At this time of the year, leaving the house proves challenging. Best to stay in and cook. Smell the goodness, feel the coziness.
My favorite comfort foods tend to be close to my roots. I get nostalgic for simple suppers at my gram’s, the flavors she coaxed from just a few ingredients. Potatoes and noodles to fill us up. The Hungarian paprika my grandfather brought home from the butcher in a brown paper sack, smelling of earthy, sweet chiles.
A cut-up chicken, or chunks of pork, would simmer to tenderness with that paprika, a few cloves of fresh garlic and water. We’d play card games until dinner was ready. Nothing to fuss over as the combination was ladled into flowered porcelain bowls.
What lingers is the desire to gather with family at the table with no real agenda, with food that nourishes, tastes delicious, but causes no stress for the cook. To impart to the children the beauty of generations dining together: That’s the true benefit of home cooking.