Lasagna Primavera

I am going to tell you about the worst week of my life. I am going to tell you because not telling you would be a lie, and I do not lie in this kitchen, and this blog is my kitchen, and you are at my table, and I owe you the truth the way I owe you the food — hot, unfiltered, served with everything I have.

Saturday, March 3, 2018. The phone rang at 9:47 PM. I know the exact time because the clock on the kitchen wall stopped being a clock in that moment and became a marker, a before-and-after line drawn across my life in a time that will never be just a time again. Calvin answered. I was in the kitchen, washing the dinner dishes, the last dishes I would wash for months. Calvin said my name. He said it in a voice I had never heard — a voice that had all the air taken out of it, a voice that was the sound of a man's heart stopping while his body continued to stand. Loretta. Just Loretta. And I knew. Before he said another word, I knew. Because mothers know. We know the way we know our own breathing. Something in the frequency of his voice, something in the way the air in the kitchen changed, something ancient and terrible turned in my chest and I knew.

Marcus. My Marcus. My baby. Killed in a car accident on I-65 south of Birmingham. A passenger. His classmate DeShawn was driving. DeShawn was texting. The car drifted into oncoming traffic. A delivery truck. Marcus died at the scene. He was seventeen years, four months, and twelve days old. He had been accepted to Tuskegee University. He was going to study engineering. He had his mother's grin and his father's faith and his whole life ahead of him. And then he did not.

I do not remember the rest of the night. I know Calvin drove to the hospital. I know CJ was called. I know Destiny was called. I know Mama was called. I know people came to the house. I know food appeared — the same food I have made for other grieving families a hundred times: fried chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese. Someone brought it. Someone always brings it. The church feeds the grieving. That is what we do. That is what I have done for every family that has lost someone, standing in the church kitchen, cooking the meal that says: I cannot bring them back but I can feed you while you survive the unbearable.

And now I am the unbearable. And the food is in my kitchen. And I cannot eat it. The food that has been my ministry, my purpose, my love language — I cannot swallow it. The taste is ashes. Everything is ashes. My son is dead. My son who ate three plates at Sunday dinner four days ago is dead. My son who grinned at me across the table is dead. My son who said Mama that was amazing is dead. And the kitchen, my kitchen, the kitchen that has been my sanctuary for twenty-four years, smells like nothing because a house where a child has died smells like nothing, which is the worst smell of all.

Months after that night — many months, more than I want to count — I stood back in my kitchen and I made a lasagna. Not the mac and cheese, not the collard greens, not the fried chicken that sat on my counter untouched while the church surrounded me with love I could not receive. Something adjacent to all of that. Something warm and layered and fed by hands and time, the way all real comfort food is. Lasagna Primavera was not what they brought me, but it was what I could make when I was finally able to make something again — vegetables and béchamel and noodles stacked careful as prayers, put into the oven like an act of faith, pulled out like proof that the kitchen had not left me even when I had left it. I am giving you this recipe because it is the one that brought me back. Maybe it will do something for you too.

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 25 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

12 lasagna noodles
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium zucchini, diced
1 medium yellow squash, diced
1 red bell pepper, diced
8 oz cremini mushrooms, sliced
2 cups baby spinach
1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
2 teaspoons dried Italian seasoning
1 teaspoon salt, divided
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
15 oz whole-milk ricotta cheese
1 large egg
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
3 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided

Instructions

Cook the noodles. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook lasagna noodles according to package directions until just al dente. Drain, lay flat on a lightly oiled baking sheet, and set aside.
Build the vegetable sauce. Heat olive oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and cook 4–5 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more. Add zucchini, yellow squash, bell pepper, and mushrooms. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 8–10 minutes until vegetables are tender and any liquid has evaporated.
Finish the sauce. Stir in spinach and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes. Add crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes, Italian seasoning, 3/4 teaspoon salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Simmer over low heat for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Mix the ricotta layer. In a medium bowl, stir together ricotta, egg, parsley, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1 cup mozzarella, and 1/4 cup Parmesan until combined.
Preheat and layer. Preheat oven to 375°F. Spread 1 cup of vegetable sauce across the bottom of a 9×13-inch baking dish. Lay 3 noodles over the sauce. Spread 1/3 of the ricotta mixture over the noodles, then spoon 1/3 of the remaining sauce over the ricotta, and sprinkle with 1/2 cup mozzarella. Repeat layers twice more. Top with remaining noodles, remaining sauce, remaining 1 cup mozzarella, and remaining 1/4 cup Parmesan.
Bake covered. Cover tightly with aluminum foil and bake for 35 minutes.
Bake uncovered. Remove foil and bake an additional 15–20 minutes until cheese is bubbling and lightly golden at the edges.
Rest before serving. Let the lasagna rest at room temperature for at least 15 minutes before cutting. This allows the layers to set and makes serving much cleaner.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lasagna Primavera — The Dish I Could Not Eat, The Dish I Finally Made