There are times when nothing will do but a comforting dish from the past, from one’s childhood perhaps. Sausage, cheese, eggs, and bread might be in the mix.

This morning was one of those times. A Valentine’s Day-Presidents Day weekend brunch of a rustic casserole the cool weather brought to my memory.

And the smoked paprika covered it all …

It’s what I made.

The sausage slid from its casing in a sensual manner, and it sizzled in the pan, sizzled. Dry mustard, brioche buns, smoked paprika.

At the table, it sat on a wooden trivet.

The past was complete, at least of portion of the past. It was good.

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