I enter a room and smell garlic. I time travel to Grandma's connected home in Queens, NY. I find myself in Aunt Rose's kitchen. In my own Sunday-kitchen childhood. I am in every small Italian restaurant of my past. I am enticing my children home with its aroma. If you want to sell me a home, skip the potpourri and roast some garlic. I instantly feel that this is a warm home with a caring cook. I am content.
These days, a lot of lemons have entered my life. There are many challenges and sadness's. It is part and parcel of the journey of life. I am old enough to know the circular pattern of life and the concept of being on top of a hill and in the valley. And know that both changes.
The season of spring recently took one look at Minnesota and headed south. It is currently snowing and sleeting. But hope springs eternal and spring does, too! So while winter waves it's last hurrah, and the lemons are thrown at me, I will not make lemonade. Too cold!
I will wrap two heads of garlic in aluminum foil and brush them with olive oil. I will place it in a 350-400 degree F oven for forty minutes. I will be transported to my aunt's kitchens. And to my home off Union Turnpike. I will visit with my youth.
And now, with steam rising out of it ( sorry for the blur), I will smear some on a piece of bread and get on with things. Later I will make garlic soup. Just squeeze those little garlics out of their papery homes. Put it in 4-6 cups of chicken broth. Simmer 2-3 medium peeled potatoes in the broth. When potatoes are tender, put in blender and mix well. No cream. No half-and-half. Potatoes and garlic pureed.
A fitting end to a tart and icy day.
