I never told you what I did for Lent this year. I told you what I didn’t do—I didn’t give up sugar or chocolate or coffee (or any of my happy addictions), nor did I commit to getting rid of forty bags of stuff in forty days or any of the other laudable commitments because … I didn’t want to. (Which isn’t exactly the point of Lent, I know, but there you have it, the cold hard truth.) Furthermore, Lent fell in the middle of our annual spending freeze, and though it certainly wasn’t Lent-inspired, I felt like I was already pushing myself in the Giving Things Up Arena. So for Lent we decided to take on something new—company.

Hosting is a hurdle for me. Let’s be clear about this right from the get-go: this is not the fault of the company. This hosting hurdle thingy is something I’ve erected for my own self to trip over. (I’m kind to myself that way, creating obstacle courses for the heck of watching myself crash and burn.) These hurdles we’re talking about now, the hosting kind, consist of semi-ridiculous, self-imposed expectations such as a sparkling clean house, washed hair, and well-balanced, plentiful, and creative meals. Just the thought of jumping through all those hoops is enough to make me quit the race entirely and go strike off on a hike through the woods, figuratively speaking, which is what I do, most times, hosting be damned.

So, Lent came around and I decided it was time for me to grab the bull by the horns. I was going to host me some company and I was going to kick those hurdles right out of the race! Removing self-imposed hurdles is no easy task, but by gum, it was lent and I was going to do it! So as a family we brainstormed together about who we’d like to have over for dinner and then I made the contacts and set up the dates.

My goal was one hosting event per week and my plan To Be Relaxed was three-pronged. First, I’d only cook down-home simple food. (One family got beans, rice, and scrambled eggs while another got pizza and carrot and celery sticks.) Second, I’d try not to clean the house, at least not too much. We’d pick up and vacuum, and I’d spend about half an hour with a wet rag, but that was it. Third, I wouldn’t get showered or dressed (up). I’d allowed myself a quick twirl of the hairbrush and a clean shirt. (Once I even talked myself into staying in my yoga pants. I was so proud of myself, I think I even pointed them out to the guests.)

And you know what? With my imposed relaxation techniques, hosting wasn’t all that bad! My pre-company tizz was zapped, and I was able to enjoy the guests, which was the whole point of hosting in the first place. We spent hours visiting at the table, in chairs by the fire, and in one case, wrapped up in blankets on the candle-lit porch in one of the first sit-outside-and-enjoy-the-sunset evenings of the year. We didn’t have company over every week like I had intended, but as well as the new guests, we hosted family (they don’t count as company) and I had regular visits from girlfriends. We were also the final stop for a youth group progressive supper, but that was just chocolate cupcakes and glasses of cold milk out at the picnic table.

From my little experiment I confirmed two hunches. First, I am the one preventing us from hosting. Second, I like hosting.

It’s true that it is easier to skip the company and just be by our lonesomes, doing chores, reading books, working on personal projects. I’m more tired after an evening of company, the kids get to bed later, there’s a bigger pile of dishes, and personal projects need to be caught up on later.

But! There’s something invigorating about spending an evening with people you don’t normally hang with. Conversation is elevated, adrenaline flows, and relationships deepen.

So what keeps me from hosting more often? It takes effort to arrange such meetings. When you live out in the country, guests don’t just magically appear on your doorstep. I’m learning it works best for me to do planning in bulk. When I take a few minutes to make a list of potential guests and then line up a bunch of dinner dates, a lot more hosting gets done. Otherwise, it’s easier to just let everyday life run the show, and while everyday life might be challenging, it’s not often very “elevated.”

Yesterday was our church’s annual Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner event. We signed up to be hosts and were informed late last week that come Sunday noon, four adults and three children would show up at our door. We were to provide the main course (family number two the salad and bread, and family number three the dessert), so I decided on baked spaghetti (and a kettle of peas to round out the meal). I assembled the casserole on Saturday and then whizzed home after church on Sunday to pop it in the oven (and wash the breakfast dishes) before the guests showed up. The guests came, yummy food in hand, and we ate and visited till late afternoon.

Now Lent is over and my calendar is blank with no dinner guests on the foreseeable horizon. I think it’s time I go make a new list. Should I pencil you in?

Baked Spaghetti

This is supposed to be a way to use up leftover spaghetti, but seeing as we almost never have any leftovers (of consequence) when I make spaghetti, I make this meal straight up, purchasing fresh ingredients for the sole purpose of creating this dish. It’s a good one to take to potlucks and homebound folks, or to make ahead for yourselves or some Sunday dinner guests.

Feel free to omit the meat, change around the proportions (less egg or butter, or more), add more veggies, use different cheeses, etc. Make it to suit you and yours.

1 pound spaghetti
6 tablespoons butter, melted
3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese (the dry, pre-grated kind, or fine-grated yourself)
4 eggs, beaten
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped (optional)
4 cups spaghetti sauce (I used a quart of this)
2-3 cups cottage cheese
2-3 cups mozzarella cheese, grated

Brown the beef with the onion and pepper. Set aside.

Cook the spaghetti according to package instructions and drain. Cool the spaghetti to room temperature, roughly cut it up with a kitchen shears, and set aside to cool to room temperature.

Stir together the melted butter, Parmesan cheese, eggs, salt, and pepper, and add the mixture to the cooled spaghetti, tossing to coat.

Put the spaghetti in a 9×13 pan. (This amount makes a very full pan, so either keep a little spaghetti out, or else use an even bigger pan.) Top with the cottage cheese, followed by the ground beef and then the spaghetti sauce. (At this point you can refrigerate or freeze the casserole, tightly covered.)

Bake the casserole at 375 degrees till hot and bubbly, about thirty minutes. Remove from the oven, top with the grated mozzarella cheese, and return to the oven for another ten minutes till the cheese is toasty-melted. Let the casserole stand at room temperature for about ten minutes before serving.

About one year ago: A poem for poetry month.

I haven’t been satisfied with my banana cake recipe. It’s a good cake, mind you, but a bit too thin and—dare I say it?—rubbery.

There. Now I’ve gone and made it sound perfectly despicable, and it’s not. Back in the day when she had curly-wild hair and wore sundresses, my mother made it in the shape of a barn for my brother’s birthday. There was even a silo (cake baked in a tin) and the platter—er, barnyard—was inhabited with plastic animals. It was a great cake.

I taught the women in my Nicaraguan women’s group how to bake that banana cake (minus the silos and plastic animals). They loved the recipe and the cake immediately became their favorite (that and torta simple, a plain white cake similar to basic shortcake).

Banana trees studded their dirt yards and yet they had never made banana cake! Can you imagine? Probably not, and there’s probably a lot of other things that they’ve never done or seen or tasted that you can’t imagine. Think, for instance, vegetable peelers, washing machines, coffee pots, bacon, mozzarella, diaper covers (yes, you read that right), telephones, etc. And they had never baked using flour. Instead, they used ground-up corn to make the regional favorite—rosquía, a dry, crumbly cookie tasting of soured milk and corn. I learned to love them, for real, but many gringos never develop an appreciation for them (and that’s a polite way of putting it).

In any case, the women wanted to learn how to bake with flour and I wanted to teach them. There were no ovens, except for the outdoor kind, so when we gathered to bake, we baked in quantity—thirty or more sheet cakes at a time. It was a huge undertaking, filled with many variables (think no measuring cups or regulated ovens, let alone any thermometers). I had to learn to relax my standards.

Along with the banana cake and torta simple, I taught the women to make carrot cake, almond cookies, braided bread, donuts, frostings and more. The last year I was there, I pulled all the recipes together into a little booklet and gave them each a copy. I doubt they ever make the butter frostings and the yeast breads (the ingredients are scarce and cost prohibitive), but I like to think they still make the banana cake.

That banana cake was a fine recipe even though I no longer make it.

I now make this one—a recipe that calls for yogurt, whole wheat flour, and brown sugar. Simple changes, they are, but the resulting cake is lighter and more flavorful. The yogurt gives it a pleasant tang (sour cream may be substituted but the zip will go missing) and the brown sugar adds a caramely depth that was absent in the white sugar version.

The thing I like best about this recipe? That it’s healthy enough to stand in for a breakfast muffin, but when topped with a luscious peanut butter frosting, it transforms into a decadent cake.

In other words, this recipe meets all my banana cake needs and will be, until one of my daughters (or sons) grows up and teaches me otherwise, my one and only banana cake recipe.

Banana Cake
A family recipe, with inspiration from the April 2010 issue of Bon Appetit

½ cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1½ teaspoons vanilla
½ cup plain yogurt
3 small bananas, mashed (to equal one cup)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 ½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda

Cream together the butter and sugar. Add the eggs and vanilla and beat till creamy and smooth. Beat in the yogurt and mashed bananas. Add the dry ingredients and stir to combine.

Grease pans (makes 12 muffins and one small cake) and bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool for ten minutes, cut around the edges and invert cakes/muffins onto a cooling rack. When they are completely cool, frost them with the icing of your choice (I recommend the following peanut butter frosting), or freeze them for later.

Creamy Peanut Butter Frosting
From the April 2010 issue of Bon Appetit

This differs from the other peanut butter frosting in that it is less sweet. Also, the measurements are more straightforward.

½ cup butter
8 ounces cream cheese
½ cup smooth peanut butter (not freshly ground or old-fashioned)
1 ½ cups confectioners sugar, sifted

Beat the butter and cream cheese together until they are perfectly creamy (lumps now will be lumps later). Add the peanut butter and beat some more. Beat in the sugar.

About one year ago: In their genes.

Hey you! Quick! Listen up! I’ve got something important to tell you! Your relationship with asparagus depends upon what I’m going to say next.

Nah, forget it. I’m not going to say anything after all. Instead, I’m simply going to tell you what to do. You must obey, no questions asked, okay? Ignore the fact that I go to church with holes in the back of my skirt, stab myself with pitchforks, don’t know the difference between snap and hull peas, and chuck books at the people I love most. You can trust me on this. I promise.

All set? Okay, here’s what I want you to do.

First, obtain some fresh asparagus. Harvest, buy, steal—anything goes here. This is important.

You’ll need about a pound, give or take a handful. The amount isn’t really that crucial, but the freshness is. It must be fresh.

Wash it, cut off the tough bottom ends and chop the spears into pea-sized chunks. Put them in a bowl.

Second, grate enough fresh Parmesan to make about three-fourths cup and add that to the asparagus.

Third, toast one-half cup of roughly chopped walnuts in a skillet. Add them to the asparagus and cheese. It’s fine if they are still so hot that they sizzle and pop. Pay them no mind.

Fourth and final, in a small bowl whisk together 1/3 cup red wine vinegar with 1/4 cup olive oil and some salt and pepper. Add it to the asparagus and stir to combine.

Cover the salad and let it rest in the refrigerator for a couple hours before eating—if you can wait that long. I couldn’t.

I made a valiant effort. Really, I did. But the bowl kept wandering out of the fridge and slipping back onto the counter, and then I’d find myself standing by it with a fork in my hand. When lunch rolled around, more than half of the salad had already disappeared down my gullet.

Which was okay because by then I wasn’t really even hungry anymore.

Asparagus Walnut Salad
Adapted from Sara at Culinerapy

This salad is flexible. I suspect any hard salty cheese would work, or you could use feta. Perhaps you could swap out the walnuts for some toasted pine nuts. Bulk up the salad with some boiled egg or shredded chicken. Raisins might be good here, too.

Whatever you do, serve the salad with some crusty bread so none of the yummy juices go to waste.

1 pound fresh asparagus, washed, tough ends removed, and chopped into pea-sized pieces
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
½ cup chopped walnuts, toasted
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4-1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8-1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Put the asparagus, cheese, and walnuts in a bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients and then toss them with the asparagus. Cover and chill the salad for a couple hours before serving.

About one year ago: Asparagus with Lemony Crème Fraîche and Boiled Egg. Tis the season!