orecchiete, second try

Not one to settle too easily, especially after a failure, I boned up on my research and gathered my energy for another go at orecchiette.  I think this time they came out better.  The last ones dried brittle.  These seem somewhat stronger, and with these I definitely used the authentic technique that is widespread it Italy, especially in Puglia.  I know this stuff because I've been doing my research, on-line and in a new book I found in the Holyoke mall: Encyclopedia of Pasta, by Oretta Zanini de Vita, translated from the Italian by Maureen B. Fant.  The book isn't a recipe book, but it is eye opening.  Pasta forms are not set in stone; the name of one shape can vary from one valley to the next, even from kitchen to kitchen.  Basically, people are just making this shit up.  Still, there are some recognized standards of nomenclature, and pretty much everyone should recognize these as orecchiette.   

Well, some of them anyway...

mac n cheese pointers

I've been thinking about homemade mac n cheese.  When you make mac n cheese from scratch, some brand of boxed mac n cheese will always be in the back of your mind, and maybe not even in the back, but way up front, acting as a kind of standard bearer for mac n cheese bliss.  The mistake that most do-it-yourself mac n cheesers make is this: when making mac n cheese at home, they labor under the assumption that homemade foods are always better than their commercially produced, processed counterparts, and that the further away your homemade mac n cheese gets from boxed mac n cheese, the better.  All sorts of sins against mac n cheese deliciousness are overlooked because of one all powerful concept: homemade.  I think this is the problem.  What I am saying is that homemade mac n cheese can definitely be better than boxed mac n cheese, but often it is not.  Often, homemade mac n cheese is dry and somewhat mealy, but we forgive its dryness because it is homemade.  Boxed mac n cheese, on the other hand, is almost always succulent, and it's the succulence of boxed mac n cheese that we want to retain.

Mac n cheese is not easy.  Perhaps the difficultly of making a good homemade mac n cheese accounts for the popularity of boxed mac n cheese.  There is a lot to consider.  First, you want to choose a macaroni that will trap a lot of cheese.  Hence, the people at Kraft and Velveeta use hollow, crooked noodles.  I believe the Velveeta shells are also ridged.  Ridges increase the amount of surface area of the noodle, thereby increasing the amount of cheese that can adhere to the noodle.  So choose the right noodle.  
       

Next is the cheese sauce.  Don't use low fat cheeses.  What's the point?  Mac n cheese is not low fat.  You'll just have to get over that.  Your cheese sauce will begin with a bechemel sauce, so you'll already be using gobs of fat (butter and oil) and whole milk before you even begin adding the shredded (or small diced) cheeses.  (Some of the good melty cheeses are not suitable for grating, so you'll need to get out your knife and dice them into suitably small cubes.)  Right, how in the hell do you make bechemel?  

If you don't know how to make bechemel, you can easily find out.  I am pretty much out of steam right now (I defended my Master's Thesis yesterday and got somewhat bombed last night, and I haven't had breakfast yet today), but I will tell you this: by volume, cook one part flour in one part fat (a mixture of butter and olive oil works nicely for this).  When the flour is fully cooked (smell it, it should smell toasty) (and look at it, it should look "blond"), then you can incorporate your milk.  Whisk constantly both when you are cooking the flour in the fat and when you are incorporating the milk.  Because you will be adding cheese to your bechemel, you will want to make it much thinner than you would for a normal bechemel.  When your bechemel is appropriately thin, begin slowly incorporating your cheeses.  Don't throw them all in at once.  Put the flame on low and slowly whisk them in.  When all the cheese is totally melted, check the thickness of the sauce.  If it's too thick, you can incorporate some more milk.  If it's too thin, well, that problem is somewhat harder to correct, especially if you're out of cheese.  Some of you may want to use a recipe for this, so you know how much cheese to buy and how much flour, oil, milk to use.  If you don't have a sense for this, do use a recipe.  

Finally, toss your macaroni with your cheese sauce and eat at once.  Baked mac n cheese is popular, but baking is also the major culprit behind dry mac n cheese.  A homemade, dry mac n cheese is not superior to a boxed mac n cheese just because it's homemade.  I also like to add chopped up bits of various spicy pickled vegetables.  The acid cuts the creaminess of the cheese really nicely and probably aids in your digestion of it.  

Later.   

Pierogi

They're gonna have to start calling me Jono Toschski because I made some awesome pierogi.  Here's the thing about them: there is butter in the filling, butter in the dough, and I finished them in butter.  That's triple butter and double starch.   Very traditional.  If only I had a grandmother in Krakow, I would call her. 

   
The stuffing

A fifty-fifty mixture of farmer's cheese and boiled potato, mashed together with diced onion that's been sweated in butter.  Salt and pepper as necessary.  I wanted to add some fresh herb, but my sweetie pie said NO! 

The dough

3 cups of all purpose flour, two eggs, two tablespoons of melted butter, a pinch salt, and a cup of potato water*  BE SURE TO RESERVE A CUP OF THE COOKING WATER FROM THE POTATOES.  

Making the dough 

Put the flour into a large mixing bowl and form a "well" in the center.  (Note, incorporate the salt into the flour evenly.)  Crack the eggs into the well and add the melted butter.  Then add some of the potato water and start gradually incorporating some of the flour into the egg mixture.  Use a fork.  As slowly and evenly as possible, pull the flour into the egg mixture.  Use a circular, whisking motion.  Add some more water as necessary.  When the dough gets too shaggy to allow for whisking, go ahead and dump the whole mass onto your dusted counter and begin kneading the dough.  Knead the dough for five minutes until it is smooth.  If your dough is sticky and very soft, continually dust it with flour while kneading until it begins to harden up.  A soft sticky dough will be a nightmare to work with.  Once your dough is properly kneaded, pop it into the fridge for at least ten minutes.

Rolling the dough and forming the pierogi

This is perhaps the trickiest part for the novice.  Like I said before, if your dough is too soft or too sticky (they are one and the same thing), rolling out the dough will be a total nightmare.  It is best to knead your chilled dough again and again until it is somewhat firm and not sticky on the outside, but doughy enough that the pierogi will still seal up.  

OK, let's assume your dough is perfect.  Go ahead and roll out the dough to the desired thickness.  Chances are, you will not be skilled enough to roll out the dough too thinly; more likely you will not make it thin enough.  You do not want the gnaw through half a foot of dough.  So make them as thin as you can, and then, with a glass (3" diameter) cut out circles.  (Save the scrap to roll out again.  Wad it up and wrap it.)  Plop some of your chilled filling onto the circles, about a tablespoon per plop, and then fold the dough in half, over the filling.  Then pinch them closed with your fingers.  Once you have formed them all, you can boil them in groups of eight or nine.  When they float to the surface, boil them for another two minutes.  If you are going to freeze some, boil them for a minute.  Whatever you do, drain and cool.  Then finish them in pan with butter and onions.       

Bow Ties with Broccoli Raab and Beans

This is a pretty simple recipe, and it's easy to make if you have some cooked beans on hand.  It takes about twenty minutes, and you can do all the prep while your pasta cooks.  I know it doesn't look like much, but neither does the Empire State Building when you view it from Illinois. 

 

Heat up the beans with some of their cooking juice.  Meanwhile, slice some red onion as thinly as you can, and prep your broccoli raab.  Note: if you don't have broccoli raab, you can use any other leafy green vegetable.  Turnip greens might be nice.  In any case, slice your greens and heat up some olive oil in a pan.  HOT.  Get the oil hot.  Toss in your greens and wilt them, then hit 'em with the thinly sliced red onion, salt and pepper.  Next is your sauce:

Remove the beans from their cooking liquid and to the liquid add at least an equal quantity (if not more) of butter and a dash or two of smoked paprika.  (You can use chili powder or plain old paprika if that's what you've got.  It doesn't matter.)  Basically, you want to make a buttery, beany sauce for you pasta.  

Bang, you pasta is cooked.  Drain it; toss it with some olive oil; then hit it with the beans and the greens.  You might find that some Sriracha (hot sauce) or lemon juice is a nice addition; you know, just something acidic to cut through the richness of the beans and the bitterness of the greens.  Finally, if don't like pasta and beans, you can make pasta and peas, that is, if you happen to have fresh peas in the garden.

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Bowtie Pasta With Broccoli
 

spaghetti frittata

Some people want to become star lawyers, some people want to become famous doctors.  I want neither one.  My ambition is simple: I want this spaghetti frittata pic to be the top hit on Google images.

Well, that's not the prettiest shot ever, but things viewed from the top are not always at their prettiest.  Think about it.  Think about Christie Brinkley.  Does she look her best from the top?  Or think about the best looking iron fence in the world.  How good does it look from the top?  Can't really tell, can you?  Moving on.

      
A long view across the mildly rugged and oh-so gorgeous surface of the spaghetti frittata shows the chef's curious mind at play.  Huh?  What?  What did the chef just say about the chef's curious and playful mind?  I don't think I follow.  Is this some kind of beauty pageant?


The chef decided to poo-poo the standard spaghetti frittata by choosing a different pasta shape!  Behold, a more airy, even springy spaghetti frittata.  Spaghetti frittata Spaghetti frittata Spaghetti frittata, if you say it three times fast, you will enter a kind of billowy trance, a billowy trance from within which you will begin understand the deep pockets of air inside the spaghetti frittata, the tubular pockets of air trapped in the food, courtesy of the pipette pasta shape.  What?  Huh?

    
There she is, inverted, bottom up.  Bottom up, baby.  Now, the deft observer will notice that some of the green peas have found their way into the noodle!  Yes kids, it's just another perk.  The switch from spaghetti or angel hair to the hollow noodle allows for many pleasures.  It allows for a lighter, "airier" frittata *and* for this bit of where's-the-pea fun.  If I knew a lot about child psychology, that is, if my ambition was to become the world's greatest child psychologist, I'd say that your kids will love biting into hunks of this oh-so-light spaghetti frittata to find the delicious little peas tucked inside the tubes.  

Finally, the in-the-skillet shot.  Or rather, a close up of the in-the-skillet shot.  Whatever.  Accuracy is not my bag.  Being the number one spaghetti frittata image is.  

Being a good friend and food blogger is, too, and thus I will actually tell you how to make this dish.

1) cook noodles

2) crack eggs into bowl; combine with peas; salt and pepper (don't be stingy with the salt)

3) mix cold noodle with egg

4) heat oil in cast iron skillet, plop in egg and noodle mixture; cook until bottom forms

5) top with cheese and herbs and whatever and pop into 300 degree oven 


6) finish under broiler if desired


This is an great thing to do with left-over noodles.  You don't even need to use peas, but they do make it so much better.  Finally, caveat: if you don't add enough egg, some of the noodle near the top might not adhere to one another.  It's no biggie; I'm just sayin'

carbonara: cream or no cream?

I admit: this is not the prettiest picture of spaghetti alla carbonara on the face of the planet, nor is the pasta pictured here technically spaghetti, nor do I really care.  I was drunk when I took this picture, and more drunk when I made this carbonara, but this, my friends, is a sober moment, a moment in which I am about to reveal a deep dark secret.  Carbonara is not made with cream!  Cream is an abomination against the simplicity of this dish.  As Americans, however, we want to add cream and cheese to everything.  Why?   

  
To be honest, I am not sure why.  When the average American thinks of spaghetti alla carbonara, images of blissfully creamy & bacony noodles pop into the mind.  Should we blame it on the Olive Garden?  The Olive Garden mentality?  Or is there a more reasonable explanation?  I'm not sure.  What I do know is that traditional carbonara is very simple to make and very delicious.  This is what you do:

Boil some noodles.

Meanwhile, get some thick sliced bacon and cut it cross-wise into the thickest strips possible.

When the bacon has exuded some fat, whack in a couple-few whole cloves of garlic.  

(For more garlic flavor, whack the cloves with the side of your knife or the butt of your hand.)

Remove the garlic when the bacon is done.

More meanwhile: crack two to four eggs (per pound of pasta) into a big bowl and beat them until they are blended.

Finally, drain your pasta and slowly incorporate the hot noodles into the beaten eggs.  If you incorporate them slowly, you will not accidentally scramble your eggs.  


Once the pasta is nice and slathered with egg (and the hot pasta cooks the eggs, by the way), add the bacon (and peas if desired) along with the bacon fat and some parmesan cheese, salt and pepper.  


Toss.  




The eggs and the bacon grease combined form a really nice, glaze-y sauce.  The peas add a nice, sweet color and flavor accent.  


Finally, according to my sweetheart, ONE SHOULD NEVER ATTEMPT A VEGETARIAN OR VEGAN VERSION OF THIS DISH.  There's no point.  


She's right.  


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pasta e fagioli? pasta fazool? pasta and beans?

It rained heavily all morning. When I drove home from campus, I drove through deep puddles. The fields along Cemetery Road were completely submerged. In the summer, corn and winter squash grow in them. Today, they looked like a marsh. I could only see the gold tips of the cover crops. Everything else was under water. Then, I drove home and made pasta and beans.

Pasta and beans goes by many names. Pasta and beans is only one of them, but here, its monikers are not what interest me. What interests me is food and how the poor feed themselves, not just the Italian poor with their pasta e fagioli, but the poor around the world. What I'm saying is that pasta and beans is world staple. It's pasta and beans in one place, beans and rice in another place, beignets and beans in still another, and beans on toast in yet one more. The point is, pasta and beans is beans and a starch, and it's everywhere. Even here in Northampton.


That's some leftover American Chop that I added some beans to. It was pretty good. In fact, it was really good. It was so delicious that, when the leftover American Chop ran out, I went in for some straight-up pasta and beans. I decided to go with campanelle instead of elbow macaroni, though when I say "decided," I mean I had some Barilla campanelle in my pantry.

beans on toast (nice, Hungry Ghost toast)

Anyway, I just went onto the Barilla website and they don't recommend pairing their campanelle with beans. They recommend pairing it with some nice Barilla pasta sauce, which isn't a huge surprise.

Lastly, if you want to learn how to cook dried beans, see my post called Beans, Beans, Beans. And if you don't know how to cook pasta...

American Chop Suey

left-over American Chop in a bun

To inaugurate the New Oil Changes, I decided to do the classic, old-school stand-by meal my mom would feed us once a week, American Chop Suey, or "American Chop" for short. Back then, when I was a tyke, I didn't understand household management and being busy. I only understood feed-me-now. Well, American Chop is one of the best feed-me-now meals because it's super easy. I also recently learned that it's a Yankee classic, that its origins are here in the New England. Basically, it's hamburg, otherwise known as ground beef, elbow macaroni, condensed tomato soup or diced tomatoes, diced onions and green peppers (my mom hates green peppers and thus they never showed up in our American Chop), and some seasonings: dried mustard and oregano. However, for this inaugural post, I decided to crank it up another notch, make it fattier and more delicious. Stay tuned...

American Chop, standard, unbaked version

At this point it is of the utmost importance to mention, just once, the pure comedy value of the name: it is hardly possible (for me) to even say "American Chop" without laughing. It's a completely ridiculous name. Like, just in case you were about to confuse it with Swedish Chop or Armenian Chop, well, it's American Chop and don't you forget that, buster. So the name is ridiculous and, to be honest, the meal is kind of ridiculous, too. Which is why we always had a cheap-o salad to go with it. To make it less ridiculous. Any-hoo, I decided to one-up mom by making Baked American Chop. That means a crusty top made from hot dog bun "croutons," scallions, and, naturally, cheddar cheese.

topped and ready to bake

But the innovation didn't stop there! Oh no, along with the diced green peppers, I decided to add (cover your ears mom) some diced jalapenos! Now, it just occurred to me that I should have told the entire Yankee civilization to cover its ears because, as well all know, everything is spicy to a Yankee, even plain yogurt.

Right. Uh, this meal really is very easy to make. If you're still interested, just follow these simple instructions:

Ingredients:

1 lb. ground beef or "hamburg"
1 medium onion, diced, and same quantity of green pepper, diced
1 box elbow macaroni, cooked (you should cook it)
1 can Cambell's condensed tomato soup or one can diced tomatoes
jalapenos (if yer crazy enough to use them)
and
mustard powder, dried oregano, salt and pepper

Procedure:

Cook your hamburg with your onions and other vegetables. Bang some dried oregano into the mixture. When the hamburg is browned, sprinkle in some dried mustard. How much? I don't know. Use your head.

Meanwhile, you should have cooked your box of elbow macaroni (and here, you could be a dare devil and use some other pasta shape; I've even heard tell of people using wagon wheels--or even those novelty shaped pastas available at sex shops!). In any case, add your pasta and condensed soup to the meat. Then, Einstein, you stir it all together and season it with salt and pepper to taste.

You have now created the base for your Baked American Chop. If you are satisfied with un-baked American Chop, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!!!

The topping:


Cut up some hot dog buns or other unhealthy, cheap white bread and drizzle melted butter over the pieces, tossing until each piece has some butter on it. Then pop the pieces into a low oven--200 degrees or lower--and cook the hot dog bun pieces until they are dried out but now browned. To these you will add some green onions, sliced, and the cheese. Here, if you want to substitute straight-up American cheese for the the cheddar to be more patriotic, do so. That'll work just fine. Finally, put your American Chop into a casserole dish and top it with the hot dog bun croutons, green onions, and cheese. Then bake it until the topping is all melty and delicious. Serve with a salad, preferably iceberg.

ravioli and truth

I have a confession: I hate making ravioli. I have another confession: that was a lie.

Truth is a dubious thing. You think you've got something right, and you go about your life, secure in your knowledge, but then you learn something new, and you realize that, what you'd thought you'd had right, you actually had pretty wrong. This is more or less the story of me and homemade ravioli. Until yesterday, I pretended that I loved making ravioli, and I'd make them for people, you know, to show off, but really, they were always a big pain in the ass because my technique was all wrong, the technique I'd thought I had right, and so making them was not a joy but a kind of masochistic punishment. I'm so over it.


These beef ravioli were actually fun to make. They weren't so fun to eat, because the filling was a touch too salty, but they were fun to make. They were fun because, after two years of bad technique, I'd finally learned how to handle the dough properly.

For those of you out there who (a) own a pasta rolling machine and (b) have the inclination to make ravioli, I will supply this piece of advice: if the manual tells you to fold the sheet of dough length-wise into thirds, and then roll it with a pin until it is thin enough to pass through the widest opening of your roller, and then to repeat this process nine more times before proceeding to thinner openings, DO IT. And by all means, do not fold the dough width-wise because folding it length-wise seems counter-intuitive. That's what I did. I assumed the instruction manual that came with the rolling machine was wrong, that the Italian manufacturer hired a translator on the cheap and thereby the manual got botched. I carried that truth around with me for way too long.


And there's the too-salty filling. Salt, unlike some other things, has an absolute truth value. When there's too much, there's too much. In this instance, there was just a little too much, and I was able to eat fifteen ravioli without needing to drink a gallon of water between each one. But there's a parting trick for you: if you over salt a bit, just keep a big glass of water handy. You'll be okay. Everything will be okay.

homemade noodle

So I just dropped off my grades and made about 250 copies before closing the W.P. office door and driving home along a ridiculous, northerly route in order to avoid the mammoth, Coolidge bridge traffic generated by the 15-ought thousand, UMass-related cars all simultaneously booking it for whatever towns they call home. Whoa. The traffic was blocked up and at a standstill from the bridge to the P66 station at West street. Forget that. It was well worth it to head up 116 north, cross the river in S. Deerfield, and cruise down into Noho on Rt. 5. Booya! All of this, of course, has nothing whatsoever to do with noodles, and so...

Homemade noodle. Home-noodle made. Made home noodle. Made noodle home. Noodle home made. Noodle made home. Gotcha? Pics!

this is how noodles are made

and this is what noodles can turn into

Today, though, I actually made them quite a bit finer than the noodles above. And also, no shrimp. Instead, some nice marinara sauce, except, really the marinara part, i.e. the marine animal component, was totally missing, so it was just a nice, spicy red sauce. Would have shown it, but camera battery died.

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zzz
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Wow!

cold soba noodles

If you live in a climate controlled world, you can eat one food throughout the year. You might choose pizza. Pizza is round. Or you might choose a hamburger. Hamburgers are also somewhat round. If you wanted to be totally outlandish, you could choose salad, and there, in your constant world, you could be quite happy as the temperature of the air, squat like a stone Buddha, never changes. But that does not sound fun at all, you say. Thank you, but no thank you. Please return the weather to me. I miss seasons.

Every year, as soon as it begins to get somewhat warm, I bust out the cold soba noodles. You see, when the air outside starts to get warm, and the air inside starts to get hot, who wants to make it hotter by putting a shit load of pots on the stove and a roast in the oven? Not many people. Cold soba noodles heat one pot of water. The vegetables are raw and raw foods exude no heat.

The trick is to get yourself a cheap, japanese mandolin. You can get one for like 30 bucks, maybe 40. Without one, you cannot make that glorious, thin julienne of carrot, so thin it matches the diameter of the noodle - and that's what you want. Go buy one right now.

As for the salad, use whatever raw veg you like (scallions, shredded cabbabge, watercress, carrott, bean sprouts, etc) and dress them simply with a little sesame oil, rice wine vinegar, some soy sauce if it suits you, some hot sauce if that suits you. Basically, whatever you like. For the noodles, cook them (about 8 minutes), plop them into a colander, run cold water over them to chill them, and drain them and dress them with sesame oil and soy sauce. That's all there is to it. It's gorgeous and healthy. Peace.

mac n cheese

About a week ago it occurred to me that I should make some macaroni and cheese. I used to love that bright orange stuff by Kraft, and, when I am in my childhood home in the mid west, I do sometimes swipe some from my nephew and glom on it in a corner somewhere, but really, I have become somewhat more sophisticated in my ripe age, and banging out a box of craft does not satisfy my need for deliciousness or challenge. The homemade mac n cheese you see above has a crunchy, bread top and an oooey-gooey heart. I used three cheeses: a flavorful swiss, a buttery gouda, and a medium cheddar. I will now tell you how to make a cheese sauce (I'm assuming you know how to cook macaroni):

Grate your cheese and put it aside.

In a pretty big pot, heat a mixture of butter and olive oil (or just butter).

Add an equal volume of flour (equal to the volume of butter-oil) and whisk it until the flour is no longer raw tasting.

Add some milk (I used low fat milk from High Lawn Farms, though whole milk or even half-and-half could be used for added richness). You want a thick, but liquidy consistency.

Gradually add your grated cheese and incorporate it into the bechamel (that's the what you just made: roux and milk) at a low temperature.

Grate some nutmeg into the cheese sauce. Salt and pepper the cheese sauce.

Mix your cooked and drained macaroni into the cheese sauce.

Put it all in a caserole and put some bread crumbs on top along with more cheese (I used more cheddar and some Parmagiano Reggiano). Bake until golden and crunchy, 350 degrees.

I actually added some finely chopped celery to the top before baking it.

I also served this mac n cheese with sauteed kale and blanched cauliflower.

Curry Linguine with peas

If what they say is true, that you can gauge the skill of the cook by the flavor of his simplest dishes, is it also true that you can gauge the skill of the blogger-cook by his simplest posts? A vegetarian friend wrote on my wall, "Stop eating meat," and this is my reply.

There is nothing to this dish. Because I currently occupy a vacuous home, and because my current mood prohibits social actions, old familiar portions need to be reduced to accommodate one diner, moi. I reduced my dough recipe by one third.

One egg, 2/3 cup of flour, 1/3 oz of cool water, a teaspoon of curry powder (more or less), one baby pinch of salt

Combine with elbow grease to produce the dish you see. Defrost the peas, drain them, sautee them in a lot of butter, and toss them with the noodles and black pepper. It is very simple.

Jono

Smorgasbord!

The cooking week began on a humpf with some eggs and local apples. Toss in some loneliness, cold weather, and sheer boredom, and you end up with a smorgasbord. An apter title could not be found. The adventure grew arms and legs, and a belch surrounded the plates.

Well, being an animal of my world, a contemporary abreast the culinary wave, after I beached two quarts of curried lentil stew, I found myself waxing a little chipotle. Pictured below are the stuffed pastas (chipotle dough) that followed the cream of carrot soup.

Cream of carrot soup, transformed. I spent Friday night on several planets. I made these beef filled ravioli. I consumed the plate you see. I attended an outstanding art opening (DesignPaddlePatterns), drank a heady pint of double-IPA (11%, $7) on Bishop's Lounge balcony, and headed back home to fuel up for the after party: more food and cup of coffee.



The toretlloni actually came later, on Saturday, in a mad hump of enthusiasm before punching the clock at Luna Pizza (me delivery animal). But let's jump back to Friday night. I will not describe what could be called "my behavior." Nonetheless, that quotation enisled beast included "dead soliders," "pump organs," "mud puddles," "doobies," and "rug cutting." I had fun. I was smitten. I went home and produced this edible pile before klonking out:

Start with the fried rice

Add the curried lentil stew, sauteed in bacon fat

Bang on some ravioli

And there it is, a pile of brown food, no apples in sight. P.S. I haven't touched the tortelloni. I suppose I am saving them for Jesus or spring, whichever comes first.

Curry Pappardelle (with shrimp and lentil broth)

Well, apparently wild boar is traditionally paired with pappardelle, but since there aren't too many wild boar running around Northampton, I opted away from swine and toward the sea. Sometime last year I made some boring curry noodles, and I accompanied them with some boring frozen shrimp. Well, I heated the shrimp, but you follow my meaning.

Years change things, but leave them alone, too. I am changed, surely I am, and my belly is my testament. This dish is entirely simple. If you are a fresh pasta novice, fear not! My dough tutorial will season you appropriately. To make the curry pappardelle, you must begin with curried dough. You simply add the curry powder of your choice to your flour, and carry on as you would for plain, fresh pasta.

Making noodles is also easy. If you don't have a cranky machine, you are out of luck, or in for a lot of work. Get yourself some Popeye arms and a wide rolling pin. Let's assume, however, that your noodles are already prepared, and you are ready for your lentil broth.

I happened to have some left-over lentils, cooked simply with onion and carrot, salt and pepper. Saute your carrots and onion in olive oil until, uh, you know, whatever, and then add your lentils. Cook your lentils without water until they smell toasty. Then add the right quantity of water. If you add too much, it doesn't matter.

To make the lentil broth, add some water to your cooked lentils, and cook your shrimp in it. Then, salt and pepper to taste, and serve over your pappardelle. If you are lucky, or if you simply use good judgement, your pappardelle will be perfectly curry flavored like mine were. Not too assertive, but not too bland either. Perfect.

Tortellini in blood

It's not blood, silly. It's broth, a rich broth of oxtail, red wine, tomato paste, and other secret ingredients (keep reading). Lunch was served promptly at two. I skillfully avoided breakfast and opted instead for two cups of joe and a plug of vino. I had sketched this dish out the night before. I had also prepared the broth. Here's the sketch:


In the sketch I forgot to put the imaginary tortellini into the imaginary soup bowl. If you look above, you will notice that I did not forget to put the actual tortellini into the actual soup bowl. Considering the case of the jitters that complicated my cooking foray this morning, I feel quite proud of that. Pictured below are the basic components of the broth:


The broth is everything. If you wanted to make this at home, you could easily skip making your own tortellini (I made cheese tortellini) and buy some store bought ones. That'd be fine. The Brussels sprouts are easy enough to blanch: you salt the hell out of some water, boil it, and blanch away. In this dish, the broth is everything.

Blood broth (again, not really blood):

basic components
Ox-tail (one big piece, two smaller pieces)
About a quarter cup of cabernet sauvignon (you could use merlot if you wanted to)
A couple heaping spoonfuls of tomato paste
Medium onion, 1 rib celery, 1 medium carrot
enough water to cover the bones

additional flavoring elements:
sprig rosemary, sprig thyme, bay leaf
3 dried chilies: sweet, medium, little hot one

even more flavoring elements:
quartered small-ish potato, 1 leek, a tiny bit of raw sugar, a couple jerks worcestershire sauce
salt and pepper

Technique:
brown the ox-tail pieces in a large pot in oil, if you are regular, "caramelize" them in oil, if you are sophisticated. If you have some dried oregano, toss some in.

After one side is good and browned, turn the pieces over and add the tomato paste. Cook the tomato paste in the hot oil until it is caramelized, too. It should turn a rusty color. Then you should pour the wine in (taking a plug for you).

The wine will make a big fuss when it hits the hot action. Let it cook and bubble and splurge for a bit, then pour cold water onto the fantastic puzzle of cooking action, enough to cover the bones and them some, and drop in the celery/carrot/onion; the herb package: bay, rosemary, thyme; the chili trinity. Bring this whole concoction to a boil, reduce heat and simmer. Cook off the water until the biggest bone looks like a weird island in maroon sea. Check the carrots to make sure they are fully soft. When all the elements have had enough time to party together, pull the bones aside, and pass the rest through a fine sieve (a colander with cheesecloth will work, a skimmer will work; I used chinois). Transfer the strained broth to another pot, tie up some leeks, quarter a potato, and put those things into the broth along with the bones. Add some more water and simmer this down even longer; make an even taller island of the bones. Cool the broth, if you want to congeal the fat and clean it, or just keep it warm and nice. Finishing the broth, add some sugar and worcestershire if desired; salt and pepper to taste. Finito! It's about time.

Oh, I also added some kidney beans to the dish because I needed to dispense of them. That's it.
Oh, and serve with wine, and follow with red velvet cupcakes and Earl Grey tea. It's nice.

Tortelloni Tre Sorellas

Sweet corn, cranberry beans, and butternut squash, or, rather more simply, corn beans and squash: the "three sisters" revisited.

If you are following this blog, this afternoon I went to the Florence farmer's market to find some vegetables to accompany my wad of pasta dough. As usual, I set out with no particular agenda or recipe in mind. Shopping for a recipe can be a tedious affair, but shopping for produce that dazzles the eye and speaks to the belly is something else entirely. And so it was today. By the time I reached the market (one hundred yards from my doorstep), I'd long forgotten about my pasta. No worry. I gathered up the produce that spoke to me and took it home. I would worry about the recipe later.

Perhaps I was crossing route nine when I remembered the "three sisters."

"Three sisters" refers to the trio of vegetables that the indigenous Americans of the east ate, cooked, and of course, planted. Centuries later, I had all three inside a giant paper bag, and because there are few things I disdain more than allowing beautiful crops to spoil, I had to start thinking. I'd promised to combine my farmer's market score with my fresh pasta dough, but how? I came up with Tortelloni tre Sorellas in brodo, A.K.A. Three Sisters Tortelloni in broth. I started by roasting the first butternut squash of the season.

When selecting a butternut squash, I look for one with a lot of neck and a small bell. My reasoning is very simple. It's very easy to get the squash meat out of the neck, and very difficult to get it out of the bell. Depending on how "mature" your squash is, most of the bell will be a stringy seed cavity, and for my dollar, not worth the time it takes to extract the little bit of squash meat from the walls of that cavity.

Preparing the neck is easy. Cut off the bell and set it aside (don't pitch it immediately). Then you are left with a cylinder of squash neck. Set that cylinder on end, and, saving as much meat as possible, cut off the inedible skin. You will be left with a hulking brick of hard squash. Cut it into cubes and roast it. Along with some ricotta and Parmesan cheeses, it will become the filling for your tortelloni.

Next we have the beans. I picked some gorgeous, streaky cranberry beans, and some slender green beans or haricot verts, both of which I blanched in a pot of water, salty as the sea. These would accompany my tortelloni.

Finally, we need the corn. In this recipe, the corn serves two purposes: the sweet kernels get roasted, and the cobs become the foundation of the broth for the tortelloni.

Pictured to the left are the basic components of the tortelloni filling. You've got some shredded Parmesan cheese; you've got your roasted (in butter, with sage) butternut squash; you've got some ricotta cheese. I also added chipotle powder for kick, and some egg for congealing.

OK, this recipe is already starting to get somewhat complicated. Let me try to cut to the chase, and tell you what's involved.

The filling:

One butternut squash, cleaned, cubed, roasted
A healthy amount of butter to aid the roasting
Some sage, fresh or dried, to go with it
Some beaten egg (half an egg approximately)
A quarter cup of grated Parmesan cheese
And, of course, salt and pepper to taste
(A trick, season and taste your filling before you introduce the egg)

The broth:

One small onion
The cobs of two ears of corn
One rib of celery
(bring all of this to a boil, simmer and reduce)
A teeny bit of leftover marinara sauce
(you could use tomato juice or jarred spaghetti sauce)

The beans:

You could easily dispense with the green beans and only use the cranberry beans, and to be honest, if you can't find cranberry beans, lima beans, or any other meaty shelling bean will do. You just want something big to stand up to your tortelloni.

Two big handfuls of beans, in their pods, or one heap of shelled beans (as seen here), blanched

The corn:

At least two ears of sweet corn, kernels removed and roasted (I roasted the kernels in the same pan I roasted my squash in, of course)

Good. We are getting closer. Once all your vegetables are blanched (and roasted) and ready to go, set them aside at room temperature. Don't worry about them. They will warm up immediately in the hot broth.

Ah the broth.
I combined some of my corn stock with my left-over marinara sauce, blended it up and passed it through a fine sieve or chinois. Then I returned it to a pot, simmered it, and seasoned it. THE SLIGHTLY ACIDIC TOMATO BROTH IS CRUCIAL!!! It cuts through the rich, corny, cheesy, buttery flavors. You don't need to pass your broth through such a fine sieve, but you do need it.

OK, now we've got almost everything in place. We only need to finish off our tortelloni and bring it all together. Because this is such a long process, I recommend making your tortelloni first, partially cooking them (saving the water) and cooling them. Then, when everything is in place, bang them into the boiling water again to finish them.

Oh, man, this is getting far too complicated! Are you still with me? I hope so, because this dish was too delicious. On the other hand, perhaps your reading eyes need a break. I never actually managed to get a good photograph of the finished meal. Hilarious! I spent so much time preparing it, and I don't have the pictures to show. Nonetheless, I do have this video, and glory be, you might actually be able to see how gorgeous this dish actually is. Lastly, if you are unfamiliar with making fresh pasta dough, and/or forming tortelloni, check out my archives: "dough tutorial" and"I say big hats." I have thoroughly documented these processes. Ciao!




p.s. Mom, this one got away from me! Too complicated to blog about simply. Oh well. Love you.

I say big hats

Well, I almost say it. My technique could use improvement. Maybe a little finesse. I didn't end up with big hats (cappelloni), I ended up with paunchy buttholes. Whatever, paunchy buttholes are delicious.

You say tortelloni

I say an anonymousse someone who claims to be my mother suggested that perhaps some tortelloni should follow the ravioli. If this is a pasta course, then let it be so.

Now, while my dough warms up, here's a link to the first shapes page I found. As for tortelloni, if you aren't familiar with tortelloni, they're just big tortellini.

Lastly, there is little difference between tortellini and cappelletti. One comes from a square sheet (tortellini), the other comes from a round sheet (cappelletti). You'll see. I may end up making cappelloni. Big hats.

Ravioli of my woeblown heart

This one is less instructional, more artful. Enjoy.