There’s an ice storm coming. Remember that episode of “Little House on the Prairie” where Pa ties a rope from the house to the barn so he can tend the livestock during a blinding blizzard?

This isn’t going to be anything like that.

A Middle Tennessee ice storm usually means some broken tree limbs, maybe a short a power outage and an insane rush to the grocery for “essentials.” People will wait in the grocery line for 15 minutes to buy a frozen pot pie, eight rolls of toilet paper, a bag of Oreos and some Jiffy Pop.

My favorite meal for a night like this is Baked Ziti with Italian Sausage. Gooey cheese. Spicy browned sausage. Really, I could stop right there, but I love to experiment with different mix-ins (i.e. peppers, onions, mushrooms), cheeses, herbs and pasta sauces, especially ones that include red wine.

Oh, how I crave this stuff. There should be a 12-step program.

P.S. I’m going to kick myself for saying this, but the sausage isn’t essential. If you’re a vegetarian or just trying to eat healthier, feel free to leave it out. There, I said it. Now, I’ve got to go scrub off the shame.

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Unless you’re cooking for a school cafeteria or a firehouse, homemade lasagna can be a hassle. There’s just SO MUCH OF IT. The first night, it’s great. The second night, it’s fantastic. The third morning, you’ve barely put a dent in it, but it HAS to go. Especially when you’re cooking for two, and you ask your husband if he wants lasagna for lunch, and he looks at you like you’re Joan Crawford in “Mommie Dearest,” serving that same plate of rare steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner. NO LEFTOVER LASAGNA, EVER!

Our compromise is Skillet Lasagna. One pan. One layer of each ingredient.

The pasta layer is fairly thick, so by the time I stir the ingredients together, we’re not missing the nicely layered rectangle. No, we’ve learned to settle for the occasional big, warm bowl of spicy meat and pasta slathered in tomatoes, Parmesan and gooey Ricotta. With a little fresh basil. One pan. Less than an hour. It’s hard, but we’re making due.

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It’s been years since I was a vegetarian, but I still plan plenty of meatless meals.

I get the worst cravings for this stuff: Couscous with Roasted Veggies and Feta. You don’t eat it thinking, This would be so much better if it only had some bacon/sausage/prime beef. It’s a vegetarian trifecta. First, there’s the couscous. Fluffy, filling, and faster to prepare than rice or dried pasta. Then, you’ve got the roasted vegetables, which you can customize to your own taste. And finally, the tangy little punches of feta.

It’s also ridiculously versatile. Besides switching up the vegetables, you can try different instant couscous mixes, types of feta, herbs and spices. Toss in some pine nuts. Substitute the olive oil and lemon juice for your favorite Greek or Italian salad dressing. Eat it on its own as a meatless meal, stuff it into a tomato or pita or serve it as a side dish. Great warm, cold or at room temperature. You just can’t say that about hamburger.

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When I was a kid, my parents would take us for Sunday lunch at Po Folks, one of those family-style Southern restaurants where the drinks are served in Mason jars and the menu features appetizements, onion rangs and Kuntry Fried Steak Salad. One particularly eventful Sunday, Daddy decided I was old enough to order off the menu. I told him I wanted the veggie plate. With Mashed Po-taters, a Baked Po-Tater, Po-Tater Salad and French Fries.

“Rebecca, you are not eating four kinds of potatoes. Pick a real vegetable.”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

In the South, mac and cheese IS a vegetable. Look at any menu of “homestyle veggies,” and you’ll find it, sitting right above the mashed potatoes. We eat it at home, school, potlucks, restaurants, holiday dinners and funerals. Restaurants (and women) are judged on the quality of their macaroni and cheese.

So, when the Barefoot Bloggers decided to try Ina Garten’s Grown Up Mac and Cheese this week, I felt well-versed. Then a quick glance at the recipe put me on notice. Bacon? Gruyere? Blue cheese? Breadcrumbs and basil?

Where was the SOUR CREAM?

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A few months ago, Jeff ordered a new wireless controller for the PlayStation. Then the old one started working. For me, this meant we should return the new controller or sell one on eBay. For Jeff, this meant that we had a backup.

Did we really need a backup?

Friends, did America really need to declare its independence?

So, we kept both.

During the course of our first move together, I realized we had backups for many, many things. Music. Movies. Ponchos. Silverware. Part of me feels very loved and secure when I see my computer-geek husband backing up the hard drives and making sure I don’t lose my entire iTunes collection. Again. But the other part of me – the part with a Shaker-like hatred of clutter – sees duplicates and wants to exterminate them. Thank God, twins don’t run in the family.

Before we move, I ask Jeff one more time if he’s going to sell the extra controller.

No, it’s still good to have a backup.

Why? Is one going to be raptured? Get trapped under a tree? Run off with a poncho?

Sunday night, the dog started trying to play with the cat by barking in his face and pouncing at him. So, the cat responded by baring his claws and lunging at the dog … who ran into the table and knocked over a stack of magazines … which slid into a glass of water … which spilled onto the new PlayStation controller.

And Jeff looks at me, like, NOW, aren’t you glad we have a backup?

Somewhere, he’s got a petri dish full of my stem cells. I just know it.

This week’s Tuesdays with Dorie recipe is Blueberry Sour Cream Ice Cream, chosen by Dolores of Chronicles in Culinary Curiosity. I’m allergic to blueberries, but fortunately TWD offered a backup plan: doing a recipe from the archives. So, I finally completed the Almost-Fudge Gateau chosen by Nikki of Crazy Delicious Food. (You’ll find the recipe here.)

When the cake comes out of the oven, it isn’t much to look at. Plain. A little dumpy. Schlumpadinka. But the flavor … It’s almost flourless, so the chocolate flavor is intense, and the cake stays moist for days. Glam it up with Dorie Greenspan’s optional chocolate glaze, or top it with a scoop of ice cream.

In fact, do both. It’s nice to have backup.

Internet, if you thought my baking week couldn’t get any weirder than the catfish cake, you would have been right. Until yesterday. That’s when I spent the day on a cake designed to look like a 2 1/2-foot male member as the final project for my Wilton Fondant and Gumpaste class.

Kidding! Or am I?

No, the cake was a special order for a client’s birthday.

So, I’m finishing this cake when I remember the deadline for the Barefoot Bloggers‘ first official assignment: Pasta, Pesto, and Peas.

I was in luck, because most of the ingredients are house staples: pasta, olive oil, mayo, garlic, spinach, peas. I picked what basil I could from the plants in the backyard (grow, babies, grow!) and made due with the pasta we had–a mixed bag of interesting shapes and unfortunate colors.

While the pasta boiled, I made the pesto (the smell!) and started prepping the other ingredients. I didn’t bother measuring the mayo–just used what was left in the jar. Ina’s recipe calls for defrosted spinach, but we had just the right amount of fresh, so I used it instead.

Even with the recipe cut in half, there was enough pasta salad to feed Lower Guam.

The entire recipe takes about 20 minutes. Plenty of time to grill some chicken, get the drinks on the table, and take a call from your grandmother asking if your cake is circumcised.

Bon appetit!

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My sister’s birthday is this week. She’s threatening to stay in bed.

Oh, don’t feel sorry for her. She’s got looks, she’s got brains, she’s got talent. She’s hilarious. She has a big heart, a way with people, and very well-behaved hair. Woe is her.

What she lacks is perspective.

I mean, what are you before 30? A fetus with a driver’s license.

So, in preparation for my sister’s Triple X, here’s a bold, spicy, delightfully inappropriate recipe: Spaghetti alla Puttanesca (”pasta in the way a prostitute would make it”). No one really knows from whence this classic Italian dish got its name. I’ve read that maybe it’s because a.) the dish is spicy, b.) it was sold cheap to lure hungry men into brothels, or c.) it’s a quick-prep meal that the ladies could cook and eat between appointments.

Recipes, like people, are more interesting with a little history.

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