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In all but the most lush and mild parts of the Pacific Northwest, February still feels the starkness of winter. The landscape is largely composed of browns, tans, and the soft burgundy of bare dogwood branches growing in the gulleys. I no longer feel the crisp sharpness of December or January; instead, the cold edges have softened and the landscape takes on the painterly brushstrokes of muted tones and warm browns. The sharp shadows shift to a gentle glow in the patches of snowmelt. 

Even through branches are leafless and the ground is still littered with browned foliage and leaves, winter is very much alive. I think of it like one big inhale, the earth drawing its energy inward, downwards, into roots and earth and soil. It isn’t long before bulbs start sprouting in their cozy underground homes, preparing for the wild bursting that is to come later. 

This is a time of potential. You may start to notice buds on the bare tree branches, the melting drip of icicles on a morning warmer than most. If you’re like me, your attention will inevitably be drawn downward to the earth, the soil, that place of magical happenings that you just cannot quite see. When I was a kid, I would feel such great impatience to get my hands in the dirt and my garden planted, I would shovel the snow off of my plot of garden (and right onto my sister’s instead as a mischievous act of rivalry) in the hopes that the late winter sunlight would thaw my garden faster. Some years I would even carry out pots of warm water to dump on the ground and melt the snow. (As you might imagine, this resulted instead in a tough sheet of ice that held its ground far longer than the slow-melting snow would have in the first place.)

I no longer feel such impatience to rush nature along, but I do delight in the little patches of soil warmed by the sun, releasing their earthy perfume and a feeling of anticipation. Living in harmony with the cycles of nature and delighting in the process makes me feel connected, fulfilled, and alive. Spring will come with all of its colorful and bursting glory, but I no longer feel impatient for it to hurry along. There is so much slow, deep, powerful late winter magic to soak up still. 

This appetizer dish is my ode to late-winter magic and the potential just below the surface of the earth. These pastry-encased bulbs sit in a savory sauce of rich and spicy acorn mole.  They are a Tromp l’oeil take on the gems below the surface. This dish is full of delicious textures and flavors; under the crisp and flaky pastry shell, you’ll find roasted chestnuts and garlic. Chestnuts are sweet and toothsome, more like a sweet potato than other kinds of nuts. (In fact, another name for chestnuts is “the bread of the mountain,” since they are much higher in carbohydrates than other tree nuts.) Roasted garlic gives its slightly sweet and smoky flavor to the mix. Sitting on crisp toasted crumbs, be sure to dig below the surface to find the star of the dish: a complex and warming chocolate, chile, and acorn sauce to flavor the full experience. 

Find the rest of this post and the Secret Recipe over on Patreon.com/thewondersmith!

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