Chive Mascarpone Dip with Herbed Pita Chips

Week 515, and the dark arriving early, the kitchen warm against the cold, the soups simmering, the bread rising. I am 68 years old and the days have a rhythm now — the morning writing, the afternoon visits to Cedarhurst, the evening cooking, the weekly blog post — and the rhythm is the structure, and the structure is the sanity, and the sanity is required because the rest of it, the losing and the loving and the carrying, requires a sane woman at the helm, and I am sane, mostly, except when I cry in the car in the Cedarhurst parking lot, which is not insanity but its opposite: the specific, targeted release of emotion in a contained space, which is the most rational thing I do all week.

Yom Kippur; break-fast; Marvin does not understand but eats. These are the facts of the week, the data points, the things I would put in a report if I were writing a report, which I am not — I am writing a life, and the life includes the facts but is not limited to them, because the life also includes the way the kitchen smells at six in the morning when the coffee is brewing and the challah is rising and the house is quiet and the quiet is both the grief and the peace, simultaneously, and the simultaneous is the condition, the permanent condition of a woman who is 68 and alone and not alone, who is a grandmother and a wife and a writer and a cook and a caregiver and all of these things at once, always at once, braided together like the challah.

I made break-fast bagels this week — because it was what the week needed, because the week always needs something and the something is always food, and the food is always the answer, and the answer is always the kitchen, and the kitchen is always mine, and the mine-ness of the kitchen is the one thing that has not changed in sixty-seven years of living, from Sylvia's kitchen on the Grand Concourse to this kitchen in Oceanside where I stand every morning and every evening and many of the hours in between, making the food that is the chain, that is the love, that is the thing I do when I don't know what else to do, which is always, and especially now.

I brought food to Marvin at the usual time. The visit was what visits are now — quiet, steady, the feeding by hand when necessary, the reading aloud always, the holding of the hand that may or may not know it is being held but that is warm and alive and present, which is the definition of love in this particular year: warm and alive and present. He ate what I brought. He received what I gave. The receiving is the relationship. The receiving is the vow. In sickness and in health, in recognition and in forgetting, in the recliner and in the kitchen, the receiving is the marriage, and the marriage continues, one container at a time, one visit at a time, one day at a time, at two o'clock, every day, because the chain does not break.

Break-fast is not just a meal — it is a resumption, a return to the body after a day of holding still inside the soul, and the food that greets it has to be worthy of that moment. I did not make an elaborate spread this year; I made what felt true: this chive mascarpone dip, cool and rich and flecked with green, with a pile of herbed pita chips that crisped up in the oven while I sat with the quiet of the kitchen and thought about Marvin, and the vow, and the chain that does not break. It was the right food for the day — something you set out and let people come to, something that receives without demanding, something that holds.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

8 oz mascarpone cheese, softened to room temperature
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup sour cream
1/3 cup fresh chives, finely chopped, plus more for garnish
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 small clove garlic, finely minced or grated
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
For the herbed pita chips:
4 pita rounds (6-inch), each cut into 8 wedges
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
3/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.
Season and bake the pita chips. Spread the pita wedges in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and toss to coat. Sprinkle evenly with oregano, garlic powder, salt, and smoked paprika. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until the chips are golden and crisp at the edges. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely — they will continue to crisp as they cool.
Make the dip. In a medium bowl, beat the mascarpone and cream cheese together with a hand mixer or sturdy spatula until smooth and no lumps remain. Add the sour cream and mix until fully incorporated.
Add the flavor. Fold in the chopped chives, lemon juice, garlic, salt, and pepper. Stir until evenly combined. Taste and adjust — more lemon for brightness, more salt for depth, more chives if the green feels right.
Chill or serve. The dip can be served immediately at room temperature or covered and refrigerated for up to 24 hours. If made ahead, let it sit at room temperature for 15 minutes before serving so it softens back to a spreadable consistency.
Plate and garnish. Spoon the dip into a wide, shallow bowl. Scatter a pinch of fresh chives and a light dusting of smoked paprika over the top. Arrange the cooled pita chips alongside and serve.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chive Mascarpone Dip with Herbed Pita Chips — The Break-Fast Spread That Held Us Together