Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Supper Club (Encore)

Episode Date: February 26, 2026

Originally Aired: February 14, 2022 (Season 9, Episode 7) Our story tonight is called Supper Club, and it’s a story about adventures in cooking and friendship. It’s also about less being more, a bubbling pandowdy, and the patience it takes to carefully fold a dumpling. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠⁠Premium channel.⁠⁠⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 Get better sleep with Cured Nutrition’s Sleep Bundle. It’s already 10% off, and you can stack an additional 20% off at checkout. Plus, all orders over $100 ship free. Visit ⁠⁠⁠curednutrition.com/NOTHINGMUCH⁠⁠⁠ and use code SWEETDREAMS at checkout to save. Fatty15 is on a mission to optimize your C15 levels to help support your long-term health and wellness - especially as you age. You can get an additional 15% off their 90-day subscription Starter Kit by going to ⁠⁠fatty15.com/NOTHINGMUCH⁠ ⁠and using code NOTHINGMUCH at checkout. Pre-Order Links for Kathryn's New Book ⁠⁠⁠⁠Here⁠⁠⁠⁠! ⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! Come Visit The Cabin with this Playlist! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Hi, I'm Catherine Nikolai, and if you're looking for something gentle to listen to that isn't news or true crime or self-improvement, I made this for you. Stories from the Village of Nothing Much is like easy listening, but for fiction. Cozy, warm, calm stories. about ordinary moments that feel a little magical.

They're grounding, soothing, and quietly uplifting without being cheesy, relaxing without putting you to sleep, and just dreamy enough to remind you that there's still sweetness in everyday life. Perfect for your commute while you're tidying up, or when you want a little escape that feels simple and good. Search for stories from the village of Nothing Much, wherever you listen. You already know how much. good sleep matters, because when you sleep well, everything feels a little easier, your mood,

your focus, even how your body feels the next day. And when you don't, it can feel like you're dragging that tiredness with you everywhere. That's why I want to tell you about the sleep bundle from cured nutrition, which I've been using as part of my own wind-down routine and which I gifted to another friend today. What I appreciate about it is that it's designed to help your body ease into rest, rather than knocking you out or leaving you groggy the next morning. The sleep bundle combines two formulas that work together to support deeper, more restorative sleep. It includes their Zen capsules, which are made with calming botanicals like Valerian root, chamomile, aschaganda, and magnesium, along with broad-spectrum

CBD to help quiet the mind and relax the body. The bundle also includes their CBN night caps or night oil, which support deeper sleep quality through the night. I take them about an hour before bed. Usually while I'm dimming the lights, getting into my reading, I like that they work with my natural sleep rhythms. I wake up feeling rested, not foggy, and that makes a big difference. Right now, the sleep bundle is already 10% off, and you can take an additional 20% off at checkout with my code Sweet Dreams, the discount stack, plus all orders over $100 automatically qualify for free shipping, including the sleep bundle. Visit curednutrition.com slash nothing much and use my code Sweet Dreams at checkout for the extra

savings. That's c-U-R-E-D-nutrition.com slash nothing much. coupon code. Good, sweet dreams. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support. Let's get ready to sleep. I'll read you a simple, cozy story. It's a place to rest your mind. And when your mind rests, your body will inevitably follow.

I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower on the second read. just follow along with the sound of my voice and the cozy details of the story. Pull them around you as you would a soft blanket. And if you wake in the night, take yourself back into the story. Just by thinking through many parts you can remember,

this trains your brain to return to sleep mode. and the more you practice it, the easier you will find it. Our story tonight is called Supper Club. And it's a story about adventures in cooking and friendship. It's also about less being more. A bubbling pan doughty and the patience it takes to carefully fold a dumpling dumpling. I've been thinking a lot about aging lately, and not in a fearful way. I believe aging is a privilege. I just want to be practical about it, about how I want to feel steady and capable as the years go on, how I want to sleep well, move easily, and support my health from the inside out, not just chase the appearance of being younger. That's why I was genuinely interested when I learned about fatty 15. Faddy 15 is built around C-15, the first emerging essential fatty acid discovered in more than 90 years.

Research shows C-15 helps keep ourselves strong and resilient, which is foundational for healthy aging. What surprised me is that this discovery came from work with the U.S. Navy, studying the health of aging dolphins. That research revealed that when we don't have enough C-15, our socials. cells become more fragile and they age faster, and that affects how our whole bodies age. There's even a newly identified nutritional deficiency tied to low C-15 levels called cellular fragility syndrome, and studies suggest as many as one in three people may be affected. Fatty 15 was developed over more than a decade by doctors working with the Navy to create a pure, optimized, bioavailable form of C-15. It's been shown to support sleep,

cognitive health, joint comfort, and the body's natural repair systems. For me, Fadi 15 feels like a long-term supportive choice, something I'm taking for my future health. Not a quick fix, but a steady investment. It's science-backed, vegan-friendly, free of allergens and preservatives, and comes in a beautiful, reusable glass jar with refills shipped to your door. Faddy15 is on a mission to optimize your C-15 levels to help support your long-term health and wellness, especially as you age.

You can get 15% off their 90-day starter kit by going to fatty15.com slash nothing much and using code nothing much at checkout. Now, it's time to switch off the light. set aside anything you've been looking at or working on. Adjust your pillows and comforter until you feel completely at ease. If you sometimes clench your jaw as you sleep. Try resting the tip of your tongue at the place where your upper teeth meet the gums on the inside.

That will help to keep your jaw relaxed. Now, take a deep breath. in through your nose, and sigh out through the mouth. Again, breathe in and out, supper club. It had started just because it takes quite a few hands to roll grape leaves. So I'd been called to a friend's house where a dozen of us spent a day cooking and rolling and chatting and eating. I'd never done it before,

but by the end of the day, I was fairly competent when it came to rolling a well-formed dolma and had learned about soaking the rice beforehand, not cinching the roll too tightly as it needed some space to expand as it cooked,

and the right mix of spices and lemony broth to make each bite well-seasoned and delicious. When we finished, we each had a large platter or baking dish full of the fruits of our labor to take home and feast on for as long as they lasted. It had gotten me thinking, how many of my friends and neighbors had foods like that passed down through generations. Delicious and possibly a bit labor intensive that we could come together to make. And so we started our supper club.

I got a dozen or so of our fellow chefs together, and we circled dates on a calendar. Once a month, we'd rotate to a different home and make a big meal, then share it. We'd teach each other our family recipes, and by the end of a year, we'd all have many, newly acquired skills, and taste buds, and, and this was a bonus, we'd get to share a meal together on a regular basis,

just like we were always saying we should. That first year, we ended up making a lot of dumplings, as it seems like most every culture and culinary tradition as something like it. Some pocket of dough steamed or boiled or fried. That was stuffed with yummy bits. And those bits were usually

some of the most important foods for the people who made them. We'd made parogies and malaycofta and canisius. I'd loved leveling up as we learned to shape Mandu dumplings from the simple half-moon we all started with

by folding the wrapping and pinching it closed to a slightly more complicated envelope fold and then the showstopper a full rose shape that had three dumplings rolled together to mimic petals and a bud. This was not something you could easily learn from a book. This was something you needed to see done in front of you.

To hear explained by someone who had done it a thousand times. And even then, it simply needed to be repeated over and over. to build the skill and muscle memory necessary to do adequately. I found myself so grateful to my friends and neighbors for sharing each process with me and making them was quite meditative, especially at first. I needed to give all my attention to my fingers

as I handled the wrappers and spooned the filling in. I'd hold my breath as I made the first fold, afraid that the delicate dough would tear. And sometimes it would. But we'd just start again. In the summer, we made empanadas, stuffed with corn and green onions, seasoned with paprika and garlic.

We made savory nodels, some with potatoes, and some with a bready shell, and in the fall, we made madombie to top a comforting stew. And for dessert, sose cliquis, which were sweet and cinnamony.

When the snow fell, we met up for an afternoon of ravioli making, where I learned to roll the dough by hand, with a long wooden roller, almost as big as a broomstick as I dotted the filling onto it. I repeated a mantra. I'd learned from nearly a year of dumpling making. Less is more. I'd been so eager at the beginning to get as much of the delicious bits

into each packet that I'd split dozens of them. A little is enough, I'd tell myself. So often it was. These flavors were concentrated, sauteed down and seasoned, and each bite would have a little of everything in it.

It reminded me to savor rather than gulp down, to really enjoy whatever my senses were presented with and taken the details that might otherwise be missed. That first year of supper club had left us all with freezers full of meals, ready to be enjoyed, and new skills and favorite dishes. Even when we'd worked through most of our own well-loved family recipes, we felt we'd only just begun our culinary adventures. So we followed it up with a year of birthday meals. These were the dishes you wanted on your birthday.

When you didn't hesitate to order up your favorites, even if they took a good bit of work, often they held as much sentimental value as tastiness. We'd meet in the afternoon to start and dole out the jobs, and we aimed for an appetizer a main course with a side, and always, always, a dessert. That became my favorite part of the meal to work on and enjoy. We certainly baked cakes, classic chocolate or vanilla cake with sprinkles, and in the summer, a pale yellow lemon cake with raspberry filling. we also had a fair number of requests for pie, blueberry, and peach, and an apple dessert called a pan doughty.

It had a sweet apple filling and a layer of pastry rolled out on top. But halfway through the baking, we took it from the oven. and broke up and pressed down on the top crust so that the fruit would bubble up around it. This started a long discussion on crisps and pies, and we found that just as we had many versions of dumplings in our repertoire, we all had a different name for a slightly contrasting fruit dessert baked in the other. I loved a cobbler, but wouldn't say no to a crumble or a crisp, a betty or a buckle. But my favorite was a sancher, which turned out to just be a cobbler, a thing which by any name tastes sweet.

We were nearing the end of our year of birthday meals. and we had to decide which direction to go in next. We would debate at our next supper whether we might cook our way through a famous cookbook or a box of handwritten recipe cards from a rummage sale. Maybe we'd try to recreate favorite dishes from places we traveled to or drill down on bread baking,

or cook a year's worth of meals with ingredients grown in our own county. I'd be eager for my turn to host. That was for certain. To clear the counters and pass around the aprons. And for all of us to learn and savor something together. It had started just because it takes quite a few hands to roll grape leaves. So I'd been called to a friend's house where a dozen of us spent a day cooking and rolling and chatting and eating. I'd never done it

before. But by the end of the day, I was fairly competent when it came to rolling a well-formed dolma and had learned about soaking the rice beforehand, not cinching the roll too tightly, as it needed some space to expand as it cooked, and the right mix of spices, and lemon broth to make each bite well-seasoned and delicious. When we finished, we each had a large platter, or baking dish, full of the fruits of our labor, to take home and feast on. For as long as they lasted, it had gotten me thinking, how many of my friends and neighbors. had foods like that, passed down through the generations, delicious, and possibly a bit labor-intensive, that we could come together to make.

And so, we started our supper club. I got a dozen or so of our fellow chefs together, and we circled dates on a calendar. Once a month, we'd rotate to a different home and make a big meal. And then share it. We'd teach each other, our family recipes. And by the end of a year, we'd all have many newly acquired skills and taste buds. And this was the bonus.

We'd get to share a meal together. on a regular basis, just like we were always saying we should. That first year, we ended up making a lot of dumplings, as it seems most every culture and culinary tradition has something like it. some pocket of dough steamed or boiled or fried. That was stuffed with yummy bits. And those bits were usually some of the most important foods for the people who made them. We made pierogies and malaycofta and canishes.

I'd loved leveling up as we learned to shape Mandu dumplings from the simple half-moon we all started with by folding the wrapping and pinching it closed to a slightly more complicated envelope fold. And then the showstopper, a full rose shape. that had three dumplings rolled together to mimic petals and a bud. This was not something you could easily learn from a book. This was something you needed to see done in front of you,

to hear explained by someone who had done it a thousand times, Even then, it simply needed to be repeated over and over to build the skill and muscle memory necessary to do adequately. I found myself so grateful to my friends and neighbors for sharing each process with me and making them was quite meditative, especially at first. I needed to give all my attention to my fingers as I handled the wrappers and spooned the filling in. I'd hold my breath as I made the first fold, afraid that the delicate dough would tear. And sometimes it would. But we'd just start again.

In the summer, we made empanadas, stuffed with corn and green onions, seasoned with paprika, and garlic. We made savory nodels, some with potatoes, and some with a brettie shell. And in the fall, we made Madombie to top a comforting stew for dessert, sus-clakies, which were sweet and cinnamony. When the snow fell, we met up for an afternoon of ravioli making, where I learned to roll the dough by hand with a long, wooded, roller, almost as big as a broomstick, as I dotted the filling onto it. I repeated a mantra. I'd learned from nearly a year of dumpling making. Less is more. I'd been so eager

at the beginning to get as much of the delicious bits into each pack. that I'd split dozens of them. A little is enough, I'd tell myself. So often it was. These flavors were concentrated, sauteed down and seasoned, and each bite would have a little of everything in it. It reminded me to savor rather than gulp down, to really enjoy whatever my senses were presented with and to take in the details. That might otherwise be missed. First year of Supper Club had left us all with freezers full of meals ready to be enjoyed. and new skills and favorite dishes. Even when we worked through most of our well-loved family recipes,

we felt we'd only just begun our culinary adventures. So we followed it up with a year of birthday meals. These were the dishes you wanted on your birthday, when you didn't hesitate to order up your favorites, even if they took a good bit of work. Often they held as much sentimental value as tastiness. We'd meet in the afternoon to start and dole out the jobs and we aimed for an appetizer, a main course with a side, and always, always, a dessert.

That became my favorite part of the meal to work on and enjoy. We certainly baked cakes, classic chocolate, or vanilla cake with sprinkles. and in the summer a pale yellow lemon cake with raspberry filling. We also had a fair number of requests for pie, blueberry, and peach, and an apple dessert called a pandowdy. It had a sweet apple filling and a layer of pastry rolled out. rolled out on top halfway through the baking. We took it from the oven and broke up and pressed down on the top crust

so that the fruit would bubble up around it. It started a long discussion on crisps and pies. And we found that just as we had many, versions of dumplings in our repertoire. We all had a different name for a slightly contrasting fruit dessert baked in the oven. I loved a cobbler, wouldn't say no to a crumble or a crisp, a beddy, or a buckle. But my favorite was a songer, which, to turn. turned out to just be a cobbler, a thing which, by any name, tastes sweet. We were nearing the end of our year of birthday meals and had to decide which direction to go in next.

We would debate at our next supper, whether we might cook our way through a full, famous cookbook, or a box of handwritten recipe cards from a rummage sale. Maybe we'd try to recreate favorite dishes from places we'd traveled to, or drill down on bread baking, or cook a year's worth of meals with ingredients grown in our own county. I'd be eager for my turn to host, that was for certain, to clear the counters and pass around the aprons, and for all of us to learn and savor something together. Sweet dreams.