Nothing beats back the chill of a winter afternoon like a toasty mushroom gratin.

On Saturday afternoon we puttered about the Stockton Farmer’s Market with Owen and Henry. The stalls were piled high with the last of the season’s produce, golden pain epi and other baked goods, crumbly cheeses and seafood from our favorite fishmonger. One vendor had a beautiful array of wild mushrooms, and with the colder weather lurking just outside, we decided it was the perfect time to make a toasty gratin. 

We shouldn’t be eating pasta. Really, we shouldn’t – not with summer on the way. And certainly not one dressed this richly. But we slip up every now and again. And somehow we give ourselves permission to enjoy every forkful of this buttery, salty indulgence. Looks like we’re doing a long run tomorrow.