At this time of year I get so anxious for spring to arrive. The first few weeks of April are a special kind of torture for New Englanders. One moment it’s 70° and sunny and I’m sure that it’s time to plant the tomatoes, and the next day I’m wearing three layers while trodding through the rain. Every year I find myself scrolling back through my Instagram feed trying to find the moment when spring arrived. When did the apple trees bloom? When did the crocuses pop? It had to be earlier last year, didn’t it?

Slowly but surely, it’s coming. We had a weekend with a hint of sunburn, a beer on the porch in the afternoon, and a promise of more warm days to come. The peas have sprouted and we check on them three times a day, the only denizens of our garden so far. The trees are in that tentative green stage, and I find myself looking up every 10 minutes, as if they may somehow magically burst into blossom over the course of an afternoon. But that’s how it feels when it finally happens, isn’t it? One morning the gray branches and bare against the spring blue sky, practically bursting with anticipation, and the next somehow everything is green and lush.

But all this is the essence of spring, is it not? The uncertainty, the anticipation, the oscillation between summer and winter. So, thank you, spring, for showing up. For teasing us with sunshine and letting us plunge our hands into the soil. For the first signs of green and even for the cool nip in the wind. I promise to enjoy every moment of you, the most fleeting of seasons. I’ll enjoy the rainy days with fat raindrops pounding against the roof. I’ll enjoy every blossom you toss our way – first, the purple and yellow crocus tips, then the showy magnolia blooms, the showers of pink apple blossoms and the regal irises.

Because every season needs at least one or two go-to pasta recipes, I’ve been developing spring pastas. I’m trying to build a collection for each season, like this Creamy Mushroom Pasta and this Heirloom Tomato Spaghetti. And now, my latest for spring – Goat Cheese Stuffed Shells with Spring Vegetables. They have all the usual spring suspects – peas, asparagus, goat cheese, lemon – tucked inside thick pasta shells. The filling also includes ricotta, mozzarella, and chopped spinach. So much cheese! So many vegetables! The finishing touch is a quick bechamel sauce and just a little bit more cheese before baking.

A word of warning: these contain an almost lethal amount of cheese, as you might have guessed from the above. Pace yourself and remember that this batch should serve 8-10 people! Four or five shells is a good serving size, and it’s easy to wolf them down. Serve alongside a salad or some bright steamed asparagus for balance.

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Goat Cheese Stuffed Shells with Peas and Asparagus

A Katie at the Kitchen Door original recipes. Serves 8-10.

• One 12-oz. box of jumbo pasta shells
• 6 oz. soft goat cheese
• 1 lb. ricotta cheese
• 8 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated and divided
• 1 egg
• 1 cup (6 oz.) frozen spinach
• 2 cups frozen peas
• 1 lb. asparagus, ends trimmed
• 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• zest of 1 lemon
• 3 TBS butter
• 3 TBS flour
• 2 1/2 cups milk, warmed in the microwave
• sea salt

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the pasta shells and cook for the amount of time specified on the packages. Err on the side of undercooking the pasta just a little bit – if you overcook the shells they are more likely to fall apart when stuffing. Drain the shells and set aside.
2. In a large bowl, beat the goat cheese until smooth and creamy. Add the ricotta cheese and 6 oz of the mozzarella cheese and stir to combine. Reserve the remaining mozzarella cheese for topping the shells. Add the egg to the cheese mixture and beat slightly, stirring to combine evenly with the cheeses.
3. Add the frozen spinach to a microwaveable bowl with a little bit of water. Microwave until fully thawed, about 90 seconds to 2 minutes. Use a spoon to press any excess liquid out of the spinach, draining the liquid out of the bowl. When the spinach is dry, add to the bowl with the cheeses and stir to combine. Now add the peas to the microwaveable bowl with a little water and microwave for 60-90 seconds to defrost the peas. Drain the liquid from the bowl and add the peas to the spinach and cheese mixture, stirring to combine.
4. Bring a large pot of salted water to a simmer. When simmering, add the asparagus and blanch until bright green, about 90 seconds. Drain immediately and rinse the asparagus under cold running water to stop the cooking. Cut the asparagus into small pieces, about 1/4 inch to 1/2 inch long, and add to the cheese filling. Add the lemon zest and black pepper, stir to combine, and set aside.
5. To prepare the bechamel sauce, melt the butter over medium-low heat. Add the flour and stir into the butter. Cook the flour and butter, stirring constantly, until fragrant and just beginning to color, about 2 minutes. Slowly pour in the warm milk, stirring as you do to incorporate the milk into the roux. Cook the bechamel, stirring the whole time, until it has thickened enough to coat the back of the spoon but still runs freely when lifted. This should only take 2-3 minutes. Remove from the heat and season to taste with sea salt.
6. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Spread a little bit of the bechamel sauce on the bottom of a 9×13 inch casserole dish (to help keep the shells in place as you fill them). Working one at a time, spoon the cheese and vegetable mixture inside the pasta shells, using about 1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons of filling per shell. As you stuff them, line the shells up on the casserole dish in a single layer. Pour the bechamel sauce over the top of the shells, then sprinkle the reserved grated mozzarella over the top. Bake for 30 minutes, until cheese is golden brown and bubbly. Serve warm.

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In summers past, Trevor and I, lacking outdoor space of our own, have made a project of tending the garden and orchard at my parent’s house. Almost every weekend, we’d put on our gardening jeans, load compost or shovels or seedlings or harvesting baskets into the car, and make the 30 minute trip north of the city just to get our hands dirty. There was something extraordinarily fulfilling about spending a morning doing something physical, about emerging from the tomato patch smelling of greenness, about picking 10 pounds of blackberries despite the dozens of tiny scratches you were bound to get on your arms. About being dirty and sweaty and tired. But after a while it became somewhat impractical to tend a garden so far away, that we could only visit on weekends. So last summer, when we bought our house, the first thing I did was put in a little herb patch, and this year, it has quickly extended down the length of the house to include four raised beds for veggies, a row of strawberries, and a trellis for melons. I have a feeling it will continue to expand, wrapping around the house, using every little bit of sun we have.

Someday, when we have more time and more space, I hope we’ll have an expansive garden – a blackberry patch, rows and rows of strawberries, apple and cherry trees, and pumpkin vines running rampant over the ground. I’ll put up jars of tomatoes and jam and pickles, and we’ll fill the root cellar with potatoes and carrots. But for now, I’m happy with our little urban garden, our tiny wavering apple tree in the front yard, the handful of strawberries I can munch on after my morning run, the melons climbing up their trellis. I like that I can check on it every day, picking tomatoes at the exact moment that they are perfectly ripe, harvesting herbs minutes before adding them to a bowl of pasta.

A few weeks back, I shared a recipe on Hither & Thither for Ashley’s “In Season” series. From a choice of grapes, mulberries, melons, cucumbers, eggplants or collards for July’s featured produce, I chose to work with melons, primarily because I’m holding out hope that this will finally be the year that we have successful melon plants. Of course, in Boston in mid-July, our melons were still tiny little nubbins, but I figured this recipe would give us inspiration when (fingers crossed) all those lovely melons become ripe at the end of August. Melon is not a very frequently used recipe ingredient. When it’s really good – sweet and fragrant and juicy in the best way – it’s eaten by itself in dripping slices. And when it’s not good, it tends to languish at the bottom of the fruit salad bowl. The one savory application of melon I’ve seen is the classic Italian pairing of melon, prosciutto, and mozzarella. So I took that combination and turned it into a grilled pizza, complete with a light alfredo sauce and a pile of creamy burrata on top. It’s a gorgeous pizza – creamy, a little sweet, salty, and smoky from the char of the grill.

Thanks to Ashley for inviting me to share this recipe on Hither & Thither, and for the inspiration to work with a new ingredient!

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Grilled Melon, Prosciutto, and Burrata Pizza

A grilled summer pizza. Topped with a thyme-scented white sauce, mozzarella cheese, grilled melon, prosciutto, and creamy burrata, this is not your everyday pie! A great savory use for melon.

• Author: Katie at the Kitchen Door
• Yield: 4

Ingredients

• 2 tbsp butter
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves
• 2 tbsp flour
• 1 cup whole milk
• 4 oz. firm mozzarella cheese, cut into small slices, divided
• Black pepper
• 1 pound fresh pizza dough, preferably homemade
• 1 tsp olive oil, for brushing
• ¼ small melon, cut into very thin wedges and rinds removed and discarded
• 1 oz. thinly sliced prosciutto
• 4 oz. fresh burrata cheese

Instructions

1. Preheat a grill to medium-high heat. Let the grill heat up while you prepare the sauce and pizza toppings.
2. To make the alfredo sauce, melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the minced garlic and thyme leaves and saute, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 1-2 minutes. Add the flour and stir to fully mix into the melted butter. Cook, stirring, until the better is just starting to brown, about 1 minute, then slowly drizzle in the milk, stirring or whisking constantly to incorporate the flour into the milk. The milk should thicken as it mixes with the flour. Once you have added all the milk, cook the sauce for 2-3 minutes longer, still stirring, until the sauce is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Remove the sauce from the heat. Stir half of the sliced mozzarella into the sauce until it is fully melted, season sauce to taste with black pepper, then set the alfredo sauce aside.
3. Stretch the pizza dough into a large, thin rectangle, using your hands to work the dough into the proper shape. Brush one side of the dough with olive oil, then transfer the pizza to the grill, oiled side down. Grill one side just until dough is partially cooked through and crust is slightly charred, about 2-3 minutes. Remove the dough from the grill and set aside.
4. Use tongs to place the melon wedges on the grill, taking care not to drop them through the grates. Grill for just 45-60 seconds, or until grill marks have appeared, then flip the melon slices and grill for 45-60 seconds on the other side, then remove the melon slices to a plate.
5. Arrange the pizza toppings on the side that has already been grilled: spread the alfredo sauce thinly over the surface of the dough, then arrange the prosciutto slices, grilled melon, and remaining mozzarella over the top of the pizza.
6. Return the pizza to the grill, raw (uncooked) side down. Close the lid and cook until the mozzarella has melted and the bottom of the crust is starting to blacken, about 3 minutes, then remove from the grill. Tear the burrata into pieces and scatter over the top of the pizza.

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I’m back in Latin America this week, and headed out now to enjoy a day of wine tasting in Chile (work travel isn’t so bad…). But before I go, I wanted to share some other wine-related news: this summer, I’ll be developing four recipes for La Crema Wines featuring pairings of pork and Pinot Noir. Since I’ve been traveling so much and am always discovering new flavors and cooking styles, the series is going to have a global theme. The first stop on our Pork and Pinot tour – Italy.

This stuffed and rolled pork tenderloin may not be strictly traditional, but it takes all of its inspiration from Italian cuisine. The tenderloin is butterflied and filled with layers of sage and rosemary pesto, fresh mozzarella cheese and prosciutto, then rolled up and roasted to juicy perfection. Slicing into the finished tenderloin reveals a beautiful pink, white, and green spiral, and the herbal, salty flavors of the filling permeate each bite of pork. It’s an entrée that looks and tastes “fancy,” but really requires very little effort – the perfect dish for impressing dinner guests. Serve it alongside a bottle of La Crema Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir, and perhaps a platter of simply roasted vegetables, and your next dinner party menu is taken care of.

Stay tuned for more Pork and Pinot! Next up, Vietnam …

Find the recipe for the Prosciutto, Mozzarella, and Sage Pesto Stuffed Pork Tenderloin over on the La Crema blog!

Disclaimer: This post is sponsored by La Crema. All opinions are honest and my own.

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This is my favorite salad, and I have a difficult time imagining the salad that will ever replace it as such. It’s something I order every time I go to Via Matta, an upscale Italian restaurant near my office in Boston, and I’ve gotten many of my coworkers addicted to it as well. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to share it with you – I’m sorry to have been depriving you all this time. The only excuse that I can offer up is that I only recently acquired my first bottle of truffle oil – the key ingredient. During my quick business trip to Rome a few weeks ago, I loaded up on Italian food products that are really pricey in the states and only sort of pricey in Italy: Myrtle liquor, candied kumquats, truffle sauce, dried squid ink pasta, and a treasured bottle of truffle oil.

Something about the mix of the ultra-rich burrata, zippy arugula, super thinly shaved mushrooms (that are almost creamy in texture), salty capers, and pungent truffle oil in this salad is absolutely intoxicating. Trevor thinks it’s just the fact that anything made with truffle oil and/or burrata (a super luxurious cream-filled fresh mozzarella, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it) is delicious, but I maintain that this is a special combination. The raw mushrooms soak up the truffle oil so that it’s almost like you’re eating a truffle itself when you bite into them, too. I really can’t get enough. I should note that a little bit of truffle oil goes a long way – you only have to use one or two teaspoons of oil per salad – so although it is certainly rich for a salad, it’s not over-the-top indulgent.

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Arugula Salad with Burrata, Shaved Mushrooms, and Truffle Oil

Inspired by Via Matta. Serves 1.

• 2 or 3 large handfuls of fresh arugula
• 3 mushrooms, shaved or sliced as thinly as possible
• 1 TBS very finely chopped red onion
• 2 tsp capers
• 2 oz. fresh burrata
• 2 tsp truffle oil
• 1/2 tsp coarse sea salt

1. Toss the arugula, shaved mushrooms, red onion, and capers together in a large bowl. Place the piece of burrata on top of the salad, drizzle with truffle oil, and sprinkle with sea salt. Serve immediately.

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As you might imagine, a lot has changed in our not-so-little garden since I last wrote about it in May. Now we’re in the thick of things, and walking through the vegetable garden, where perhaps we were a bit too aggressive with our plant spacing, is like being in a jungle. The tomatoes tower over my head, the beans brush against my legs, and the whole space is filled with the hum of busy pollinators.

We’ve had a number of huge successes this year. Starting in May, the rhubarb has been prolific, so much so that I’d have to bake three pies a week just to use it up. In July we were picking blackberries by the gallon off our one sprawling bush, with enough leftover after baked oatmeal and blackberry cheesecake bars to make a huge, bubbling batch of blackberry wine that we’ll savor all winter. Cucumbers seem to ripen by the dozen, and pounds and pounds of green beans fill our fridge. Last weekend alone, we picked 20 pounds of tomatoes, which have already been turned into canned sauce, pickled cherry tomatoes, and gifts for coworkers. The lesson the garden seems to be telling us, is go with what what works. Blackberries and rhubarb? They grow easily in New England with no care at all. Green beans and cucumber? Same story. Tomatoes are known to be fussier, but they do fantastically in my dad’s soil.

On the other hand, there have been disappointments. Perhaps it’s only because we set our hopes so high this year, but it does feel as though this season has had more than it’s fair share of setbacks. It seems as if every week I say to Trevor, maybe next year, as we discover another failed crop. Every single peach (of dozens!) picked off the trees one by one by raccoons or possums or some other critter a week before they were ripe.  No flowers on the apple trees. A measly pound of fava beans from 20 plants. Daily flowers on the pumpkin but no baby pumpkins to speak of. A broccoli harvest of approximately .15 pounds. All but one bunch of grapes falling off the vine. Of course, with every failure comes a wealth of knowledge, but in the moment, that doesn’t dampen the sting of disappointment.

But whether or not a crop is successful does little to dampen our enthusiasm for the process. I feel so much joy when I’m in the garden – all this childhood energy and excitement comes rushing over me when I’m standing outside in our gorgeous clearing on a beautiful summer morning or sunny afternoon. I feel connected to my surroundings, to my dad, to Trevor, and maybe most importantly, to myself. I’m engaged and moving and living. I love it. And it’s given me so much respect for the people who do this everyday, who struggle with the same challenges we have but grossly multiplied, who grow enough food not just to feed themselves, but the whole country. A part of me thinks that everyone who touts the local/free-range/organic lifestyle should have to try growing their own food, just to more fully understand the effort that goes into creating that resource. If three people with a fairly generous supply of time, money, and land, struggle to raise enough food to make a few weeks’ worth of summer meals, imagine the challenge for those with no land, no time, and limited finances. My thoughts are getting away from me – I truly don’t have well-formed opinions on these matters, but they’re worth thinking about. And also, they make me want to read The $64 Tomato. A fascinating concept.

And that brings us back to something that I do know something about – tomatoes. Eating them, cooking with them. What to do when you have 20 pounds of them. Besides the sauce, and the toss-everything-in-a-pan-pastas, and the pickled cherry tomatoes, I also  made this beautiful panzanella, a salad of toasted bread and fresh tomatoes, tossed with salt, olive oil, basil, and fresh mozzarella. It’s both filling and fresh, a burst of summertime flavor in every bite. I read in Nigel Slater’s Tender that his trick for the perfect panzanella is to toast the bread first, and so that’s what I did, to excellent effect. It really couldn’t be a much simpler meal, and if you use tomatoes in a variety of sizes and colors, it’s a stunning dish as well.

Heirloom Tomato Panzanella with Mozzarella and Basil 

Serves 4.

• 6 thick (1-inch) slices sourdough bread, cut into bite-sized cubes
• 6 TBS olive oil, divided
• coarse sea salt
• 2 pounds heirloom tomatoes, cut into bite-sized pieces
• 3/4 c. small fresh mozzarella balls (cillegine)
• 15 leaves fresh basil, torn into pieces by hand

1. Toss 4 TBS of the olive oil with the bread cubes in a large bowl, then transfer to a wide frying pan or dutch oven, sprinkle with sea salt, and toast bread cubes over medium heat, stirring frequently, until bread is golden brown on much of it’s surface, about 5-10 minutes.
2. Toss the warm bread cubes with the tomatoes, mozzarella balls, and torn basil. Drizzle with the remaining 2 TBS of olive oil and season to taste with sea salt. Serve at room temperature.

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