Rites of Spring: Shaved Asparagus Pizza

Spring is sprung, the grass is ris, and... holy crap, is that snow on the forecast?

(OK, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little, though we did get some pretty nasty flurries over the weekend. Sigh.)

So I've decided to stop waiting for spring to finally show its face, and took matters into my own hands.

I bought a little basil plant from the greengrocer and stuck on my windowsill, where I can lean in and inhale its spicy-sweet scent whenever I'm feeling too cooped up.

On that same shopping trip, I also bought a bundle of asparagus.

They're not local, of course, but I couldn't bear to wait any more. I jumped on that bundle of big, fat green spears like my life depended on it (or maybe just my sanity), and promptly brought it home.

Half the bunch I ate right away, simply steamed, with nothing more than a pat of melted butter. 

Then, with my immediate craving satisfied, the rest worked their way onto a simple white pizza - a fragrant base of olive oil, pressed garlic and thin strands of basil (from my little windowsill plant, naturally), topped with a tangle of shaved asparagus and garnished with dollops of creamy ricotta.

If you've never shaved asparagus, then you're totally missing out.

There's something downright magical about the way those sturdy little stalks unravel into bright green curls under the sharp peeler, filling the air with a grassy scent reminiscent of summer afternoons in the garden.

Those paper-thin ribbons can be served up as a simple fresh salad, raw and tossed with a little lemon juice and olive oil, but they're really best tossed upon a pizza and baked under blistering heat until they wilt and char ever so slightly around the edges.

Despite the unseasonable weather, there are still plenty of signs around me that point to the fact that spring is on its way.

The thermostat is working its way up to double-digit temperatures.

The sun shines brighter, and just a little bit longer each day.

The birds sing louder in the bud-covered trees, tightly furled buds nod drowsily on bunches of daffodils near my front door, and a few tender green leaves have shyly emerged on the tips of our old lilac bush.

And this morning, I defiantly retrieved my bike from a very cold garage and rode to work for the first time in months. The chill breeze that stung at my cheeks as I crossed the Don Valley bridge was just encouragement to keep going and pedal faster, rather than turn around and admit defeat.

It's coming. And I'm ever so ready.

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