Caramelized Onion And Lentil Soup, "PUDDIN!" + Gossip Girl
Julie O'Rourke's Cub Street Diet
Hi Friends,
In our opinion, there’s no better person to deliver a Christmas edition of Cub Street Diet than Julie O’Rourke, a woman who somehow manages to do things like make her own glass-glitter tinsel ornaments while simultaneously juggling the responsibilities of running a successful clothing label and mothering three small kids. Below, the Maine-based founder of Rudy Jude takes us through a handful of days in her family kitchen leading up to the holidays.
Few people walk the talk as much as Julie—she runs a sustainable, plant-dyed clothing brand, is a mother of three amazingly self-reliant boys (the older two forage, chop wood, sew, whittle, cook, etc.), puts her artistic and craft skills to endlessly creative uses, and somehow finds time to make beautiful food. Following her on Instagram is a total joy, which is no doubt why she has amassed such a loyal following (good luck scoring a pair of coveted Rudy Jude utility jeans—they consistently sell out!). In 2026, Artisan will publish a book devoted to Julie and her partner Anthony’s experience of building their house.
But, back to the boys! What are Diogo (9), Rui (6) and Sal (1) eating? Read on to hear about life in a house without hot water, where the cookstove is from the 70s, and Gossip Girl plays nightly on the iPad.
XOXO,
Fanny + Greta
To begin, I need to tell you that I’m writing this the weekend before Christmas, in rural Maine, in a ¾ finished home that we’ve been building over the last few years, with 3 young boys, and no hot water. I’m only telling you this to set the scene for our daily meals as our home, our food, and our cleanliness are all intrinsically linked to one small 1970s Elmira cookstove that I inherited from my parents. This stove lives in the corner of our kitchen and is pumping away for 20 or so hours a day on these cold winter days.
My partner Anthony and I divide the work around the stove into what we affectionately call “Night Shift” and “Morning Shift” And at this point in time, I work nights and he works mornings.
My night shift begins after the two youngest go to sleep. A giant blue lobster pot of water has been heating on the stove since after dinner, and at this point is on the edge of boiling. I transfer four or five big slow glugs with an enamel pitcher into a 5-gallon ceramic cistern that sits on the edge of our sink next to the holes that will at some point be filled with a working faucet. I top off the cistern with water from a hose to cool it and set up my iPad up on the window sill above the sink. I press play where I left off on the previous night and as I reach for the sponge hear, “Hello, Upper Eastsiders…” coming from the window perch. I’ve been watching Gossip Girl from the beginning and I’m currently on season 2 episode 12, the Christmas episode. Perfect. I finish the dishes before the episode ends.
I dry each dish slowly, which is something I would never do during the day. I always finish with the kids’ lunchboxes, then I wipe down the island and set them out for the morning shift. Next, I move on to making stock for the next day’s dinner. Just the rest of the roast chicken we had for dinner and some vegetable ends. I add it to a clean pot, fill it with water and put it on the back, right side of the woodstove, the coolest corner, for it to simmer while we sleep.
I sit down to write our menu for Christmas Eve, savoring this time to myself. I hear a tiny moan from upstairs—press pause—and run up to nurse the baby back to sleep. It takes a few minutes, but then I’m back in my seat in the clean kitchen, and the walk back down the stairs gives me time to appreciate my hard work as I return to my tidy spot next to the stove. Where was I? Press play. Christmas. I pick up a pencil and write “Menu” in curvy letters, and then I remember a conversation I had with Diogo, who is 9. “Please can we have food that kids like on Christmas Eve?” This means he doesn’t want a ham, or a London broil, or an O’Rourke family favorite “Dottie Singleton’s Potatoes,” and he definitely does not want Shepherd’s Pie, which was what I was planning.
When I was 25 or so I worked at a restaurant called “Shepherd’s Pie,” that sat near a picturesque harbor in coastal Maine. It was well-loved and busy. And, like a lot of restaurants in the early aughts, it served food that was salty and decadent and experimental. The vegetables were fresh, the garnishes were foraged, and the seafood was brought in daily. I bartended eagerly but coolly, excited to make drinks, but more excited for my shift to end so I could sit and dip fresh crusty bread into leftover mussel juice. The mussels were cooked over the fire on top of a spruce bough in a small cast iron skillet and the leftover juice was so flavorful and salty and inexplicably sour—I can conjure it in my mind right now as I write this. A giant plate of shoestring French fries would drop on the bar next to me and I would eat them by the handful as I slipped my Danskos back on my feet to head off on my mile walk home from Rockport to Camden.
Under “Menu” I write “Shoestring French fries” then “Mussels on a spruce bough.”
Then “Shepherd’s Pie,” all in curly writing. Knowing the first two items will pass the nine-year-old test and the third will complete my sense memory of 2012, surely charged by Gossip Girl steadily playing in the background of my night shifts.
I put a big log on the fire, close the flue halfway, and head to bed.
•••
FRIDAY
Breakfast - Scrambled eggs, toast, sausage, blueberries, chestnuts
Lunch - Meat sandwich, peanut butter dates, carrot sticks, apple, clementine
Snack - Glazed donut, clementines
Dinner - Caramelized onion soup with lentils, bread, sauerkraut
The next morning Anthony is up with the kids and I sleep in for a little bit. I will shake out of the covers when I smell coffee wafting up the stairwell. When I get down into the kitchen, breakfast is well underway. The kids have scrambled eggs on toast with a side of sausage almost every school day and on these cold mornings Anthony roasts chestnuts in a small pan for the kids to take in their pockets on the way to school. Sal eats a tiny bowl of frozen blueberries while he waits for the sausage to cool, then we stab it with a little silver fork and hand it to him, he nibbles it from both ends and watches his brothers gobble their eggs.
At this point, the work that I had done the night before has been erased by milk jugs and egg shells and squished berries, so I say longingly to Anthony, “But how did it feel when you came downstairs this morning?” as he starts packing lunchboxes. “So clean,” he says and I take a sip of my coffee and resist saying, “I know, but what was your favorite part…”
I sit with the kids and pick at their leftovers as Anthony finishes their lunches. Diogo gets a roast beef sandwich, Rui gets prosciutto and butter, carrot sticks, and dates with peanut butter. Rui cuts up an apple to split between the two lunches, but doesn’t do a good job skipping the core so Anthony quietly takes each piece and makes sure it’s clear of seeds. He cuts a small opening in skin of two clementines with his thumbnail and nestles each one in last open compartments.
I tell them about my Christmas Eve menu ideas from the night before and Rui yells “MUSSELS” and pounds his chest and does a little hip swirling dance, Diogo licks his lips like he’s done since he was a toddler and I know we have a winner. Anthony says “Remember they would make that duck, peanut butter and jelly sandwich at Shepherd’s Pie?” The older kids both make barf sounds as I say “It was actually pretty good,” and they yell “GROSS!!” as they walk out the door laughing.
I pick the kids up from school with a snack in hand. It’s the last day before winter break and they had glazed donuts at the meat market when I went to pick up groceries. “Did you get something to eat?” Rui asks as he puts his hand in mine while we walk through the school parking lot to meet Diogo. “Maybe,” I say. “Don’t tell me what it is!” he says, as he swings his backpack off his back and onto the ground at my feet. He runs to to Diogo, “MOM GOT A GOOD SNACK I KNOW IT,” he says. I only say “Maybe” when I have something good and he’s onto me.
We get in the car and I hand them the donuts. Rui has his hands covering his eyes as I hand it to him and he peeks slowly. “YUUUSSSSSS,” I hear, and the car shakes a little bit. It’s quiet as they take their first bites. After a few seconds, Rui says, “You want a bite?” And I say “Sure” and reach back while keeping my eyes on the road. I take a bite and say, “Ugh, it’s SO good” and Rui says “You can have it.” And I say, “Really?” “Yeah, I just wanted a few bites,” he says, and then looks out the window with chocolate smeared over his mouth. A little voice from the back seat: “Can you put on FurryTones?” I finish the donut, turn on the radio, and we drive home.
When we get home, Anthony has already gotten the fires going and the water boiling. It’s cozy in the house and starting to get dark. We light candles (we do have lights, but candles are nicer) and we start working on dinner together. I strain the stock I made the night before and cut up 4 white onions into thin slices. I put them in a heavy-bottomed pot with lots of butter and put it on on the front of the woodstove and start stirring. Anthony takes over and we chat about the day as the onions slowly caramelize. When the onions are ready, we add the chicken broth from the night before and a cup of lentils. It cooks for 30 mins or so and we call everyone to the kitchen. The kids beg to eat in the living room and we holler in unison “It’s SOUP” and Anthony adds, “You can’t eat soup on a couch!” They mope into the kitchen, undoubtedly full already from the 50 clementines they ate between getting home and now.
They sit slumped in their chairs and we say, “You love soup!” And start eating ours in an exaggerated way with lots of “Yummmmm’s” and “Ohhh it soooo good’s.” They each reluctantly take a tiny bite and it’s as if you can see the soup flowing through their little bodies and bringing them back to life. The soup is delicious. It really is. So simple and so flavorful. It revives us all. Sal has his with a side of sauerkraut, the big kids have chunks of bread to dip.
Nightshift begins. 4 glugs of water. Press play. “Hello, Upper Eastsiders…” After I finish the dishes, I decide I should make panna cotta as a practice for Christmas Eve. It’s my favorite dessert and it’s so simple. I take a small saucepan and add cream, milk, sugar, and a dash of salt and stir until just shy of a simmer. I put a tablespoon of beef gelatin into a bowl with a bit of water and let it bloom while the milk mixture cooks. I combine the two and let the gelatin dissolve. I pour the mixture into ramekins, cover, and place them in the fridge. It takes about 4 hours for panna cotta to set up and I debate futzing around for that long just to eat one before I go to bed.
I find my “Menu” which is now stained with blueberry juice and a little sausage grease and write a line under “Shepherd’s pie” and then I write “Panna cotta” in curvy letters. I sit down on the couch and scroll on my phone. I see on the Bon Appétit Instagram that they’re making chocolate mousse in a bowl and serving it family style. I remember a big silver bowl I found in Anthony’s mom’s garage and I get up and add “Bowl of mousse” under “Panna cotta.” I keep scrolling and take a screenshot of a picture of a pretty cake. I hear the baby moan. I go to bed.
SATURDAY
Breakfast - Johnny Cakes, steak
Lunch - grilled cheese, celery sticks
Snack - panna cotta
Dinner - chicken soup
I can hear the boys downstairs when I open my eyes and the kitchen smells like the weekend. Anthony makes Johnny Cakes on the weekend which is a Rhode Island thing—it’s basically a corn pancake. It’s sweet and textured like cornbread but fluffy and toasted like a pancake. We serve these on the couch, reluctantly. Rui likes his with a “dipper” of maple syrup and Diogo likes his plain. We put on Mickey Mouse’s Christmas Carol and I snuggle down between them, coffee in hand, and baby on lap. Anthony brings in a second course of sliced steak and and we all eat quietly as Scrooge McDuck is visited by The Ghost of Christmas Past.
Around lunchtime, Rui opens the fridge and says “WHAT. IS. THAT.” He’s pointing to the panna cotta and yells “DIOGO. PUDDIN!!!” I say “After lunch!” and we start making grilled cheese sandwiches together. The kids love to cook and they both are incredibly competent in the kitchen. They cut and clean vegetables, they clean up after themselves with only a little help and they work incredibly fluidly together, more so than when they collaborate on other things. I suggest they make another soup for dinner and they get right to work. I grew up not really liking soup—I still don’t really like soup to be honest—but my kids LOVE soup and soup is an easy way to get in lots of good nutrients like fat, protein, veggies. It’s also been very cold here, so soup is the primo choice.
The kids cut up 4 big carrots, the last of the celery, one onion, and a half a head of garlic. They ask me to do the chicken part because “It’s gross” and so after they’ve moved the veggies around in the pot for a bit on the stove, I plop in a whole naked chicken. Rui runs back and forth adding jars full of water, twisting his body, tongue out, trying to run without spilling. He spills on the floor. He spills on the stove and steam rises up with a sizzle. Diogo checks on the fire and confidently adds another log and keeps a watchful eye on his brother as he stands over the stove stirring their soup. It simmers until dinnertime and they serve it to us proudly.
As my night shift unfolds I remove the chicken carcass from the soup and pick off the last bits of meat that were left behind. I discard the bones in the compost bucket and pour the last of the soup into a jar for tomorrow. I turn on my iPad, “Hello, Upper Eastsiders…” I wash the dishes. I sit down to look at my menu and start writing a shopping list:
Mussels
Garlic
Lemons
Potatoes
Tallow
Lamb
Beef
Carrots
Peas
Herbs
Bread
Cream
Butter
Cocoa powder
Eggs
As I write the list, I realize that these are all the same ingredients we eat normally, aside from the mussels, I suppose. I find it comforting and exciting how these standard ingredients can go from mundane daily food to decadent holiday food just by mixing up the order or importance of each ingredient.
I get up and go to the fridge and take a ramekin of panna cotta out, peel off its green plastic lid and, with the smallest spoon, eat it slowly while leaning over the sink watching Jenny Humphrey sabotage her own 16th birthday party.
I X out panna cotta on my menu and add “Chocolate cake”
SUNDAY
Breakfast - Scrambled eggs and bacon
Lunch - Chicken soup
Snack - Grapefruit and oranges, cheese and crackers
Dinner - Chuck roast, collard greens, squash
We woke up to snow this morning, but the excitement was soon overshadowed because Rui thought the bacon was too crispy, and his eggs kept falling off the bread. There were tears. The kids went out in the snow after breakfast but came in quickly because their fingers were freezing while they were trying to shoot their bows and arrows. They asked for hot chocolate but I forgot about it. They forgot about it too.
In our living room we have a giant masonry heater that we built over the summer. It has a special series of channels that run from the firebox to make the smoke swirl in a pattern up and through the unit to keep all 9ft-by-4ft of it warm throughout the day. It has a small oven above the firebox that gets very hot but stays at a consistent temperature for a shockingly long amount of time, even when the fire has gone to coals. Cooking in it during the day is ideal when we don’t need the fire raging for warmth. Anthony prepared a chuck roast with salt and sugar in a cast iron pan and let it cook slowly in the masonry heater all afternoon. On Sundays we typically graze on what’s left in the fridge and so we ate the rest of the boys’ soup for lunch and grapefruit cut into big, cold chunks. Like clockwork, about 30 minutes before dinner everyone starts yelling “I’m SO hungry!!” We yell back, “It’s almost DINNER!” but then oblige with a plate of cheese and crackers. I have some too.
After dinner, Sal signals that he’d like to go to bed by walking up to each of us and making an audible “mmmm-mah” sound which is his kissing sound. He kisses everyone and waddles to the stairs. I take him up to bed and as soon as his eyes are closed I sneak back down. Rui’s asleep on the couch and Diogo is brushing his teeth. I get out my iPad and start writing this. I hear Sal moan. I pause and go upstairs. I type lopsided on the bed while nursing and then retreat back downstairs. I read a few paragraphs to Anthony as he’s falling asleep on the couch and I say, “Do you like it?” “I love it,” he says, and falls asleep. The baby moans. I get up. Nurse. Retreat. The baby moans. I get up. Nurse. He’s still awake. I scoop him up and carry him down in a bundle of blankets and curl him into a ball on my lap. I keep writing. He sleeps. I can hear the water boiling in the big blue lobster pot on the stove. I know the woodstove needs another log. In a minute I’m going to slither out from under this baby, close out this screen, prop up the iPad on the window sill and… “XOXO - GOSSIP GIRL
”
What a gift to read. Julie’s work in all her respective art forms is crème de la crème, and her prose is no exception.
Julie is such an inspiration, I can’t wait until she comes out with a book about her life.