The Midwest is well-known for its casserole canon.  You have your hot dish, your noodle ring – the sorts of oven-baked concoctions that appear in starring roles at stock the fridge showers for a second babies in Wisconsin (and seem to make their way into every kitschy portrayal of Midwesterners in film and on television).  It’s a lesser-known fact that Utah also boasts a mean casserole repertoire.  I know, you’re thinking that Utah is known for having lots of one thing…

…Jello.  And you’d be right.  I believe Utah consumes more Jello than the rest of the country put together.  As much as I have tried to disavow it at varying points in my life, I can’t help it; I love me some rainbow Jello cake.  I have made it once, and it was a colossal pain, but so worth it.  The next time I have a free day and am on a sugar binge, I’ll whip one up and show you.  It’s just…wow.  Unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

But we’re here to talk casserole (to dish about casserole? Ouch).  I’m pulled in a casserole way by more than nostalgia.  They are an ideal endeavor for busy people; a little work up front and you can eat well for several servings  (and if the thought of eating lasagna for four consecutive meals makes you ill, they often freeze well).   In some circles, the act of creating one of these baked wonders is called “putting up” a casserole, which I cannot explain linguistically but love and use often.  It’s one of those charming bits of vernacular that you want to snatch up and squeeze for yourself because it hits the ear just right.  Or maybe I just like things that sound vaguely Southern.

Whatever, let’s put up a Passover casserole.