Asparagus Ham Dinner -- The Week the Cold Frame Woke Up

Saint Patrick's Day Monday. The actual day. I made the corned beef again — different brisket from the one I had used last week, this one a smaller piece, three pounds instead of four — and the cabbage and potatoes and carrots, and we ate at the kitchen table with the woodstove going and the snow outside that had come in Sunday night and that was now melting on the south side of the porch. Patrick wore a green flannel shirt Mom had bought him in 2003 and that he has worn on Saint Patrick's every year since. The man takes Saint Patrick's seriously, which is funny because he is, technically, a quarter Irish on his father's side, which we discovered in a genealogy project Cole did in 2014. The other three quarters are Scots-Irish, English, and (per the DNA test) about three percent Norwegian, which we do not talk about. Patrick is, by self-identification and family tradition, a hundred percent Irish on Saint Patrick's and he wears his green shirt and eats his corned beef and Mom puts the small Irish flag in the centerpiece on the table that her mother had brought from the old country in 1898. The flag is older than anyone alive at the table. The corned beef was good. Patrick had two slices and a piece of Mom's soda bread and a small slice of the ginger cake Mom always makes on Saint Patrick's for reasons that have never been explained.

Calving continued through the week. We are at twenty-two calves now, six calves a day average, all healthy, two sets of twins (which is unusual but welcome — two sets in one calving season is the most we have had since 2018). The cows are doing the work. I am there in the morning to count and to check, and at night to count and to check. The calf shed is full. The pasture by the willow is a daycare. The new mothers and the new calves are doing what new mothers and new calves do, which is to sleep in piles of straw in the shed at night and to wander the pasture during the day and to be entirely the most beautiful thing on the ranch.

Tara called Tuesday. Maggie is three weeks. She is starting to focus on faces. She had her first official smile Sunday — possibly gas, Tara admits, but a smile-shaped face — and Cole has been showing the smile photo to anyone who will look. Mom asked for the photo. I asked for the photo. Patrick asked for the photo. The photo is now the screensaver on Mom's phone. She shows it to me three times a day. I do not mind.

I shod three horses Tuesday and Wednesday. The clients had been waiting since February. The work was steady. The weather was mild — fifty degrees, no wind, sun — and the work in March is so much easier than in February that you forget what February cost. The body knows. The body is happy.

Cooked Sunday a roast chicken — same Sunday roast chicken I always cook — but with the first of the spring vegetables from the cold frame: tiny radishes, bigger lettuces than last week, the first chives. The chives went into a butter I had whipped Saturday. I put the butter under the chicken skin before roasting. The chicken came out with green specks in the skin from the chives. The taste was the difference between regular chicken and chicken-with-chives, which is to say the chicken was the same, but the chives made it Sunday, made it specifically March Sunday, made it the first Sunday of vegetables from the dirt that had been frozen until two weeks ago. Mom said it was the best chicken yet. She says this every Sunday. She is consistent. Patrick had a leg and a thigh and a piece of breast. Mom had a thigh and the other leg. I had two pieces of breast. The week was good. The fire helps. The corned beef helps. The calves help. The smile photo on Mom's phone helps most of all.

The chive butter chicken that Sunday was its own kind of celebration — the first green things from the cold frame, the first taste of dirt that had thawed. But the spirit of that week, the corned beef and the calves and the vegetables coming back, kept pulling me toward something simple and seasonal that could carry all of it without a lot of fuss. Asparagus Ham Dinner is that kind of recipe: the asparagus doing the work of announcing the season, the ham grounding it in something hearty enough for a March night with the woodstove still running.

Asparagus Ham Dinner

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 lb fresh asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
• 2 cups cubed fully cooked ham (about 3/4 lb)
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 cup chicken broth
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon salt (or to taste)
• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
• Cooked egg noodles or rice, for serving

Instructions

1. Saute the aromatics. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
2. Add the ham. Stir in the cubed ham and cook until lightly browned on the edges, about 3–4 minutes.
3. Add asparagus. Add the asparagus pieces to the skillet and stir to combine. Cook for 3 minutes, until the asparagus is bright green but still has some snap.
4. Build the sauce. Pour in the chicken broth, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Stir in the heavy cream and Dijon mustard. Season with pepper and salt.
5. Simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low and let the sauce simmer for 5–6 minutes, until it has thickened slightly and the asparagus is tender-crisp.
6. Finish and serve. Stir in the fresh parsley. Serve over egg noodles or rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 24g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 980mg