Make Once, Eat Twice Lasagna

Four years. Two hundred and eight weeks. And everything has changed.

I retired on Friday. On Monday, the schools closed. COVID-19 shut down Chatham County schools, and the cafeteria where I worked for thirty-five years went dark the week after I left it. The timing is either miraculous or cruel, and I am too stunned to decide which. The children. Four hundred children who depended on that kitchen for their best meal of the day, and the kitchen is closed, and I am at home, and I can't feed them.

Kayla called Monday night. She sounded different — not scared anymore, but focused. The focus that comes from training kicking in, from the nurse taking over from the woman. She said, "It's happening, Granny. The cases are coming. We're ready." I said, "Are you safe?" She said, "I'm as safe as I can be." That answer is not good enough, but it's the only answer a pandemic gives you.

The church is closed. First African Baptist — the church where I was married, where Earl was eulogized, where I've sung in the choir for forty years — the doors are closed. Services are online. I don't know how to do church online. Church is the pew and the hymns and the bodies beside you and the pastor's voice bouncing off the walls. Church is not a screen. But the virus doesn't care about my theology.

I am alone in the Thunderbolt house with more time than I've had in thirty-five years and nowhere to go. The retirement I planned — the cooking classes, the maybe-book, the Sapelo trips — all of it is on hold because the world is on hold. I am sixty-four years old, widowed, retired, quarantined, and the kitchen is the only room that makes sense.

So I cook. I cook elaborate meals for one and I package them in containers and I drive them to porches. Denise's porch. Kayla's porch. Miss Corrine's porch. I ring the doorbell and I walk back to the car and I watch from the driveway as they open the door and find the food. Porch cooking. That's what this is. Feeding people from a distance, which is the loneliest and most necessary kind of feeding.

The azaleas are blooming. The world is shutting down and the azaleas are blooming. I don't know what to make of that except that beauty doesn't need permission and neither does food.

Now go on and feed somebody.

When you’ve spent thirty-five years cooking for four hundred children at a time, cooking for one feels like a punishment — so I stopped doing it that way. I made big pans of lasagna, the kind that divide cleanly into portions, the kind that hold their shape in a foil container and are still warm when somebody opens their front door. Lasagna was the right dish for this particular grief: it takes time, it takes layering, it rewards the patience of someone who has nowhere else to be. I made it once and I ate it twice — and the rest of it went to Denise’s porch, and Miss Corrine’s porch, and I sat in the car until I could see the door open, and that was enough.

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 1 hr | Total Time: 1 hr 30 min | Servings: 12 (two pans of 6)

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef
1 lb Italian sausage, casings removed
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 jars (24 oz each) marinara sauce
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
2 tsp dried Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
18 lasagna noodles (oven-ready or par-boiled)
32 oz whole-milk ricotta cheese
2 large eggs
1/2 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
4 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided

Instructions

Brown the meat. In a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat, cook the ground beef and Italian sausage together, breaking it up as it cooks, until no pink remains, about 10 minutes. Drain excess fat.
Build the sauce. Add the diced onion to the meat and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 minute more. Pour in both jars of marinara and the drained diced tomatoes. Add Italian seasoning, red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper. Simmer over low heat for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce deepens in color and flavor.
Mix the ricotta filling. In a large bowl, stir together the ricotta, eggs, chopped parsley, 1/2 cup of the Parmesan, and a generous pinch of salt until smooth and well combined.
Prepare your pans. Heat the oven to 375°F. Lightly grease two 9×13-inch baking dishes. Spread a thin layer of meat sauce across the bottom of each pan to prevent sticking.
Layer the lasagna. In each pan, layer 3 noodles, one-third of the ricotta mixture, one-third of the meat sauce, and a generous handful of mozzarella. Repeat the layers twice more, finishing with noodles topped with the remaining meat sauce, the rest of the mozzarella, and the remaining Parmesan divided evenly between both pans.
Bake. Cover each pan tightly with foil. Bake for 40 minutes covered, then uncover and bake an additional 20 minutes until the cheese is bubbling and golden at the edges. Let rest at least 15 minutes before cutting — this helps the layers hold when you portion it out.
Divide and deliver. Cut one pan for your own table. Portion the second into foil containers with lids. It travels beautifully for up to 2 hours at room temperature wrapped in a kitchen towel, or refrigerate and reheat at 350°F covered for 20 minutes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Make Once, Eat Twice Lasagna — One Kitchen, Three Porches, All the Love I Had Left