The week of the equinox is one of my favorites. The yard is still mostly last year, but the basil on the sill is coming back and the light stays around long enough to photograph a plate without flash. I cooked almost every night this week because I was in the mood to.
Monday was teriyaki meatballs, little lacquered things over a lot of rice. Tuesday was a chicken-and-broccoli variation on the same idea because I’d had half a bottle of sauce left. I don’t apologize for this.
Wednesday wanted something old-fashioned. Salisbury steak with mushroom gravy over mashed potatoes, charred broccoli on the side - the kind of plate that tastes like it’s been on tables for a hundred years. Eaten quietly, which is always a good sign.
Thursday was chicken parmesan on fettuccine with red sauce and a fistful of torn basil. The basil had gotten away from me on the sill so I tore a lot of it in. Good problem.
Friday was penne with grilled chicken, cherry tomatoes, green beans - a plate that wants to be summer and settled for pretending.
Saturday I went a little nicer because it was warm enough for dinner on the porch for the first time of the year. Salmon under a dijon crust, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, herb-roasted fingerlings. The porch was still cold, honestly, but a sweater and a plate fixed that.
Sunday was a lemon-herb chicken with a tri-colored quinoa pilaf and more brussels sprouts, because I’d bought too many at the market. Monday morning, before I forget - a sheet-pan dinner with smoked sausage coins, red peppers, potato chunks, and broccoli. I meant this to be lunches and we ate it all at dinner instead.
And mid-week, a green-chile enchilada rolled up by itself on a plate. Not a whole Mexican night - just one enchilada. Sometimes that’s the dinner.
Nine plates in the first week of spring. I’m not hiding the fact that this was a lot of cooking. I’d been waiting for the light.
