Last full week at Subway. I gave my two weeks notice because I'll be in class three days a week and can't work the lunch shift anymore. My manager, a guy named Phil who communicates primarily through sighs, said 'okay' and went back to counting napkins. I will not miss Phil. I will miss Mrs. Williams and her turkey on wheat and Big Mike and his meatball subs. I will not miss the smell of bread that follows me everywhere like a ghost.
Keisha moved into her dorm at Norfolk State yesterday. I helped her carry boxes up three flights of stairs (the elevator was broken, obviously, because it's move-in day and elevators know). Her roommate is named Destiny and she's from Richmond and she seems nice in the way that all strangers seem nice before you've lived with them for three weeks and discovered their alarm clock habits.
Watching Keisha move in was harder than I expected. Not because I'm jealous — okay, a little because I'm jealous — but because this is the part of the story where our paths start to diverge. She'll have dorm friends and late nights and the full college experience. I'll have a twenty-minute commute and my childhood bedroom and dinner with my parents at 1800.
I know that's fine. I know lots of people commute to college. I know it doesn't make my education less valid. But it makes my experience different, and 'different' at eighteen feels a lot like 'less than.'
I came home and Mom had made her mac and cheese — the real kind, not the blue box (though she's made the blue box too, plenty of times, because the blue box costs 89 cents and feeds two kids and military families do not food-shame). Her real mac and cheese is a production: elbow macaroni, a béchamel sauce made with butter, flour, and milk, a small mountain of sharp cheddar, a little mustard powder, and a topping of buttered breadcrumbs that she broils until golden.
It's the most comforting food in the known universe. It is a blanket in food form. It is what Mom makes when someone needs to feel held without actually being held, because Donna Abernathy shows love through casserole dishes, not hugs (she hugs too, but the hugs come after the food, always after the food).
'You okay?' she asked, which means she could tell I wasn't.
'Just weird,' I said. 'Watching Keisha move in. It's just weird.'
'Weird how?'
'Like... everyone's starting something. And I'm starting something too, but it doesn't look the same.'
Mom was quiet for a moment. Then she said: 'Rachel, I've started over fourteen times. It never looks the same twice. That doesn't mean it's wrong. It means it's yours.'
Sometimes my mother is so unexpectedly wise that I forget she's the same woman who once argued with a Walmart cashier about a coupon for twenty minutes.
One week until classes start. The mac and cheese is in the fridge. It's better the second day — the cheese firms up and the edges get crispy when you reheat it. Some things are better the second day. Maybe college will be too.
Mom’s mac and cheese was exactly what I needed that night, and it got me thinking about all the ways a béchamel-based, cheesy baked pasta dish can do the heavy emotional lifting that words sometimes can’t. This White Chicken and Spinach Lasagna carries that same energy — a creamy white sauce, layers of melted cheese, and enough warmth to make “different” feel a little less like “less than.” Like Mom’s mac and cheese, it’s better the second day, and it’s the kind of thing worth making when someone in your house needs to feel held.
White Chicken and Spinach Lasagna
Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 20 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 12 lasagna noodles
- 3 cups cooked chicken, shredded
- 10 oz frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
- 15 oz whole-milk ricotta cheese
- 1 large egg
- 3 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
- 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 3 cups whole milk, warmed
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1 teaspoon salt, plus more for pasta water
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and set aside.
- Cook the noodles. Boil lasagna noodles in salted water according to package directions until just al dente. Drain, lay flat on a lightly oiled baking sheet to prevent sticking, and set aside.
- Make the béchamel. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt butter. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Whisk in flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute. Gradually pour in the warmed milk, whisking continuously to prevent lumps. Add Italian seasoning, onion powder, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring, until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 5–7 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in 1/2 cup of the Parmesan.
- Mix the ricotta filling. In a large bowl, combine ricotta, egg, spinach, 1/2 cup mozzarella, and 1/4 cup Parmesan. Stir until well combined. Season with a pinch of salt and pepper.
- Layer the lasagna. Spread a thin layer of béchamel on the bottom of the prepared baking dish. Add a layer of 3–4 noodles, overlapping slightly. Spread half the ricotta mixture over the noodles, then half the shredded chicken, then 3/4 cup mozzarella, then a generous ladle of béchamel. Repeat the layers: noodles, remaining ricotta, remaining chicken, 3/4 cup mozzarella, béchamel. Finish with a final layer of noodles, the remaining béchamel, remaining mozzarella, and remaining 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 the top is golden and bubbling at the edges.
- Rest before serving. Let the lasagna rest for at least 10 minutes before slicing. This helps the layers set so they don’t slide apart. (It is also, for the record, even better on day two — reheat covered at 350°F until warmed through, and the edges get delightfully crispy.)
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 530 | Protein: 39g | Fat: 23g | Carbs: 43g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 690mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 21 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.