Late Winter Blues

Two days ago it was 60 degrees in New York. Yesterday it snowed. Not much, just a few flakes, but it was enough to crush my soul. This hump, between winter and spring fills me with a combination of eagerness and frustration. I know that a mere few weeks from now, the air will be warm and kind, the breezes will tantalize, not torture, the trees will burst with blossoms and chartreuse leaves, grass will be plush and soft, and flowers will unfold in riotous colors. Everything will be ALIVE, fresh and new, with birds chirping and bees buzzing. I try to keep these images in my head, but as the grey skies, naked branches, the cold ground, and the bleakness of the season wears me down, I find myself falling down the dark hole of late winter ennui. Even cooking holds little interest—my body craves delicate baby lettuce, and new peas, asparagus, and spring onions. But they aren’t here yet. The farmers’ market has the same veggies it was selling months ago. Broccoli, cauliflower, kale, potatoes, leeks-- Winter produce that I’ve grown tired of and frustrated with.

Another source of frustration is how quickly these late winter days can switch from sunny and mild to bitter and dark. A week ago, I was roaming the streets of Brooklyn, enjoying the feel of sunlight on my face, thinking about a light, springtime dinner. By the time evening rolled around, I was miserably cold, my fingers were stiff and red and my nose was starting to drip. I no longer wanted a light springtime dinner. I wanted a hearty, warming meal that would chase away all the cold. Standing in front of the fridge with the door open, looking at the Tupperware containers filled with leftovers of broccoli rabe, chunky tomato sauce, brown rice, and sautéed mushrooms, I was filled with the urge to make a casserole. I wanted a meal completely unlike what we had eaten the night before- oven roasted salmon served over brown rice and topped with tomato sauce. A casserole fit the bill. I don’t have much experience with casseroles, but I do know that if its dry, its inedible. There also needs to be an ingredient that binds all the other ingredients together. In this case, because I had been so cold and miserable that I wanted comfort food, and nothing is more comforting than my mother’s macaroni and cheese, I used that as my inspiration. The base of her mac and cheese is a béchamel sauce, or as she calls it, a basic white sauce. This is what I started with. Further more, I decided that a sweet Italian sausage would be perfect to add for protein and to finish the Italian theme out, I added almost 5 ounces of grated asiago cheese, small pasta shells, and cubed fresh mozzarella. Everything got stirred together, dumped into a baking dish, topped with a dusting of breadcrumbs, and put into the oven to bake at 350 degrees. I pulled the bubbling dish out 40 minutes later and when I scooped out the first serving, I could tell that the asiago was fully integrated into the dish, but that the cubes of mozzarella, while melted, had maintained their integrity so that there were long gooey strands of cheese with almost every bite. The casserole put a little spring back in my step and fortified me for yet another long winter night. I could call this dish “everything but the kitchen sink, Italian style, mac and cheese,” but "late winter casserole surprise” works just as well.