Creamed Spinach and Mushrooms

Spring is arriving in Seattle — the cherry blossoms on the Wallingford streets, the first crocuses in the yard, the maple tree showing the earliest signs of new growth. I walked Hana through the neighborhood on Saturday morning and pointed at the blossoms — "Look, Hana. Cherry blossoms. In Korean: beot-kkot." She pointed and said, "Da!" Her word for everything beautiful. She says "da" to the cherry blossoms, to the lights, to the cat next door, to the moon when we see it through the kitchen window. Everything beautiful is "da." I love this. I will be sad when she learns more specific words, because "da" — meaning everything, meaning all of it, meaning yes to the world — is the most perfect response to beauty I have ever heard.

Banchan Labs spring collection shipped this week — 5,500 subscribers. The growth continues, steady, organic. James and I are seriously discussing hiring an operations manager — someone to handle logistics, shipping, and supplier management so that James can focus on growth strategy and I can focus on recipes. We interviewed two candidates this week. One of them — a Korean-American woman named Yuna who worked in food logistics — was excellent. She understood the company immediately. She said, "You're not just shipping food. You're shipping culture." I said, "You're hired." James said, "We should check her references first." I said, "She said we're shipping culture, James. She's hired." We checked her references. They were excellent. She starts next month.

Karen had a neurologist visit this week. Dr. Bhandari adjusted her medication again — the adjustments are now every three months rather than every six. The disease is progressing. Slowly — always slowly — but the "slowly" is less reassuring now than it was two years ago, because two years of slowly has accumulated into something visible: Karen uses the walker always, her speech is slightly slower, her left hand trembles more than her right. She is still Karen. She still reads mysteries and has opinions and holds Hana with both hands. But the gap between the Karen of two years ago and the Karen of now is wider than I want it to be, and the gap will widen further, and widening is the cruelty of Parkinson's — not sudden loss but gradual subtraction, one capability at a time, one degree at a time, until the person is still present but diminished, and the diminishment is the grief.

The recipe this week is Karen's tuna casserole. Again. Always again in the months when I think about Karen and the passing of time. Egg noodles, canned tuna, cream of mushroom, frozen peas, cheddar, breadcrumbs. Bake at 350. The casserole is not Korean. The casserole is not mine. The casserole is Karen's and Karen is mine and therefore the casserole is mine too, inherited, claimed, held against the subtraction. I will make this casserole when Karen can no longer make it. I will make it and I will eat it standing at the counter and I will taste my childhood and I will know that Karen is still here, still Karen, still the woman who made this dish on Tuesday nights in a split-level house in Bellevue for a Korean daughter who didn't yet know what she was missing. I know now. I eat the casserole anyway. The eating is the knowing and the loving and the holding.

Karen’s tuna casserole is the dish I come back to when I need to hold something steady — but this week, standing in the kitchen with spring coming through the window and Hana saying “da” at the light on the counter, I made creamed spinach and mushrooms instead: the same spirit, the same warmth, the same cream-and-softness that lives at the center of every dish Karen ever made on a Tuesday night. It is not her casserole, but it is in the same family of love — and sometimes that is enough.

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

Ingredients

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 oz cremini or white button mushrooms, sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 medium yellow onion, finely diced
10 oz fresh baby spinach (or 1 package frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed dry)
3/4 cup heavy cream
2 oz cream cheese, softened and cut into pieces
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Sauté the mushrooms. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sliced mushrooms in a single layer and cook without stirring for 3–4 minutes until golden on one side, then stir and cook another 2 minutes. Season lightly with salt.
Cook the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add the diced onion to the skillet and cook 3 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, stirring constantly, until fragrant.
Wilt the spinach. Add fresh spinach in large handfuls, stirring between additions, until all the spinach is wilted and any liquid has mostly evaporated, about 3–4 minutes. (If using frozen spinach, add it now and stir to incorporate.)
Make the cream sauce. Pour in the heavy cream and add the cream cheese pieces. Stir over medium heat until the cream cheese is fully melted and the sauce begins to thicken, about 3–4 minutes.
Season and finish. Stir in the nutmeg, salt, and black pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning. Remove from heat and stir in the Parmesan cheese until melted and smooth.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and serve immediately as a side. Pairs well with roasted chicken, baked fish, or simply eaten alongside buttered egg noodles.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamed Spinach and Mushrooms — The Comfort That Stays When Everything Else Slowly Goes