“WHEN THE GROUND IS BEGINNING TO THAW AND THE WARM BLOODED ARE COMING OUT OF HIBERNATION, I pull what’s left from the root cellar. I peel a few russet potatoes, boil them, and let them cool on the cold counter. I add a touch of flour and a couple cracked eggs laid only hours ago by my hens who’ve survived yet another Maine winter. I work the dough slowly and divide it into delicate thumbprints, pressing the tines of my fork against the pillows of pasta. This is how I reminisce about last year’s harvest. This is my gnocchi.” —Annemarie Ahearn