With a roar, for sure. Not the weather though– all of us are roaring, trying to hasten the exit of this malingering winter.
How did we survive it, this epic, still-going-strong-past-the-equinox winter of 2014-15?
Me, a lot of ragu. Beef, duck, pork, all good, usually over papardelle or polenta, or when utter weariness took hold, with a spoon straight from the pot. (Recipe widget will happen. It will.)
And, averaging once a month like last winter: pommes des vendangeurs. Adapted from Joel Robuchon and Patricia Wells, my version is bacon pie to the initiated. About the sweetest joining of two words in the English language: bacon+pie. 
To make this March version, wrapped myself in a gorgeous new hot rockin’ apron from Boxwood Linen.
Now the bib aprons are not me, like a lot of cooks I automatically drop the bib down and wear it bistro-style anyways, so seems a waste. But a bib apron in citron-soleil reduced 75% for a tiny flaw no one will ever see– a little mark, actually pretty, behind the bib that gets dropped down anyways– it’s a no brainer, no? Perfect for me of the over-fried brains…
And of course, how would I have made it through March without my piles of Sevilles, sunny bumpy fragrant orange globes that transubstantiate with a little help into peaty bittersweet gold. As their season comes to a close I snapped up three cases, then realized I wasn’t sure where they were all going. My bottomless chest freezer again to the rescue.
Three days into April and the thermometer has climbed above 60 for the first time in…canna recall. And it’s definite: after we raised both boxes out of Clarence’s marauding reach, there is a pair of nesting bluebirds in the easternmost. Oh beauties.
Will be snowing tomorrow but that’s ok. We are seasoned and tough and not going to crack, uh-uh.
A little bacon, a little color, a little citrus, a lot of ragu. We got through.