Broccoli Cauliflower Casserole

Eight weeks. The midpoint of the first trimester. Dr. Hernandez did an ultrasound on Tuesday. I saw the heartbeat — a small, flickering pulse on the screen, the size of a raspberry, moving with a rhythm that was not mine. James held my hand. The ultrasound technician said, "There it is. Strong heartbeat." James's hand tightened around mine. I could not look at him because if I looked at him I would dissolve, and I wanted to keep looking at the screen, at the flickering dot that was our child, at the proof that this is real and not a dream I am having on the bathroom floor.

I asked Dr. Hernandez about contacting Jisoo for medical history. She said, "Family medical history from the biological side is extremely valuable. Ask about cardiovascular disease, diabetes, cancer, mental health conditions, and any pregnancy complications." I wrote the list on my phone. I will ask Jisoo this week. I will ask her carefully, because asking your birth mother about her medical history is a kind of intimacy that adopted people rarely get, and I want to honor it.

I emailed Jisoo on Wednesday. I wrote in Korean — imperfect, careful Korean, the kind of Korean that takes me three times as long as English but feels more right for this conversation. I told her I was pregnant. I told her I was eight weeks. I told her the baby was healthy. I told her I needed her medical history. I told her I was happy. I told her I was afraid. I told her I wished she were here.

Jisoo called me Thursday morning, which was Thursday night in Busan. She was crying. She said, "Dahee. You are going to be a mother." She said it three times. She said, "I am going to be a halmoni." She said, "I have been praying for this." Then she took a breath and, with remarkable composure, gave me a detailed medical history: no cardiovascular disease in her family, no diabetes, her mother had mild hypertension in her seventies, no cancer, no mental health conditions that she knew of, and her own pregnancies — mine, Jihoon's, Eunji's — were uncomplicated, though she was very young for mine. She said, "I was healthy. You were healthy. The baby will be healthy." She said, "I know these things in my body." I believe her. I believe Korean mothers know things in their bodies that science has not named yet.

I told Karen on Saturday. I drove to Bellevue. I sat at the kitchen table. Karen was having a good day — lipstick, coffee, newspaper. I said, "Mom. I have news." She looked at me. She said, "You're pregnant." (How does everyone know?) I said, "Yes." Her face — Karen's face, the face I have known for thirty years — crumpled. Not with sadness. With joy so large it could not be contained by her features. Her hands shook. She reached for me across the table. She held my hands in her shaking hands and said, "Oh, Steph. Oh, sweetheart. A baby." David appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked at Karen's face. He looked at my face. He said, "We're going to be grandparents?" I said, "You're going to be grandparents." David sat down heavily in his chair. He took off his glasses. He wiped his eyes. He put his glasses back on. He said, "Well. That's the best news I've gotten in years." He said, "I need a minute." He took a minute. The minute lasted five minutes. When he came back, he said, "I'm going to build the crib myself." Karen said, "David. You are eighty years old." David said, "I built a shelf for every room in this house. I can build a crib." He will build a crib. He will build it perfectly. He is an engineer. So am I. We build things.

The recipe this week is my mother's chicken soup — Karen's chicken soup, the one she made when I was sick as a child, the one I am making now because I am not sick but I am growing a person and the soup feels right. A whole chicken, simmered with celery, carrots, onion, bay leaves, peppercorns. Two hours. Strain the broth. Pull the meat. Add egg noodles. Salt generously. Eat from a deep bowl. This is not Korean soup. This is Karen's soup. This is the soup that says: you are cared for. You are someone's child. And now you are making someone new. The cycle continues. The soup continues. We continue.

I know the story ends with soup — Karen’s soup, the one I’ve been craving since Tuesday’s ultrasound — but when I sat down in Bellevue on Saturday and David wiped his eyes and said he needed a minute, Karen pulled this casserole out of the oven almost without thinking, because this is what she does when something enormous happens: she feeds you. It’s the dish she made the night before I left for college, the night James and I got engaged, and apparently the night she found out she was going to be a grandmother. There is something about bubbling cheese and soft, yielding vegetables that asks nothing of you except that you sit down and receive care — and this week, I needed exactly that.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 8

Ingredients

3 cups broccoli florets, cut into bite-sized pieces
3 cups cauliflower florets, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 can (10.5 oz) condensed cream of mushroom soup
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 medium yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 cup plain breadcrumbs
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with butter or nonstick spray and set aside.
Blanch the vegetables. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the broccoli and cauliflower florets and cook for 3 minutes, just until slightly tender but still with bite. Drain well and pat dry with paper towels to prevent a watery casserole.
Make the sauce. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the cream of mushroom soup, sour cream, mayonnaise, diced onion, minced garlic, salt, pepper, and smoked paprika until smooth and well combined.
Combine. Fold the blanched broccoli and cauliflower into the sauce mixture. Add 1 1/2 cups of the shredded cheddar and stir gently until everything is evenly coated. Transfer to the prepared baking dish and spread into an even layer.
Top the casserole. Sprinkle the remaining 1/2 cup of cheddar over the top. In a small bowl, toss the breadcrumbs with the melted butter until the crumbs are evenly coated, then scatter them over the cheese layer.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 35–40 minutes, until the casserole is hot and bubbling throughout and the breadcrumb topping is deep golden brown. If the top browns too quickly, loosely tent with foil for the last 10 minutes.
Rest and serve. Let the casserole rest for 5 minutes before serving. Scoop into deep bowls or onto plates and eat while it’s warm. This is not the time for small portions.

Nutrition (per serving)

Broccoli Cauliflower Casserole — The Dish That Holds You When You Need It Most