents and The Bump, and her words in The Mother Chapter.
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