This is what our little house in the big woods looks like right now. Snow, snow, and more snow. In fact, it has gotten to the point that when we shovel and scoop, we really don’t know where to put the snow. After the last storm on Monday, we decided it was time to stop shoveling so much of the driveway, that it would be fine if it were a little narrower. After all, we are into March, and sometime soon the big melt will begin.

As much as my husband, Clif, and I like winter, it is starting to get on our nerves. Enough snow, already! To console ourselves, we decided to host a brunch this past Sunday. (Lucky for us, it didn’t snow that day.) We invited my daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike, as well as our friends Sybil Baker and Shane-Malcolm Billings.

Clif is a waffle-maker extraordinaire, and for the waffle iron, he sets up a little table by the dining room table so that the waffles can be served hot off the press, so to speak. At first, sections of the waffle are shared, and the waffle plate has to go around several times before everyone gets a piece. But as appetites are sated, the waffles pile up, giving anyone who wants a whole waffle a chance to indulge. Real maple syrup, butter, and homemade blueberry syrup are always served with waffles. I usually make a chunky applesauce, too, and this time was no different. Home fries, chili eggs, and sausage rounded out the meal.

I must admit that although the food was good, the conversation was even better. We all like to talk about books, movies, and politics, and as the Academy Awards would be on that evening, movies were a major topic. Who would win the Oscar for best actor? Which movie would win for best picture? There was lively disagreement as we discussed our preferences and then our guesses for the actual winners. There was general consensus that The King’s Speech would probably get best picture (it did), that Colin Firth would win best actor (he did), and Natalie Portman would win best actress (she did).

Mike and Shane were rooting for The Black Swan to win best picture. I immediately said that I hoped it wouldn’t win, as this would only encourage the director to make more movies. (I am not a fan of the director, Darren Aronofsky, but I expect we’re stuck with him.) My choice was True Grit.

“But wouldn’t it be a thrill,” I asked, “if Winter’s Bone got it?”

And everyone, regardless of his or her preference, agreed it would be a fine thing for gritty, little Winter’s Bone to win. It certainly would have shaken up the stuffy Academy Awards in a way that Melissa Leo (Best Supporting Actress), with her “F-bomb,” could only dream of doing. It’s funny to think of how the Academy Awards are both poky and prestigious. There is no higher film honor, and yet on and on the show goes, with a mind-numbing procession of overdressed women, soberly suited men, unfunny jokes, and overwrought music. Yet clearly it is a thrill to win, both for those who are cool and for those who are fools.

At the brunch, morning slid into afternoon. There was a pile of waffles on the plate (leftovers!). Most of the home fries were gone and so were the sausages. About half of the chili eggs remained (more leftovers!). We lingered over coffee, tea, and juice as the conversation swung to other topics.

Not a bad way to spend a cold, snowy day.

Tip for crunchy, delicious home fries: You need to get started the day before. Use a good boiling potato (I usually go with red ones), then peel, cut in chunks, and boil a bunch of them in a big pot. (No matter how many you make, you will never have enough, so cook a lot. Leftover boiled potatoes can always be fried two or three days afterward.) Let the potatoes chill overnight in the refrigerator, and then cut into pieces for frying.

On brunch day: In a frying pan—cast iron is best—on medium heat, melt some butter and add a little cooking oil so that the butter doesn’t burn. Slowly cook the potatoes in a single layer—I usually use three frying pans for a brunch—turning when the potatoes are brown on each side. The heat might have to be turned down a bit if the potatoes seem to be getting a little too dark a little too soon.