Easter was Sunday. We went to church — the Swedish Evangelical Lutheran Church, which does Easter with the particular solemnity and joy that Lutherans do, which is to say a great deal of solemnity and a carefully measured amount of joy. The choir sang "Christ the Lord Is Risen Today" in Swedish and English, and the lilies were on the altar, and Pastor Lindqvist gave a sermon about resurrection that managed to be both theologically sound and personally moving, which is harder than it sounds.
Mamma was there, in her usual pew, third row left, where she has sat since 1962. She wore the blue dress she wears every Easter and the gold cross necklace that Pappa gave her on their twenty-fifth anniversary. She sang every hymn from memory because Ingrid Johansson doesn't need a hymnal — the songs are in her the way the recipes are in her, stored in a place that doesn't need pages.
After church: Easter dinner at the Kenwood house. Not as big as Christmas — just family. Mamma, Erik, Paul, me. Astrid couldn't come (Gary had the flu). Anna's family had Easter in Minneapolis with David's parents. Peter didn't call. I noticed. I'm always noticing the spaces where Peter should be.
I cooked the Swedish Easter meal: lamb — roasted leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic, which is traditional and which Mamma considers the only acceptable Easter protein. Jansson's temptation (yes, again — it appears at every Swedish holiday because potatoes and anchovies are apparently universal). Hard-boiled eggs, halved and topped with a shrimp and dill cream. Pickled herring. Rye bread. And for dessert, a mazarin tart — almond pastry with a marzipan filling that's golden and rich and dense.
Erik ate quietly, as Erik eats. He's sixty-three and he looks it — the paper mill took years from his body the way it took Lars from our family, slowly and invisibly until suddenly it was obvious. His hands are rough. His shoulders slope forward. But he smiled when Mamma told a story about Easter 1970, when Lars hid Easter eggs in the garden and forgot where he put three of them, and Pappa found them in July, and the smell was — well. Mamma said, "Your father said words I can't repeat in church." Erik laughed. I laughed. The story is forty-seven years old and it still works because Lars is in it and Lars is always welcome at this table.
Paul carved the lamb with the careful precision of a man who takes carving seriously, which he does, because Paul takes everything seriously except his own importance, which he takes not seriously at all.
After dinner, Mamma fell asleep on the couch. Not a nap — she insists these aren't naps, they're "resting her eyes" — and I covered her with the afghan that she knitted in 1982 and I watched her sleep and she looked small and old and I thought: not yet. Not yet. Not for a long time yet.
The lamb was perfect. The company was imperfect and complete. Easter in Duluth. Christ is risen, the lake is open, and Mamma is asleep on the couch. Alleluia.
The rosemary and garlic I rubbed into the leg of lamb that afternoon perfumed the whole Kenwood house — and the potatoes that roasted alongside it were, honestly, just as important. These rosemary garlic baby potatoes are what I reach for every Easter: they hold the same herby, golden warmth as the lamb itself, they disappear from the dish before anything else, and they feel, somehow, like the right thing to put on a table where Mamma is sitting in her usual seat and Lars’s memory is as present as the food. A simple recipe. The ones that matter always are.
Rosemary Garlic Baby Potatoes
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 lbs baby potatoes, halved
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped (or 1 tablespoon dried)
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika (optional)
- Fresh rosemary sprigs, for garnish
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 425°F (220°C). Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or lightly coat with cooking spray.
- Prepare the potatoes. Wash and dry the baby potatoes, then halve them lengthwise so they have a flat cut side to crisp against the pan.
- Season. In a large bowl, toss the halved potatoes with the olive oil, minced garlic, chopped rosemary, salt, pepper, and smoked paprika if using. Coat evenly.
- Arrange cut-side down. Spread the potatoes in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet, cut side facing down. This is the key to getting a golden, crispy interior face.
- Roast. Roast for 30–35 minutes, until the cut sides are deeply golden and the skins are slightly wrinkled. Do not stir — let them sit undisturbed so the crust forms properly.
- Finish and serve. Remove from the oven, transfer to a serving dish, and garnish with fresh rosemary sprigs. Taste and adjust salt before bringing to the table.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 175 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 320mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 56 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.
