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Mushroom and Sweet Potato Potpie — What You Make When Someone Won’t Say They Need It

The vortex broke Monday. Back to a normal January — twenties by day, single digits at night, a wind that means business. I drove four days this week and was glad for the work. The cold makes my knees ache in a way that only climbing in and out of a truck fixes. It is a paradox. It is also true.

Gayle fell Tuesday. On the ice in her driveway. She had walked out to get the mail (I have asked her a thousand times to leave the mail for a day; she will not) and she slipped and went down hard on her left hip. She did not break anything. The urgent care confirmed it after x-rays. A large bruise the size of a dinner plate, and some stiffness, and a new fear in her that I did not see but Amber saw when she visited Wednesday. "Grandma is scared, Mom." Amber said this at the kitchen table, quiet, not looking at me. "She told me she's scared." Gayle had not told me. Gayle will not tell me. Gayle will tell her 17-year-old granddaughter, the one who reminds her of her other daughter, because some griefs can only be confided to certain ears.

I went to Gayle's house Thursday with dinner and stayed two hours. I did not bring up the fall. She brought it up. She said, "I am tired of the ice." I said, "Ma, I know." She said, "I am not moving." I said, "I know." She said, "But I am going to stop getting the mail in the winter." This is the single largest concession Gayle has made in the last decade. I did not celebrate. I nodded. I said, "I'll get it." She said, "Tyler will get it." I said, "Tyler will get it." Tyler will get it. We have built a system around a woman who will not admit she needs one. That is what family is for.

Amber got into Wayne State this week. Her third acceptance. She opened the email at breakfast and said, "Wayne's in." Josie said, "Who's Wayne?" Amber said, "A university." Justin said, "Are you going there?" Amber said, "No. UNK." Dave said, "It's nice to have options." Amber said, "Mm." She is 17 and she is a sphinx. She is still going to UNK. Wayne said yes. Everyone says yes to Amber. I have said this already. I will keep saying it.

I made a lentil and sausage soup Sunday — Italian sausage, green lentils, carrots, celery, kale from the last farmers' market bundle I had in the crisper — and we ate it with crusty bread Dave bought from a bakery in Hastings on his way home from helping Steve with a transmission. It was warming. Justin called it "dad-food," which is in his vocabulary the highest possible rating. Dave did not smile but his shoulders dropped about two inches, which for Dave is a hug.

The soup that Sunday was for us — something hot and fast and deeply needed after a week that had worn me down in ways I couldn’t fully name at the dinner table. But when I think about Gayle, and the bruise she won’t complain about, and the fear she only told Amber, I think about something slower. Something you can set in the oven and let be. This mushroom and sweet potato potpie is the thing I make when I need the kitchen to do the caring for me — when I want to bring a dish to someone’s door that looks like effort, because it is, and that says everything I don’t know how to say standing in her entryway. It is a winter dish in the truest sense: built for people who are tired of the ice.

Mushroom and Sweet Potato Potpie

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 10 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 12 oz cremini mushrooms, sliced
  • 2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
  • 2 medium carrots, sliced into rounds
  • 2 stalks celery, sliced
  • 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
  • 2 cups vegetable broth
  • 1/2 cup whole milk or unsweetened oat milk
  • 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (or 1/2 teaspoon dried)
  • 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/2 cup frozen peas
  • 1 sheet store-bought pie crust or puff pastry, thawed if frozen
  • 1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)

Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 400°F. Lightly grease a 9-inch deep-dish pie pan or a 2-quart baking dish and set aside.
  2. Start the vegetables. Warm olive oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
  3. Add mushrooms and root vegetables. Stir in the mushrooms and cook until they release their moisture and begin to brown, 6–8 minutes. Add the sweet potatoes and carrots and stir to combine.
  4. Build the sauce. Sprinkle flour over the vegetables and stir well to coat. Pour in the broth and milk, stirring constantly, and bring to a gentle simmer. Add thyme, paprika, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens and the sweet potatoes are just tender, about 10 minutes.
  5. Finish the filling. Remove from heat and stir in frozen peas. Taste and adjust seasoning. Pour the filling into the prepared baking dish.
  6. Top and seal. Lay the pie crust or puff pastry over the filling, pressing the edges gently to the rim of the dish. Cut 3–4 small slits in the top to vent. Brush the surface with the beaten egg.
  7. Bake. Place on a rimmed baking sheet and bake at 400°F for 25–30 minutes, until the crust is deep golden brown and the filling is bubbling at the edges.
  8. Rest before serving. Let stand 10 minutes before scooping. Serve directly from the dish with crusty bread alongside if you have it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 395 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 50g | Fiber: 6g | Sodium: 580mg

Brenda Novak
About the cook who shared this
Brenda Novak
Week 304 of Brenda’s 30-year story · Grand Island, Nebraska
Brenda is a forty-eight-year-old long-haul trucker and mom of two from Grand Island, Nebraska, who cooks on the road with a crockpot plugged into her semi's cigarette lighter. She lost her sister to domestic violence and carries that loss quietly. She writes for the working moms who are gone a lot and feel guilty about it. The food you leave in the fridge for your kids when you are on a haul? That is love, packed in Tupperware.

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