Equal Parts

I’ve usually been the one to wake up first, sneak out of bed as quietly as possible, gently shut the door behind me, and oftentimes head downstairs to bake muffins or biscotti. An hour or so later, Jeff would wake to the smell of cinnamon and coffee and walk into the kitchen smiling. We’d each get the morning we wanted, extra rest in the form of more sleep, or through the restorative practice of baking.

Jeff said he’d make me breakfast on Mother’s Day, and I figured that while he was at the stove I would be hanging out with the baby in the playroom behind the kitchen, reading her favorite books. Mid-story, she’d get every toy out of the bin to throw around the room, then chase them down and toss again, her preferred way to play these days.

That didn’t happen.

Instead I woke to the smell of cinnamon and coffee wafting through the hall and into the foyer, up the stairs and around the corner, through the crack in the bedroom door over to me, where I was very cozy under the covers. Wow. I didn’t know the pleasure I was missing, as the early-riser, head household baker. It was the sweetest dream come true! I sat up and did just that, sat there: relaxed, breathed deeply, and marveled at what Jeff had done, what I usually did. I started the daily Wordle, and as soon as he heard me shuffling he entered with a pot of coffee, a tray of Danish pancakes, and shirred eggs with ham and swiss, one of the first dishes he ever made for me. The baby slept through it all, so he ate with me.

It’s funny, all weekend I kept forgetting that Mother’s Day was for me now, too. We made plans to see both of our moms, and at each celebration I was surprised by the cards and gifts for me. My sister gave me a 30-year-old community cookbook from my town’s mothers’ club that she found at a used bookstore. Of course this is a perfect gift for me and my endless curiosity about how home cooks feed themselves and their families. It got us reminiscing about some of the classic 90s dishes my mom used to make, specifically what we called strawberry pretzel delight and what is often referred to as strawberry pretzel salad. It’s a layered dish composed of a crushed pretzel crust, cream cheese whipped cream, and strawberries held in strawberry jello, and it was on all of our Thanksgiving and Christmas tables growing up. Now I would call it a creamy bar dessert — in fact I made a pie inspired by this “salad” last weekend — but this was the midwest in the 90s, so alongside the turkey and potatoes it went! There were also Bisquick and sausage meatballs, which I had completely forgotten about until my mom brought them back last Thanksgiving. They’re on my mind a lot now.

What fun it is to think about the foods that define a family! The dishes that are made over and over, that become little celebrations, that hold our memories, that date themselves. This hits the heart of what I love about food. It’s not actually about the food, but instead everything that surrounds it, the stories of our lives.

I’ve noticed a recent pattern in my life, in that nearly every season I discover a new-to-me favorite pasta dish. In the fall it was pasta con ceci. Last summer, pasta alla norma. A couple of years ago I tried an asparagus baked pasta in the spring, and cauliflower with shells the following winter, and now I make those yearly. In a couple of months it will be time to make the eggplant pasta again. I’m slowly building my kitchen’s repertoire and how I celebrate the seasons. Now, “celebrate the seasons” sounds like part of the subtitle of a buzzy cookbook, overused and therefore meaningless. But literally, it’s the most meaningful. Olivia’s just starting to eat, but I wonder if she will love these foods, patterns, and celebrations too.

Last weekend I made Sarah DiGregorio’s white bean primavera, her version of pasta primavera in which the noodles are subbed for cannellini beans. It was so good! I loved the combination of abundant vegetables and beans in a slightly creamy, slightly lemony, slightly spicy sauce. I’ll be making this yearly. And I’d also love to try swapping the beans with farfalle for my new seasonal pasta.

WHITE BEAN PRIMAVERA, inspired by Sara DiGregorio

You’ll need:
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 medium to large zucchini, quartered lengthwise and cut into 1/2-inch thick pieces
8 oz asparagus (about half of a bunch) cut into 1-inch pieces
2 medium carrots, peeled, then shaved into strips with a peeler
1/2 of a small onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup frozen peas
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp dried oregano
3 cans cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 to 3/4 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp lemon juice
1/2 cup grated parmesan
1 tbsp dijon mustard
Salt and pepper
Herbs, for garnish (optional)

Add the butter and olive oil to your largest skillet over medium heat. When the butter is melted, add the zucchini plus 1 tsp of salt, and stir, then cook undisturbed until the zucchini starts to golden, about 4 minutes. Add the asparagus, carrots, and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly softened, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in the peas and another 1/2 tsp of salt. Add the red pepper flakes, oregano, and a generous amount of black pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the peas are warmed through and bright green, about 2 minutes.

Add the white beans and cream (starting with about 1/2 cup and adding more if necessary to coat everything well), and let the cream come to a simmer. Simmer for about 1 minute.

Turn off the heat and stir in the lemon juice, parmesan, and dijon mustard. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed. Top with chopped fresh herbs if desired.