“When I first arrived in Emilia-Romagna,” writes Mario Batali in Molto Italiano, “I was shocked to see lasagne made so simply. Then I tried the dish and was surprised at how truly delicious it tasted. It is almost a miracle how a few such simple ingredients can create such a complex symphony of flavors.”

Yes, Mario, simple. Is that why it took me two days to make this lasagne, nee lasagna? I suppose I could have fit it all into one day, but the idea of pouring hours into the ragu before making a bechamel sauce and assembling the dish was a bit too much for me. I was glad that I had chosen the “easier” lasagne over the Neapolitan version on the facing page, which called for homemade meatballs. I was very glad that I decided to skip making my own spinach pasta, especially since I don’t have a pasta maker.

Not that it wasn’t worth it. Oh, was it worth it. I thought I had had lasagne before, but I hadn’t — and neither have you, if you haven’t eaten this. The rich, meaty flavor of veal and pork; the salty sweetness of Parmesan melted into bechamel; the bite of pasta holding it together: nirvana. I’m trying not to brag, but it’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.

What I’m saying is that it’s worth the tedious chopping of vegetables, worth the long simmering of ragu, the extra step of making a white sauce instead of opening a container of ricotta. It’s even worth putting up with Mario’s pretensions (we all know that besciamella is just bechamel sauce) and assumptions (that we have a relationship with a butcher who is willing to put pancetta through the medium holes of his grinder). Aside from the shortcut of dried pasta, the substitution of which I guessed at by cooking until pliable but not soft, I also skipped heating the milk for the besciamella and whisked it in cold.

The final product was stunning, and I recommend you eat it as we did: putting it in the oven during the AMC showing of The Godfather Parts I and II, and serving it in time for the Oscars red carpet. Between oohing at Anne Hathaway’s red gown and gyah!ing at Marion Cotillard’s fish dress, we exclaimed over our lasagne as well, declaring that the hours in the kitchen were well spent.

And as a reward, there will be leftovers.

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We had a bit of reprieve Friday: sunny skies, warm air, green grass surfacing from the seas of ice and snow. All this did nothing so much as contrast against the weather of the days that surrounded it. Tuesday began a storm that laid down close to half a foot of snow before turning to freezing rain, which solidified it into an icy, slushy mass. Since that glorious, anachronistic spring day, the world has returned to desolate frigidity. In the wake of such disappointment, I wouldn’t blame you if you turned to the black rooster.

What’s the black rooster, you ask? Why, it was the delicious winter comfort food that was the official sponsor of my finals of last semester. It’s succulent braised pork shoulder in a savory tomato wine sauce: rich, hearty, and not the least bit like an inky old chicken. Mario Batali, in his book Molto Italiano, offers no explanation for why the etymology would jump species.

The recipe is simple but not quick, as both the sauce and the meat are slow-cooked. On the other hand, leftovers are easily reheated, and in these quantities, they’ll last you a week. And what a week! Slog home through the wet and the cold if you must, but warm yourself on the way with the thought of the meal that awaits you.

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Oh, so I made this back in November too. Whatever. Some recipes are timeless.

Chocolate mousse was originally planned as part of the Thanksgiving menu, but I pushed it back to the celebration of my brother’s birthday, since that was the following weekend. Good thing too, since Drew was so crazy for something chocolate that week that, heedless of the feast in the making, he threatened to make a pan of box brownies. When it was intended as a part of the Must Eat Thursday lineup, I knew the chocolate dessert would have to be lighter than the pumpkin cake and caramel tart, and less experimental: classic but not boring. To this end, I dug into that bible of class, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and resurfaced with this rich, airy, chocolate delight.

The recipe is more complex than whipped cream and chocolate, but it’s also more foolproof. It felt very strange to be using a handmixer after my conversion to Kitchenaid, but let me assure you that holding the beaters in the bowl while the egg yolks cool into a custard is the most exhausting it gets. I decided to serve the mousse in wineglasses, as we didn’t have enough individual serving dishes. Once plated (glassed?), I stuck them in the fridge until after dinner, when I topped them with a little whipped cream.

In addition to our family, Matt and some family friends were in attendance. The friends mentioned that their son is something of a mousse connoisseur, and I would have liked to hear his professional opinion. The opinions of those present, though, were overwhelmingly positive, and I must agree: the mousse was silky, both fluffy and smooth, with an intense chocolate flavor accented with a breath of orange. As expected, a classic.

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