Garth walked into our kitchen one morning and said, “Hey, Miss Yearwood, could you make a lasagna for breakfast?” I tell my husband (yes, that Garth) he can call me Trisha; after all we’ve been married for almost 17 years, but if it’s not “Miss Yearwood” it’s “the queen.” Anyway, he’s doing the suggesting, but I know I’ll be doing the cooking.
“I’m not talking about a casserole,” Garth said, “but a real lasagna with noodles and breakfast things on the inside.” Yes, I could do that, especially since breakfast was a favorite meal in our house served anytime, day or night.
Cooking is right up there with singing for me. It’s become a second career. I learned from the best—my mom, Gwendolyn. An elementary teacher by day and cake decorator on the side, she was an excellent cook. Mama and my sister, Beth, and I compiled some of our favorite recipes—hundreds handwritten on index cards, more scrawled on napkins—and shared the stories behind them in our first cookbook.
Those recipes and stories have become even more important and special now that our mom has passed. After the success of the first cookbook, Food Network came calling, and now I’ve done 17 seasons of Trisha’s Southern Kitchen and written three more cookbooks with the help of my sister. Cooking has become a wonderful way to honor our parents’ memories.
Garth sees the benefits in all of this for him. He does cook, but he doesn’t really do anything fancy. He gets excited when he makes a sandwich and will take a picture of it because he thinks it’s so awesome. If we have company for dinner, he’ll say, “Okay, what needs to be chopped? What needs grilling? How can I help?” We both know I’m the recipe gal, but he’s the “whatever it takes guy” and I love him for it.
So I got to thinking about Garth’s breakfast lasagna request. This was going to be very different from the casserole my mom served on Christmas morning.
I grew up on a farm in the small town of Monticello, Georgia, where Christmas felt like something out of a storybook. Beth and I would go with Daddy to chop down the perfect cedar tree in the woods. Without fail, we’d discover we had picked one that was way too tall and we always had to drag the tree back out to the carport to trim it down. I guess measuring would have taken the fun out of the ritual.
Our Methodist church had a beautiful Christmas Eve service. In the processional out, we each carried a candle and sang “Silent Night” a capella under the stars. I tried to capture that memory in one of my favorite Christmas cooking episodes. My sister and I made the Christmas Eve meal, and then we cut to a little candlelit church service, where I led the congregation in “Silent Night.” It was just like home. The preacher and his wife came back to the house for dessert, a cranberry pear crumble.
Mama’s Christmas Eve meal was impeccable—a classic ham, green beans, potato salad and her ambrosia served alongside fresh coconut cake. She made her breakfast casserole on Christmas Eve too, so all she had to do the next morning was pop it in the oven. I can still smell the sausage, egg and cheese mixture wafting into the living room as we unwrapped our gifts.
Even though she’s gone, my mama is always with me. As I got to work on Garth’s lasagna, pulling out my pots and pans and writing down measurements, I felt her guidance. The hearty cheese sauce she made for almost everything would stand up well to the breakfast meats Garth liked—sage-flavored sausage and, of course, bacon. Chopped spinach, pimentos and shallots offered a nice counterpoint.
I layered the ingredients just like a traditional lasagna, whisked six eggs and poured them over the top, then added one more layer of cheese. Forty-five minutes later the lasagna bubbled to a golden brown.
I called my taste-tester back into the kitchen. “It smells amazing in here,” Garth said. I cut a piece of lasagna and slid it onto his plate. He dug in and let out a big mmm…mmm. “Miss Yearwood, you did it!”
This recipe ticked all the yummy boxes. You can customize it with spicy or maple-flavored sausage, and different veggies and cheeses. Garth and I decided the lasagna would be our new Christmas morning tradition. I put it in the fridge the night before so I’m set to celebrate the day when love seems to come so freely.
I hope the kindness we show one another this season is a practice we can all carry throughout the year. Each of us has the essential ingredients to do that, in our own unique way. Love one another.
