Macaroni & Cheese with Mushrooms & Chard

Today I want to talk about plans, and how we have a tendency to get all hoity-toity about our goals and loudly broadcast our epiphanies and then -- as if to prove who's really in charge -- the universe makes us topple.

That's how it's been around here for the past couple of weeks: Challenging. So challenging that if you pressed me, I might say it's March but when I check the calendar it turns out that nope, we're just past the middle of January.

I've been hiding from the world a bit, escaping into Mad Men (can you believe I never caught that bug before?), reading (The Sense of an Ending, Foreign Bodies, The Lonely Polygamist, Just Kids, and now, Coming to My Senses), and knitting. There has been lots and lots of knitting. I'd forgotten how much I love the rhythmic click of the needles and the feeling of accomplishment that comes from simply finishing another row.

There was also this macaroni and cheese. Remember way back at the beginning of the month when I vowed we were going to eat healthy: Less meat and less wine? Well, it's worked, more or less, with the exception of a tiny stand-off about macaroni and cheese.

"There isn't meat in it," Sean said. He's right, of course, even though I'm thinking, "It certainly isn't healthy!" And truth be told I don't really love macaroni and cheese -- even homemade -- and I certainly never crave it. But he had a small fever and was home from work for the day and so I made it, wilted greens, dehydrated mushrooms, bechamel sauce and all, and you know, it was good.

But what I'll remember more than the crispy breadcrumb topping, or how it paired so perfectly with a tiny glass of crisp French Chardonnay, is taking photos of my just-out-of-the-oven casserole.

"That photo is terrible!" you think. And you're right. But what's a girl to do? She has this heavy dish full of steaming pasta and she can hear her new husband on the phone receiving some very bad news. She doesn't know if she should go sit beside him and grab his hand, or leave him for a moment to process what might be happen next.

So she turns on every light in the house, as bright as they can get. And she takes photo after terrible photo of the macaroni. Close up. Far away. On the floor, on the table, on a bright dishtowel that has a cheerfulness that mocks the gravity of the situation. Each photo is worse than the one before, the shadows darker, the light alternately sickly green or stark florescent. But it feels oddly apt to be documenting -- even in a very small way -- the exact moment when everything started to change. And when the phone was finally hung up, there was nothing to do but eat.

Macaroni and Cheese with Mushrooms and Chard
Adapted from The Beekman 1802 Heirloom Cookbook
3/4 lb. chard, stems cut from leaves (about 5 1/2 cups) -- original recipe calls for kale, so you know
8 ounces elbow macaroni
1/2 ounce (1/2 cup) dried porcini mushrooms, rinsed
3 tablespoons olive oik
4 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 pound crimini mushrooms, halved and thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon sage
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoon sweet smoked paprika
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the chard for 5-7 minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer the chard to a colander, but keep the pot of water boiling. Run the chard under cold water to stop the cooking, and then drain and squeeze out any liquid. Coarsely chop and set aside.
Add the macaroni to the boiling chard cooking water and cook according to package directions. Drain.
In a small bowl, combine the dried porcini with 1 cup warm water. Let stand until the mushrooms have softened, about 20 minutes. With your fingers, lift the mushrooms from their soaking liquid, leaving the grit behind. Line a fine mesh sieve with paper towels, a coffee filter, or cheesecloth. Pour the mushroom soaking liquid through the sieve into a bowl. Reserve the liquid. Coarsely chop the mushrooms.
Preheat oven to 325F.
In a large, heavy bottomed pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until tender, about 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms, thyme, and sage and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms have wilted and released their juices, about 5 minutes. Stir in the flour and cook for 2 minutes. Add the mushroom soaking liquid, milk, paprika, and salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture has thickened, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the cheese until melted. Add the macaroni and chard, and toss to coat.
Transfer pasta to a 9x13 dish or spoon into individual ramekins.
In a small skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the panko and toss to coat. Scatter the butter crumbs over the mac and cheese. Bake for 30 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbling and the top is crunchy and golden brown.

The Scared Center of the Dining Room Table

A Short Panegyric
by Mark Strand

Now that the vegetarian nightmare is over and we are back to
our diet of meat and deep in the sway of our dark and beauty-
ful habits and able to speak with calm of having survived, let
the breeze of the future touch and retouch our large and hun-
gering bodies. Let us march to market to embrace the butcher
and put the year of the carrot, the month of the onion behind
us, let us worship the roast or the stew that takes its place once
again at the scared center of the dining room table.

A note from me: In case you didn't know (and I didn't) a panegyric is "formal and elaborate praise." The dictionary also defines it as a eulogy, "a lofty oration or writing in praise of a person or thing," which makes me think of a prayer, which reminds me -- thanks to this poem-- of the words we can use to bless our food. My family always says this prayer: "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful." You?

Herb, Chard, and Feta Soup (And an Epiphany)

“Life is always changing.” 

Yes, I thought from my downward dog position, watching the San Francisco sunlight pour into the yoga studio, feeling my shoulder protest the deepest stretch. Yes, it is. 

Change. It’s something we’re all aware of, something so ubiquitous that mentions of it quickly begin to sound overly yogic or Zen, especially when they are pounded into our brains in this week after the dawn of a New Year. We’re collectively encouraged to make resolutions (though now, the popular thing seems to be to call them “intentions”), clean up, cut back, and start fresh.  

I’m into this concept of self-renewal. Though I didn’t take down the tiny tree, the collection of penguins on the mantle, or the merry line of cheerful cards just yet, I did scour the fridge, organize the laundry and utility closet, and go through a jumbo stack of papers and old to-do lists. We committed to trying to eat vegetarian for the entire month, and vowed to limit the booze. It felt good, like I was setting the tone for a productive 2012, a year where I’d never feel flustered or behind. 

But the real revelation came when I was making soup: Herb, Chard, and Feta soup from the January 2012 issue of Bon Appetit magazine. The instructions were simple. After tossing a bunch of chard and herbs into a pot along with some vegetable stock, you blend the cooked greens and top with feta, Greek yogurt, lemon juice and more herbs. 

Here’s where things got funky. With immersion blender in one hand, I stared down the pot and felt my stomach sway. The greens looked swamp-like, and I had an immediate memory of a rank, raw green juice I choked down one hot New York day. 

You see, I grew up not eating anything green. There was no lettuce, no celery sticks, and certainly no spinach, broccoli, or chard. I didn’t even eat guacamole. I think I may have made an exception for asparagus, but that’s not much of a compromise, is it? This changed quickly, in my early twenties, as my mother promised it would, and now I eat greens in abundance. 

Still, the soupy sludge was testing me. I thought about the decades where I never ate a vegetable and how they led to this confrontation, this Me vs. Chard Soup Showdown. I thought about this time two years ago when I was broken-hearted, and how I met Sean, miraculously, on Epiphany. About how this time last year I wasn’t married, and now I am, and how this time last year I was an anxious, about-to-be-published writer, now I’m an anxious published writer. 

Life is always changing. Sometimes the change comes from decisions we make: Resolutions, intentions, to-do lists, whatever. And sometimes the change comes from within, or around. Sometimes the change is quick. Other times it is so subtle and collective that you’re not even aware of the blunt force of it all until you’re left alone in the kitchen, two days into a new year, with an immersion blender and a pot of green soup, marveling at just how far you’ve come. 

Herb, Chard, and Feta Soup

Once I got past my fear of this green brew, I fell in love with this Yotam Ottolenghi recipe from the January issue of Bon Appetit. The soup is savory, silky, and has a richness that belies its 100% healthful ingredients. The best part may be that it keeps for a day or two and makes for vibrant lunch leftovers. I recommend stocking up on the crumbled feta; we found we liked the soup best when it was liberally sprinkled with cheese.

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, coarsely chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

1 pound Swiss chard leaves (center ribs and stems removed) or spinach, coarsely chopped (about 10 cups)

3 1/2 cups vegetable broth

1 cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley

1/2 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro

1/4 cup fresh mint leaves

1 tablespoon dried mint

1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

salt and freshly ground black pepper 

Garnishes:

5 ounces plain Greek-style yogurt (about 1/2 cup)

1/2 cup mixed chopped herbs (such as parsley, cilantro, and mint), divided

4 ounces feta, crumbled, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Fresh lemon juice (optional)

Olive oil (optional) 

Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and cook, stirring often, until translucent and soft (do not brown), 7–8 minutes. Stir in chard, broth, parsley, cilantro, fresh and dried mint, and nutmeg. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until chard is tender, about 10 minutes. Stir in lemon juice and season to taste with salt and pepper. Working in batches, purée soup in a blender until smooth. Return to pan. DO AHEAD: Can be made 8 hours ahead. Cover and chill. Rewarm soup before continuing. 

Place 1/3 of yogurt in a medium bowl. Add 1/2 cup warm soup; whisk until smooth. Repeat process twice more, adding a total of 1 cup more soup. Whisk yogurt mixture into soup in saucepan. Stir 1/4 cup herbs and half of feta into soup. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and lemon juice, if desired. 

Ladle soup into bowls and garnish with remaining 1/4 cup herbs and 2 oz. feta. Drizzle with oil, if desired.