If you read my first entry, you already know where I stand on ground beef and basically any minced meat. We’ve established that is here is in fact lots of love there. The Picadillo recipe is my evidence. (Have you tried it yet?)

But ground beef contains multitudes. And so does this series.

Because this entry isn’t about a Cuban kitchen or a family recipe passed down through generations. This one was born on the road. Specifically, on a nine-day business trip through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama — with my kids in tow, a new city every single day, and absolutely zero plan to eat light.

There, I said it! I did everything by to get in shape prior to this trip. Only to step off the plane and immediately salivate at the idea of all the fatty, fried I was about to indulge in..

Let me be clear: I have nothing against southern food. Nothing. And I’m very sure there are plenty of light option. However on this trip alone we had crab legs, hush puppies, red beans, pulled pork sandwiches, a stop at Buccee’s for more junk and a truly heroic salad bar situation at a grocery store that I remain proud of (plenty of cheese, bacon bits and ranch) The south fed us well. The south always feeds you well.

But the thing that stayed with me — the thing I kept coming back to, that I made as soon as I got home, that my daughter and I later filmed together for YouTube because it needed to be documented — was the chili.

Video Link Here:

Not your average chili

Now, I’m used to Texas-style chili. Beans, sometimes corn, hearty and thick and filling in that way that makes you need a nap afterward. I love it. I’m not here to start any chili wars.

But the chili I fell in love with in the south was different. No beans. Just meat — ground beef and ground pork together, which is a combination I want you to remember because it changes everything — cooked down with spices until the whole thing becomes this deep, rich, intensely flavored situation that somehow tastes like it’s been going for hours even when it hasn’t.

Without the beans, you actually taste the meat. The spices have nowhere to hide and nowhere to get lost. You don’t fill up too fast. Every bite is just pure, unapologetic flavor. And then you add cheese on top. Sour cream. Chips on the side. Suddenly you’re not eating chili, you’re having an experience!!

We snacked on this through most of the trip — stopping in a new place, settling into a new air bnb, reheating a bowl, moving on. And here’s the thing about chili that I already knew but this trip confirmed: it gets better every day. It thickens. It deepens. The spices settle in and get comfortable. By day four of that pot it was almost unrecognizable from day one — in the best possible way. It traveled with us like a fifth family member. A delicious, low-maintenance one who never complained about the drive.

So enough talking- let’s get to the recipe. Cause you’re probably salivating at the idea of destroying a bowl as we speak.

A Note on Leftovers

Make more than you think you need. This chili is good the day you make it. It is great the next day. By day three it is something else entirely — thicker, richer, somehow more itself than it was when it started. Reheat it low and slow on the stove with a tiny splash of broth if needed.

It freezes beautifully. It travels well. It has, at this point, crossed multiple state lines in my experience and arrived in perfect condition every time.

The south gave me a lot on that trip. The chili might be what I think about most.I hope you enjoy this meal!!

I love Gardening. I love everything about it and this is Substack— so of course there’s gotta be a group of “garden core” fans willing to read my article about my passion for getting down and dirty in a pot of soil! lol :)

I was probably around 8 years old when I fell in love with gardening. Something about it just connected with me. My Mom enjoyed it and I enjoyed doing anything my Mom did.

One of my earliest memories is playing outside in front of the house and just staring at “our work” that we had planted the day before. I lt was so exiting. I would wake up and every day see a new result. I was convinced things grew overnight. I'd look at the sunflowers and swear they were taller than they were the day before. I'd search for new blooms of magnolias, new leaves—anything that looked different.

It felt like magic.

That little excitement never really left me.

These days I'm just a little older... and my garden happens to be in the French countryside.

People always ask me where my love for gardening came from, and it started with my mom.

I couldn't tell you exactly where she got it from. Her parents were from Cuba and eventually made their home in North Bergen, New Jersey after leaving Cuba, on the island I’m very sure they grew some of their own crops. After all Cuba is known for its farming. We can get into that later.

But by the time I came along, my mom already had grown a love for it gradually while we stayed on Andrews Airforce base. Dad was in the military and being an expat and my Dad constantly working I’m sure she began her love out of boredom and “home and garden” was the cool thing every housewife would divulge in to stay sane while raising babies while trying to make new friends and neighbors.

Anyway, She loved flowers. Still does.

Later on we lived in a neighborhood of townhouses in Waldorf, Maryland after the military. There were probably a hundred of them, and they all looked pretty much the same... except ours.

Our house sat right at the entrance of the neighborhood, so it was the first one everyone saw when they drove in. My mom took so much pride in that little front yard. Every season there was something blooming. Giant sunflowers in the yard that somehow seemed taller than everyone else's. Magnolias. Flower beds that changed with the seasons in front. I honestly couldn't name half of what she planted back then—I just knew it was beautiful.

People would slow their cars down just to compliment her.

"Your flowers are gorgeous."

"What did you plant this year?"

"How do you get them to grow like that?"

Looking back now, I realize she treated her garden the same way she treated everything else she loved.

Including us.

She loved dressing me and my sisters in Jessica McClintock dresses with beautiful floral prints. Looking back now, it's actually kind of funny—we matched the garden.

She'd spend time making the flower beds beautiful, then she'd spend time getting us ready. We'd stand out there together and people would compliment the flowers... then compliment us... and somehow it all felt connected.

I don't know if that's exactly where my love of gardening began, but I have a feeling it planted the first seed.

For years, gardening meant flowers.

It wasn't until I bought my first home that we started planting vegetables and fruit trees. I learned a lot through trial and error. Some things thrived. Some things didn't make it past a few weeks. But every season taught me something new, and somewhere along the way I realized I wasn't just growing a garden anymore.

I had fallen in love with the whole process.

Now my little garden lives at our country house in France, which means I'm definitely not an everyday gardener.

I'm a weekend gardener for now.

Every Friday or Saturday when we arrive, the first thing I do is walk outside. Before I unpack. Before I make coffee. I just want to see what's happened while I've been away. I get my hands in the dirt. Scooping out weeds. Washing off roots and planting new plant flower babies.. talking to my plants.

Did something bloom?

Did the tomatoes finally turn red?

Did the hydrangeas survive the heat?

Did the zucchini actually grow this time?

Or... did the weeds completely take over?

Honestly, it could go either way.

Sometimes I walk around feeling so proud of everything that's growing.

Other times I stand there wondering what on earth happened while I was gone.

And somehow... I love all of it.

The more I've gardened, the more I've realized it isn't really about flowers or vegetables.

It's about believing.

Every seed you plant is an act of faith.

You bury something in the ground. You water it. You care for it. You wait.

For a while... absolutely nothing happens.

No proof.

No guarantee.

Just the belief that something is happening beneath the surface.

The more I think about it, the more life feels exactly the same.

Whether it's raising children, building a home, chasing a dream, growing a business, healing from something hard, or becoming the person you're trying to be... so much of life asks us to keep showing up before we ever see the results.

Maybe that's why gardening has always felt so peaceful to me.

It reminds me that growth isn't always visible.

Sometimes the most important work is happening where we can't see it yet.

So that's what this little corner of Substack is going to be.

Yes, we'll talk about flowers, vegetables, bees, butterflies, garden wins, spectacular garden failures, and whatever catches my attention each weekend.

But I have a feeling we'll end up talking about life just as much.

I'd love for this to feel like we're walking through the garden together.

And if you're someone who gardens too—even if it's just a basil plant on your kitchen windowsill—I hope you'll tell me your story. I'd love to know how you found your way to gardening and what keeps bringing you back.

Here's to planting things we believe in...

...and trusting they'll bloom in their own time.

See you next weekend in the garden.

OH and here’s a fun little video I made with my mom during the pandemic about gardening. Enjoy! Really Truly Maybe: Garden Edition

I stand by every word.

But here’s what they don’t tell you at 22, when you’re young, confident and can “pop that thing” like a soda can: that one day you’ll discover a more powerful weapon. One that was already a staple in my house growing up. One that works on *every* man I’ve ever invited to the Milian household, regardless of age, background, or emotional availability. One that requires no heels or lingerie, and way less effort once you know what you’re doing.

Ground beef.

Usually crumbled. With all the right seasonings, so much flavor, simmered with love and sealed with a kiss.

Do I have your attention now? Haha— this is fun.

Now listen, don’t you retire my sexy instructions! I'm saying add this one to the rotation. Because I have watched a plate of Cuban Picadillo do things to grown men that is very satisfying to watch when you know you put in the work to cook it. Especially when they ask for more?!

So here we go.

I myself first fell in love with this dish as a child. My mom made it perfectly every time — her mother’s recipe, passed down and never written anywhere because it didn’t need to be. And my mom’s sisters each had their own rendition, which they each swore up and down was the best version.

To know me is to know, I have been a foodie since the womb. So on our family visits to Jersey, I would literally go house to house and eat a full plate of Picadillo with rice and plantains at every single stop — as if I hadn’t just eaten a full plate at the last house. I never turned it down. Not once. I cleaned every plate, even when it wasn’t quite at my mom’s level, because I found something to love in every version. The olives a little different here, maybe raisins in the other, the other eaten with ketchup on the side.. Each one its own thing. Each one still felt like HOME.

Fast forward. My teen years come and there were hardships. Mom had to work several jobs at a time to make the rent and sometime rely on me to play second Mom to my two little sisters. So Mom taught me how to cook mostly all her go-to recipes. Even on a dime budget that food was tastier than most restauraunts (And luckily ground beef is usually pretty affordable- especially in the 90’s) and so then I inherited her riches.

My early 20’s come and I start dating more long-term. Playing a little “house” here and there. Cooking for my little boo-thangs. and the standout piece that was always very highly requested were my ground beef recipes!

Here's the thing that made it so fun though: most of the men I dated in those early years had a very simple palate. We're talking chicken tenders and fries guys. So when I put a plate of Picadillo in front of them or a lasagna??? it was like introducing them to a whole new world. They weren't expecting it to hit that hard. It was a Michelin star moment happening in my kitchen and they were definitely requesting another round.

Now that I’m grown, I can confirm what I always suspected: Men love Ground Beef. One even Married me for it! WHOA- Full stop. Doesn’t matter how you do it. Lasagna, stuffed peppers, burgers, tacos, sloppy joes- the list goes on and they are always satisfied.

So this is my series. Dedicated to the recipes that make them say “Oh!” — at the table this time.

Let’s get into it.

First, let’s talk about the meat itself.

Not all ground beef is created equal.

80/20 is your friend. That means 80% lean and 20% fat. The fat is where the flavor lives. Anything you brown or crumbing -Picadillo or taco meat etc..you want the fat rendering into the whole pan and blending right back into the meat. Lean ground beef is cool but a bit dry for my preference and doesn’t soak up as much flavor.

For burgers, some like 70/30. Meatballs, 80/20. It’s really up to you. OR you can substitute with ground turkey if you prefer.

The heart of it is the seasoning, technique and lots of love!!

Today’s Recipe: CUBAN PICADILLO

This is the dish. I can taste it as I write this. It’s the one made for anyone I have ever loved. Cuban picadillo is ground beef with a red sofrito of tomato, garlic, onion, green olives, peppers, seasoning and white cooking wine. Served with white rice and a plantain or banana on side.

This will be the first of many ground beef recipes I love to make. Get ready to steal hearts!

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