The Sandpoint Eater: Dear Mother

By Marcia Pilgeram
Reader Columnist

My birthday was last week. Every year as it draws close, I use the day as a yardstick to measure my goals list for the last birthday. I acknowledge the ones I’ve accomplished, then forgive myself and forge ahead with those I didn’t quite get tackled, continuing to chip away at the overly ambitious list I created for my 60th birthday. I also spend an excessive amount of time thinking about my mother.

For years, as my birthday approached, Mom would repeat her mantra to anyone in earshot, “You know, Marcia was supposed to be born on April Fool’s Day, but she fooled me and came a day late.” For years, I rolled my eyes whenever she delivered this comment. So now I close my eyes, wishing she was near, savoring all my memories of my momma, including her full report of the record snow that fell in Bozeman, Mont., the week I was born: “We barely made it to the hospital; there wasn’t another car on the road (from Trident, where we lived, 25 miles away).”

My mother was salt of the earth, black-and-white factual, never one to embellish a story, but we all know that anecdotal tales have a way of taking on their own life, and it seemed to me that each time she repeated the story, the snow got deeper. So, this year on my birthday, curiosity took me down the information highway for fact-checking. Sure enough, Mom’s memory held to the facts. It was a doozy of a storm and may still keep the record for snowfall.

As I was scouring the internet for the information, I came across another brutal Montana winter, and this one I remembered all too well. It was an arctic cold snap from Canada. Overnight, temperatures plunged to 30 below and stayed there. If that weren’t bad enough, it was during the heart of the calving season, proving that Mother Nature can be one unforgiving bitch!

The cattle were burning calories like mad (so were the ranch hands), and we couldn’t feed them enough to satiate them. So, to ensure the cows were being fed, the diesel-fueled tractors and pick-up were left idling for days, fearing they would never start up again if we turned them off. I helped when I could with the cows, but I had two small children to tend and a dozen men to feed three times a day.

Between the price of extra feed, fuel and vet bills, we took a hit that winter and weren’t alone. It wasn’t only Mother Nature’s bitter-cold biting us. That year, interest rates were climbing (up to 18%), and the cost of diesel doubled nearly overnight (it seemed). We were knocked down a few notches, and never recovered. Even now, when calving season nears, I offer up a lot of prayers for the cows, the calves, the cowboys, and yes, even the cooks.

It was a lot to cook for ranch hands. So besides being chief cook and calf-bottle washer, I titled myself “HR Director.” We usually had a great group of guys, but because they shared our long dining table with my young children, my radar stayed on high alert until I got to know them better. If a new guy put me on edge, he didn’t stand a chance at long-term employment.

Looking back, I’m sure many of them had some undesirable history. When we were short handed during calving, fencing or haying (there are a lot of seasons to cover on a ranch!), my husband would drive to the unemployment or veterinary offices in Helena, Butte or Missoula (we were equal distances from all three), and bring back a laborer or two. Of course, I insisted on some type of paperwork to verify their identity (well before the internet and background checks), which was usually a dog-eared (and often expired) driver’s license. 

Once they settled in, they were always hungry and always grateful for a home-cooked, hot meal. I was raised on my mom’s goulash and often relied on pasta for a main course (and still do). On the ranch, it was hearty servings of Mom’s Hungarian goulash, meatballs, spaghetti and large pans filled with layers of cheese laden lasagna. Every dish invariably included vast quantities of home-ground deer, elk or beef.

Most of my pasta dishes have been modified to feed my growing group of vegetarians, so I often serve meat or seafood on the side. Everyone in my family has a favorite pasta dish, and I rotate through them when we gather: my rancher-son Zane is a huge fan of chicken fettuccine alfredo, Ryanne’s family’s go-to is carbonara, and Casey’s family, including the toddlers, are content with macaroni and cheese (lots of cheese). It was my mom’s favorite, too. 

I am fond of pasta recipes with fresh seasonal ingredients like morels, ramps, garlic scapes and Copper River salmon. This week the asparagus and fresh peas were calling to me from the produce aisle, so a springtime favorite, Lemon Pasta, will be on the menu this Sunday, alongside a big, glazed ham and a gaggle of grandchildren. Crossing my fingers that Mother Nature will be gentle and deems us all worthy of an outdoor egg hunt. Happy Easter!

Lemon pasta recipe • Serves 4

This pasta dish is lovely as a stand-alone, or served as a pleasing side to grilled salmon or sautéed shrimp. Using a small pasta with an indentation (like orecchiette) provides a nice little pool for the delicate sauce. 

Ingredients

• 2 lemons, washed and zested, then squeezed 

• 12 oz. of pasta

• 2 Tbs. butter

• 2 Tbs. olive oil

• 1 small shallot, minced 

• 3/4 cup fresh peas shelled

• 1/2 lb. asparagus tips (reserve the rest for a stir fry)

• 3/4 cup heavy cream

• Pasta water

• a few fresh thyme leaves

• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan

• Sea salt

• White pepper

Directions

Wash and finely grate zest from lemon and set aside. 

Cut lemons in half and squeeze out lemon juice (should yield about 1/3 cup). Set aside.

Cook pasta in a large pot of heavily salted boiling water, stirring occasionally, until just done (don’t overcook). Reserve a cup of the pasta water for the sauce. 

While pasta is cooking, in a separate large sauté pan, heat the olive oil and butter over medium high heat. Add the lemon zest and cook until sizzling. Reduce heat and add minced shallots and thyme leaves. Cook until soft. Add the lemon juice and cook until slightly reduced. 

Add cream to pan, whisking often, until liquid is just beginning to simmer, about two minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low, continue to whisk to emulsify. Add 3/4 cup pasta water, whisk. Add the pasta and mix with sauce until well coated. Add the peas and asparagus. Cover and reduce heat. Cook about 5 minutes.

If it looks dry, stir in a little more pasta water until creamy. Season with salt and pepper

Top with grated parmesan. 

Serve immediately, garnished with lemon slices, fresh pea pods and chives.