Catalog Cooking

I've been pulling recipes off the Internet for ages now, while still using my cookbooks regularly, thanks to EatYourBooks. But until now I'd never made a dish from a recipe I found in a catalog.

A new Williams-Sonoma catalog arrived the other day and as I idly flipped through it, envisioning myself sitting down to a lovely spread like this one, I came upon a recipe for something called Tuscan Frittata Affogata. I know this sounds suspiciously made-up, like, do they really eat something so frou-frou sounding in Tuscany? (I also paid attention because Fork ordered a dessert called "affogata" at this restaurant a few months ago and it was fabulous.) Anyway, it looked good: a frittata made with eggs, cheese, and sausage, topped with marinara sauce, fresh mozzarella, and basil.

So I decided to try it. And it was excellent. It looked like a pizza coming out of the oven, all saucy and and bubbly cheese. And that's kind of what it is: a frittata pizza. It may well be true that no one in Tuscany has ever eaten such a thing. But who cares? This is one great dish. I had to make a few adaptations since the recipe--coming from a catalog and all--was written for you to use a fancy frittata pan that W-S sells for $149.95. Pish posh. You don't need one of those. Live on the edge and flip that baby right onto a plate, then slide it back into the pan.

Other than that it's pretty straightforward. An excellent way to use up a leftover cup of tomato sauce; a simple dinner that goes great with a salad and some garlic toasts; delicious the next day, cold or room temperature. I'm off to scour more catalogs now!--S

The Ragu That Got Me Talking

This whole parenting + full-time job + getting back to running, friends, and life is... well, suffice it to say, I haven't figured out how to also keep up with this blog. It isn't that I haven't been in the kitchen: lately I've made some delicious blondies, awesome cupcakes, tasty zucchini pancakes, and a perfect roast chicken (if I do say so myself). It's just that I've been lazy about telling people about them.

But I'm ready to break the silence. What did it? A bolognese sauce with homemade pappardelle. Wide, chewy, eggy noodles tangled onto a plate with a rich, meaty sauce that's just the slightest bit sweet... this, I had to share. I grew up making my mom's marinara sauce, a champion workhorse in its own right. But I'd never made bolognese. I always thought it was too complicated for me. The truth is, it isn't really complicated at all. So long as you can stay home for at least four hours--which isn't so hard when you have a three-month-old baby to cuddle--it's quite simple.

You start by sauteeing some cubed pancetta, and then adding diced carrots, celery and onion. Next, you stir in ground pork and veal. Once the meats are cooked, in go tomato paste, a cup of white wine, milk, thyme, pureed tomatoes, a bay leaf, and chicken stock. Then, for the next three and a half hours, you basically let the sauce slowly simmer down to a thick and chunky consistency, like "loose chili," as the recipe says. I let the sauce cool completely and then froze it for about six days, until we ate it last night.

I'm sure the bolognese would've been great with fresh pasta from any one of our local purveyors, but since I was just bumming around on Sunday afternoon, I decided to make homemade pappardelle from Lidia's Italy. I had all the ingredients, and Lidia's pastas are usually superb. This one was no exception. Sure, the noodles were a little raggedy because I didn't make each ribbon a perfect rectangle. But I like to think their homemade look was more authentic than anything you could buy in a store.

Homemade pasta with bolognese sauce: I can't think of a better reason to get back in touch.--S

Bolognese Sauce

Makes 8 cups

For soffritto

2 T unsalted butter

2 T extra-virgin olive oil

3 oz pancetta, cut into 1/4" pieces

2/3 c minced yellow onion

2/3 c minced carrot

2/3 c minced celery

For sauce

1 lb ground veal

1 lb ground pork

3 T plus 1 t tomato paste

1 c dry white wine

1 1/4 c whole milk (I used a combination of 1% and half & half)

6-7 c chicken stock

1 can (28 oz) whole peeled tomatoes, pureed (w/juice) in blender

1 dried bay leaf

5 sprigs thyme

Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Cook soffritto: Heat butter and oil in large pot over medium-high heat until butter starts to sizzle, then reduce heat to medium. Add pancetta, and cook until golden and fat has rendered, about 2 1/2 minutes. Add onion, carrot, and celery and cook, stirring often, until just beginning to brown around edges, about 10 minutes (adjust heat if mixture is browning too quickly).

2. Brown meat: Add veal and pork and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently and separating meat with the back of a wooden spoon, until no longer pink, 8 to 10 minutes. once meat is completely browned, pour off any excess fat. Add tomato paste and cook 1 minute, stirring to intensify sweetness.

3. Deglaze pot and add liquids: Pour in wine and cook, stirring to scrape up browned bits from bottom of pot, until liquid has evaporated, 6 to 7 minutes. Add 1 cup milk and cook until reduced by half, about 3 minutes (don't worry if it appears slightly curdled, it will smooth out again). Add thyme bundle, then pour in 6 cups stock. Add tomatoes and bay leaf, and season with 1 1/2 t salt and 1/4 t pepper.

4. Simmer the sauce: Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a very low simmer and cook, partially covered, 3 to 3 1/2 hours, skimming the fat from the surface with a ladle periodically. If at any time the sauce appears too dry, add up to 1 cup more stock as necessary. The finished sauce should have the consistency of a loose chili. Stir in remaining 1/4 c milk and season with salt and pepper, as desired. If not serving immediately, let cool completely before transferring to airtight containers. Refrigerate up to 3 days or freeze up to 3 months; defrost in the refrigerator before using.

Recipe courtesy of Martha Stewart's Cooking School

Fresh Pasta for Pappardelle

Makes 1 pound

2 c all-purpose flour

1 large egg

2 egg yolks

4 T extra-virgin olive oil

Ice water as needed

1. Put the flour in the bowl of the food processor and process for a few seconds to aerate. Mix the egg, egg yolks, and olive oil in a measuring cup or other spouted container.

2. With the machine running, pour the liquids quickly through the feed tube on top of the flour. After 20 seconds, most of the dough should clump up on the blade. Process for another 15 seconds or so--no more than 40 seconds total. (If the dough does not gather on the blade and process easily, it is too wet or too dry. Feel the dough, then work in either more flour or some ice water, in small amounts, using the machine or kneading by hand.)

3. Turn the dough out on a lightly floured surface and knead it by hand for a minute, until it's smooth, soft, and stretchy. Press it into a disk, wrap well in plastic wrap, and let it rest at room temperature for 1/2 hour.

4. To roll out the dough in a pasta machine, cut the pound of dough into four equal pieces. Work with one at a time, keeping the others covered. Run the first piece of dough through the rollers at the widest setting several times, to develop strength and smoothness. Repeat with all the pieces. Reset the machine to a narrower setting, and run the first piece through, extending it into a rectangular strip. Let the rollers move the dough, and catch it in your hand as it comes out. Roll it again, to stretch and widen it. Lightly flour and cover the strip, then stretch the other pieces.

5. Roll and stretch all the pieces at progressively narrower settings, until they spread as wide as the rollers (usually about 5") and stretch to 20" or longer. Cut the four long pasta strips in half crosswise, giving you eight sheets, each about a foot long and 5" wide. Lay these flat on the trays in layers, lightly floured, separated, and covered by towels.

6. Lay out a rolled sheet on the floured board; dust the top with flour. Starting at one of the short ends, fold the sheet over on itself in thirds or quarters, creating a small rectangle with three or four layers of pasta.

7. With a sharp knife, cut cleanly through the folded dough crosswise, into 2"-wide strips. Separate and unfold the strips, shaking them into long needles. Sprinkle them liberally with flour so they don't stick together. Fold, cut, and unfurl all the rolled psata sheets this way and spread them out on a floured tray. Leave them uncovered, to air-dry at room temperature, until ready to cook.

8. Cook in salted boiling water 2-3 minutes.

Recipe courtesy of Lidia's Italy

Dinner at Home, Finally

After spending three days schlepping around the Javits Center for BookExpo, I wanted nothing more tonight than a home-cooked meal. This year's show did entail some good eats, including a wonderful party hosted by the Lee Bros., which featured boiled peanuts, fried chicken and Dogfish Head beer. But it also entailed choking down a squished turkey sandwich in the basement of the convention center as I filed stories on deadline.

So a homemade dinner was definitely on the menu. I decided to make Hunter's-Style Chicken with Rosemary, which sounds much better in Italian: Pollo alla Cacciatora. I'll save my grandfather's legendary version for another post, but this version, from Lidia's Italy, is very, very good. It fit the bill nicely. The ingredient list is brief (chicken, garlic, rosemary, red pepper flakes, plum tomatoes). The procedure couldn't be simpler (brown chicken in olive oil; add garlic, rosemary, hot pepper, crushed tomatoes and water; simmer). And the finished dish was satisfying and delicious.

I made a pot of polenta while the chicken simmered (whisk 1 cup cornmeal with 1 cup water and a dash of salt; stir in 2 cups boiling water; cook over medium heat, stirring, until desired consistency). As Lidia advises (and you know how I trust her), it's nice to spoon the chicken--which, once finished, is falling off the bone--and tomato sauce on top. The polenta soaks up the sauce, everything melds together, and you've got a wonderful meal. Happiness.--S

Hunter’s-Style Chicken with Rosemary

4-lb chicken cut into 8-10 pieces (I used thighs and drumsticks)
1 1/2 t sea salt or kosher salt or to taste
1/2 c extra virgin olive oil
8 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced in half
2 short branches fresh rosemary with lots of needles
1/2 ts peperoncino flakes or to taste
4 c or a 35 oz can of canned Italian plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, crushed by hand

1. Rinse chicken and pat dry. Season with salt. Pour olive oil in pan and set over medium high heat. Place chicken skin side down in pan to brown for 2 to 3 minutes. Turn them over and brown another 2 to 3 minutes. Scatter the garlic into the hot fat in between chicken and then drop in rosemary stems and sprinkle peperoncino over.
2. Keep turning chicken until nicely browned all over, 10 minutes or so, then pour in tomatoes slowly. Slosh the tomato can with a cup of water and pour that in too. Sprinkle another 1/2 tsp salt, raise heat, and turn and stir chicken in juices as they come to a boil.
3. Cover pan, leaving slightly ajar. Adjust heat to maintain steady bubbling. Cook for 20 minutes stirring occasionally and turning chicken. Remove cover and cook another 20 minutes until chicken is tender and cooked through.

Recipe courtesy of Lidia's Italy

Sunday Dinner with a Twist

Sunday dinner: it's rustic and cozy and homey and familiar. Right? Maybe, like, a nice hearty pasta dish? Rigatoni, perhaps, which holds marinara sauce like no other pasta? Add some sausage for substance. How about a little broccoli rabe, too? And wouldn't some heavy cream make it even better? Hold on.

Andrew Carmellini, who was until recently the chef at the fabulous restaurant A Voce, uses a curious ingredient to add smooth, rich texture and full, earthy flavor to Rigatoni Pugliese: chickpeas. It struck me as a little strange at first; wouldn't chickpeas pureed along with their liquids take things in a decidedly non-Italian, hummus-y direction? At least, I thought they would. But apparently, chickpeas are used all the time in Puglia. And the Pugliese know good food. So I went with it, and am very glad I did.

You start by browning a pound of spicy Italian sausage, out of the casing. Add about three cups of tomato sauce (I used my mom's recipe but any basic one would work). And then, in goes pureed chickpeas and liquid. They add a creaminess that looks a lot like heavy cream would, swirling into the sauce, lightening it in color while thickening it. For the final touch, you blanch and sautee broccoli rabe with a few whole chickpeas and garlic. You boil the macaroni until it's al dente, and then pour it into the sauce, tossing in the rabe and chickpeas. (I added a pat of butter and some pecorino cheese, but that's optional.)

It's a spectacular Sunday supper. I love the idea of substituting a legume for a heavy dairy ingredient. Just a little lighter, but still plenty comforting.--S

Rigatoni Pugliese

Serves 4 to 6

For the sauce:
1 15-oz can chickpeas
¼ c plus 2 T extra-virgin olive oil
1 lb spicy Italian sausage
3 c basic tomato sauce
½ t ground fennel seed

For the broccoli rabe and rigatoni:
1 bunch broccoli rabe, cleaned of outer leaves and bottom stems trimmed
1 lb rigatoni
2 T extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, sliced Goodfellas thin
¼ t red pepper flakes
salt and pepper to taste

To finish the dish:
2 T butter
2 t extra-virgin olive oil
1 c grated pecorino cheese

To prepare the sauce:
1. Drain the chickpeas well, reserving the liquid. Blend half the chickpeas (about 1 c) and all their liquid on high until the mixture forms a smooth paste, about 1 minute.
2. Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan over high heat. Squeeze the sausage out of the casing and add the meat to the pan. Brown it, stirring regularly and breaking the meat up into small pieces with a spoon or potato masher.
3. Add the tomato sauce and stir to combine.
4. Add the chickpea purée and the fennel seed and stir to combine. Cook over medium heat until the mixture forms a loose sauce and the flavors are combined, about 15 minutes.

To prepare the broccoli rabe and the rigatoni:
1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
2. Blanch the broccoli rabe until the stems are just softened and the color has deepened, about 90 seconds. Remove with a slotted spoon or spider to a bowl of ice water to immediately stop the cooking process.
3. Return the water to a boil, add the rigatoni and cook until it’s al dente. Drain but do not rinse the pasta.
4. Warm the olive oil over medium-high heat in a medium sauté pan. Add the broccoli rabe, garlic, red pepper flakes, and the remaining half of the chickpeas. Season with salt and pepper and sauté until the greens are well coated, about 1 minute.

To finish the dish:
1. Return the rigatoni to the pot. Add the sauce and cook on medium-high heat, mixing well, until the pasta is well coated, about 1 minute.
2. Remove the pot from the heat and stir in the butter, olive oil, and half the pecorino cheese.
3. Transfer the pasta and sauce to a large serving dish and pour the broccoli rabe and chickpea mixture over the top. Top with the rest of the pecorino cheese and serve immediately.

Recipe courtesy of Urban Italian

Almost Meatless... Unless There's a Juicy Pork Chop Nearby

I know I've been extolling the virtues of eating less meat lately, but I have to confess: there is nothing like a good pork chop. We're lucky enough to live about three blocks from a terrific butcher, an old-world kind of place that carries lots of high-quality organic meats. The pork chops they cut to order are just gorgeous. So you know, if you're going to eat meat, this is the way to do it.

Braised Pork Chops with Savoy Cabbage seemed like a good choice for a rainy winter Sunday. The recipe, from Lidia's Italy, plays on a centuries-old combination; in this rendition, the meat and its juices are used to flavor and cook the cabbage. I'm usually not a huge cabbage fan, finding it kind of stinky and even bitter. Just a few weeks earlier, I'd given it a chance, and was disappointed. But I reasoned that Lidia had never steered me wrong, and at least I was certain the pork would be stellar.

The recipe has you slice the cabbage into inch-and-a-half-wide strips and boil them until tender, about 15 minutes. Next, you heat up some butter and olive oil in a skillet and brown the chops alongside a few rosemary sprigs. Once they're nicely braised, you remove them, and pour some white wine into the skillet, deglazing any caramelization. Toss in a bit more butter and olive oil (I should've known: wine, butter and oil are keys to making cabbage tasty), and then pile in the cooked, drained cabbage. Let almost all the liquid evaporate, and the cabbage shreds start to caramelize, then return the meat to the pan. Cook it all for a few minutes more, and you're set.

There was silence as we tucked in. Fork finally broke it, saying, "Perfect. This is the best pork chop I've ever had." I had to agree. The chops were slightly pink in the center, juicy and--I can't believe I'm writing this, but it's true--succulent. The cabbage was tender and delicious, the rosemary cutting any bitterness and the meat giving it a rich, deep flavor. We ate the cabbage and pork with a spinach salad with hard-boiled eggs and bacon, and some semolina bread. And we ate it all, every last bite.--S

Braised Pork Chops with Savoy Cabbage

serves 6

4 lbs Savoy cabbage
6 T butter
6 T extra-virgin olive oil
6 pork loin chops, on the bone, 2.5 to 3 lbs.
2 t coarse sea salt
2 or 3 small branches fresh rosemary
1 c white wine
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Brings 6 quarts of water to the boil in the large pot. Slice the cabbage head (or heads) in half, and cut out the core completely so the leaves will separate. Discard all tough and torn outer leaves, lay the cabbage halves cut side down, and slice crosswise into strips about 1 1/2 inches wide. Drop all the strips into the water, cover the pot, and return to the boil. Cook the cabbage until tender, about 15 minutes, and drain in a colander.
2. When the cabbage is cooked, put 3 T each of butter and olive oil in the big skillet and set over medium-high heat. Season the pork chops on both sides with salt (about 1 t in all) and lay them in the hot skillet. Drop the rosemary branches onto th epan bottom.
3. Sear the chops on the underside, about 3 minutes, turn, and brown the second side for a few minutes more. The chops should still be rare--if you like them better done, cook a minute or two longer on both sides. Remove to a platter, and keep in a warm spot.
4. Pour the wine into the skillet and bring to a boil, stirring to deglaze any caramelization. Cook for just a minute or so, to dissipate the alcohol, then drop in the remaining 3 T of butter and 3 T of olive oil. Stir well until the butter melts and the liquid is bubbling.
5. Pile the cooked, drained cabbage in the skillet, turning the strips over as they heat and wilt in the pan juices. Sprinkle 1 t salt all over, and cook, tossing and stirring, until the pan is nearly dry and the cabbage shreds are just starting to caramelize.
6. Push aside the cabbage, lay the chops on the pan bottom, and pour in any meat juices from the platter. Still over medium-high heat, cook the chops for 2 or 3 minutes, turning them over once or twice, just until they're heated through. Stir the cabbage so it continues to caramelize and pick up flavor. Season with more salt and some freshly ground black pepper to taste.
7. Serve right from the skillet, or arrange chops and cabbage on a platter and bring to the table.

Recipe courtesy of Lidia's Italy

The Perfect Cookie

If the biscotti you're familiar with need to be dunked in coffee for a full 30 seconds before eating in order to not crack your teeth, have I got news for you: not all biscotti are like that. Sure, there's a time and a place for all biscotti, but if I had to live out the rest of my days eating only one kind, I'd go with Mom's Biscotti.

They're a little soft and crumbly, not too sweet and shaped a bit like rounded rectangles, actually more like biscuits than cookies. There are no chopped bits of bittersweet chocolate, no segments of dried exotic fruits, no citrus zest. Instead, Mom's Biscotti have walnuts, anise seed, anisette or sambuca, and a hint of almond extract. They may not be much to look at, but they're so simple and honest, with just enough sweetness that they hit the spot after a meal but not so much that you can't eat one for breakfast with coffee. The perfect cookie, I'd say. I just enjoyed one on a rainy Sunday afternoon with a cup of tea. Delicious.--S

Mom's Biscotti

3 eggs
3 c flour, sifted
1 T anise or fennel seed
1 c walnuts, chopped
3/4 c sugar
1 t vanilla extract
3 t baking powder
1 t almond extract
1 T anisette or sambuca
1 stick unsalted butter

1. Beat eggs, melt butter. Combine, then add sugar, flour, baking powder and flavorings/liqueur.
2. Blend well, add nuts and seeds, and shape dough into two long, flat logs (use flour if your hands are sticky).
3. Place the logs on a lightly greased cookie sheet and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes.
4. Remove from oven and let cool on sheet. Once cool, slice and lay slices on their sides.
5. Bake at 350 for 10 to 15 more minutes, or until golden.

The Non Frittata

Lidia Bastianich's Frittata with Asparagus with Scallions is not exactly a frittata. But then, when you're Lidia Bastianich--the real doyenne of Italian cooking, as far as I'm concerned, whose recipes have never failed me--you can call a mess of gently scrambled eggs, lightly cooked asparagus, crisped up prosciutto and melted onions whatever you want.

In the recipe's introduction, Lidia explains, "This is a different sort of frittata, not the neat golden round of well-set eggs that's probably most familiar. Here the eggs are in the skillet for barely a minute, just long enough to gather in soft, loose folds, filled with morsels of asparagus and shreds of prosciutto." It's a pretty brilliant combination, actually, and who cares if it's a far cry from the perfectly pan-shaped version? My lackluster supermarket was out of scallions, so I used a large onion, which turned out fine. Next time, however, I will definitely use a nonstick skillet, as my stainless steel one is still showing evidence of the frittata-non-frittata (need to get my hands on some of this).

After being away from home for awhile, this was the perfect dinner: warm, homey and uncomplicated. I'm not going to turn my back on the traditional frittata, but I'll surely turn to Lidia's version again.--S

Frittata with Asparagus and Scallions/Frittata Asparagi e Scalogno

Serves 4 as a light meal or 6 as an appetizer

1 lb fresh, thin asparagus spears
4 oz prosciutto or bacon, thick slices with ample fat (about 4 slices)
1/2 lb scallions
3 T extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 t coarse sea salt or kosher salt, or more to taste
8 large eggs
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Snap off the tough bottom stubs of the asparagus, peel the bottom few inches of each spear, and cut them crosswise in 1 1/2" pieces. Slice prosciutto or bacon into strips, or lardoons, about 1 inch long and 1/3" wide. Trim the scallions, and cut crosswise into 1" pieces.
2. Pour the olive oil into the skillet, scatter in the lardoons, and set over medium heat. When the strips are sizzling and rendering fat, toss in the cut asparagus, and roll and toss them over a few times. Cover the skillet, and cook, still over moderate heat, shaking the pan occasionally, until the asparagus is slightly softened, 5 minutes or so.
3. Scatter the scallion pieces in the pan, season with a couple pinches of salt, and toss the vegetables and lardoons together. Cover the skillet, and cook, shaking the pan and stirring occasionally, until the scallions and asparagus are soft and moist, 7 or 8 minutes more.
4. Meanwhile, beat the eggs thoroughly with the remaining salt and generous grinds of black pepper.
5. When the vegetables are steaming in their moisture, uncover the skillet, raise the heat, and cook, tossing, for a minute or so, until the water has evaporated and the asparagus and scallions seem about to color.
6. Quickly spread them out in the pan, and pour the eggs over at once. Immediately begin folding the eggs over with the spatula, clearing the sides and skillet bottom continuously, so the eggs flow and coagulate around the vegetables and lardoons.
7. When all the eggs are cooked in big soft curds—in barely a minute—take the skillet off the heat. Tumble the frittata over a few more times to keep it loose and moist. Spoon portions onto warm plates, and serve hot and steaming.

Recipe courtesy of Lidia's Italy

We'll Be Back...

Let's call this a dry run. After giving a coveted three-spork review to Bar Stuzzichini with one hand, and slapping it around with the other, Spoon and I were excited for dinner with friends Cara and Bryan, at newcomer Lunetta, just half a block away from Bar Stuzzichini. We had a lovely evening. We especially enjoyed the company, and there were some culinary highlights. Still, this new Flatiron neighbor kind of fell flat. But, hey, how fair is it to rate a restaurant after just one meal, and after just a few months in business? So no sporks, this time Lunetta, but next time you see us coming, you better...

Lunetta is situated in the space occupied by the old Mayrose Diner, and it comes to us already having achieved a following in Brooklyn, one of the more respected establishments on Smith Street. Note to Chef Adam Shepard: this ain't Brooklyn. You have Bar Stuzzichini within sight, Georgio's and Pizza Fresca around the corner, Beppe and Novita a block away, and the class of the group, A Voce, just six short blocks away. You have time to work out the kinks, chef, but not much.

Let's start with the highlights: the bruschette were tops. We went with the ricotta, hazelnut and lemon zest, and it was sensational. We also had a nice bottle of wine, a sangiovese, from their very reasonably-priced list, and we were ably helped in our selection by the sommelier.

It was hit or miss after that. We went with a tentacled theme to start. The fried calamari, was, well, fried calamari. It's good at Hooters, too, so, you know, whatever. The octopus came served with a Mediterranean flair, on a bed of cucumber, and, frankly, it was abysmal. Cold, rubbery, discolored, and a bit fishy, about as far from the always perfectly cooked octopus served steps away at Bar Stuzzichini.

The main courses were delicious, if inconsistent. My tagliatelle with pork and short rib ragu was fantastic. Perfectly cooked, and seasoned, generously portioned, and with great texture. Meanwhile, with half a dish of my pasta to go, I noticed Spoon's linguine with clams was wiped out. For the record, I rarely see Spoon clean a plate, and never before I do. There couldn't have been more than a fistful of pasta in the bowl. She said it also lacked linguine with clams's signature garlicky punch. Bryan had the meatballs (pictured), also delicious, but served alone in a white bowl, and not quite a filling meal. Cara, meanwhile, enjoyed a nice, simple pomodoro. For dessert, a hazelnut gelato was decadent, while an olive oil gelato was passable, though unremarkable, rather like eating vanilla gelato with an oil-soaked spoon.

The service, while enthusiastic, was also spotty. It was somewhat jarring that our perfectly nice, cheery and tall (at least 6'4") server seemed to have his own hobbit, training a 4'11" comrade who did not speak. When I asked the waiter if the antipasti were individually portioned or suitable for sharing, he replied, "Yes!" enthusiastically. Um, oooookay.... When Bryan ordered the meatballs, he failed to explain that they were served alone. He asked if Bryan wanted a side order of pasta, but he really should have recommended it.

Spoon and I were split over the room itself. Spoon liked the decor, and I agree, it is pretty: high ceilings, all windows on the outer walls with nice drapes, and mirrors on the inner walls. The tables are marble, and we were seated in a comfortable banquette. To me, however, it lacked the gravitas of Bar Stuzzichini's heavy, deep wood and hanging lamps. The decor seemed like it could be disassembled in a day's time. Which it very well might be if Lunetta doesn't do something soon to distinguish itself in a neighborhood already packed with good Italian.

Adam Shepard is clearly a very talented chef. He also is apparently up for a challenge, moving into a neighborhood with so much competition. We're hoping he's up to that challenge. Time, and a few more meals, will surely tell.--F

Tapas, Italian Style

BAR STUZZICHINI
928 Broadway, at 22nd Street
(212) 780-5100

THREE SPORKS

Sometimes, it's hard to tell the one you love how you really feel. No, not Spoon, and no, not the delightful Bittman sisters, with whom we enjoyed a fun meal Friday evening. For months now, however, we've been meaning to do a proper review of Bar Stuzzichini, one of Spoon & Fork's favorite new spots and a welcome addition to the Flatiron's already brimming culinary wellspring. After dozens of meals over the past year, sampling virtually everything on the menu, and a good chunk of the wine list, well, it's time to get some things off our chest.

When it opened in June 2007, Bar Stuzzichini offered a refreshing proposition, different from the "family style" meals associated with so many Italian restaurants. Its specialty is rustic "stuzzichini," small plates, not unlike tapas, with each plate offering a few bites, ranging from $5 and $10 per, or, the house deal of any combination of five plates for $22 (for two people), or $40 (for four to six people). A nice selection of entrees are served sparely as well, without sides or garnish, alone on white plates.

It's a lovely way to eat, Spoon and I agree. Over the course of a meal, one can enjoy many flavors and textures. It's visually appealing, too, if tough on the dishwashers. You can really appreciate the richness of Italian cuisine when it lays in front of you, simply presented, on small plates, unspoiled by a careless side dish. The wine list, meanwhile, is outstanding, mostly Italian vintages, particularly southern Italian, available by the bottle, glass and "quartino," a beaker-like vessel that holds about two glasses. For me, however, it's hard not to go with an ice-cold Peroni, served in a tall glass. They also prepare a perfect cocktail at the bar, for those unpersuaded by the wine list. The room is nice, lots of wood, with an elegant banquette, illuminated by hanging wagon-wheel lamps, although Frank Bruni's one-star review called the restaurant's opaque light "unflattering."

By now, Spoon and I have our favorites: a typical meal for us includes a fantastic grilled octopus; scamorza, a fried, spiced piece of aged cheese that's a mouthwatering must; grilled prawns, served with the head on; clams presented in a garlicky broth, ideal for sopping up with fresh-baked bread; and a plate of crisp green olives. For entrees, the restaurant serves the best braciole (pictured) outside of your Nonna's kitchen. Spoon has been addicted to the orechiette with cauliflower and bread crumbs since the beginning, though lately the crispy lemon chicken has taken a toe-hold. Other offerings include an excellent bone-in rib-eye steak served with a little spice, a decent rabbit, and striped bass cooked in parchment paper.

Friday's meal, aside from the exceptional company, was fairly typical. Yet Spoon and I both left the restaurant with a feeling that perhaps all is not quite right in Bar Stuzzichini's world. To start, the service was lackluster, and over the past year has been very hit-or-miss. One meal, a server may be very well-engaged, others, barely present. On Friday, it was the latter. I never received a second Peroni (though it showed up on the bill), despite repeated efforts to flag down our waiter in the hardly busy room. We ordered stuzzichini for four, and four of the dishes were appropriately doubled in size, except for the olives: there was only one small dish instead of two. Only one basket of bread, too, and the end piece I had was stale and chewy. Erratic service can be overcome or at least tolerated in some restaurants, but not at Bar Stuzzichini, where ordering and enjoying the menu requires a certain level of engagement from the server.

Of general concern, after more than a year the restaurant has not changed its menu, and there are no specials. For regulars like us, it is beginning to seem like the formula is set and that's it. In fairness, we usually have our meal plotted out before we walk in. But it's beginning to feel like Bar Stuzzichini isn't trying. Why not offer some seasonal specials? Serving small plates of stuzzichini surely offers an excellent opportunity to branch out, especially considering the restaurant is just six short blocks from the Union Square Green Market.

Judging from the dwindling number of diners, we're not alone in our assessment. When we left at 9:30 on Friday night, the restaurant was less than half-full. It could be that we were between seatings, or that numbers tend to fizzle in summer, when patrons leave town. Nevertheless, Bar Stuzzichini, which was packed front-to-back for months following its opening, is less and less so. On a recent Sunday night, we were virtually alone dining in the bar room. That scares us a little, and we have to wonder if the novelty of "Italian tapas" has worn off for newcomers, if the regulars are getting bored, and if those on the fence have been knocked off by the inconsistent service.

If Bar Stuzzichini needs a cautionary tale, it needs only to look around the corner (ahem, Rocco, Banana and Caviar, and now Borough). While Bar Stuzzichini is a far cry from Jeffery Chodorow's brand of hubris, it has made some questionable choices of late, most recently the addition of sidewalk seating. Situated along a treeless stretch of battered pavement that features a bus route, a view of the road construction just a block away, and a subway grate, it offers all the allure of picnicing in a parking lot. We recommend the bar room, as it is generally more festive than the back room, less grimy than the sidewalk, and the service tends to be better.

Despite the restaurant's inconsistency, we still recommend Bar Stuzzichini. Even when it slips, it manages to deliver at a fairly high level. Last night, however, I asked Spoon if we would be such regular patrons if the restaurant was, say, across town, rather than a few steps from our door. The honest answer: probably not. That's too bad. Bar Stuzzichini burst on the Flatiron scene a little over a year ago, and it earned both our business and its considerable buzz. Lately, though, it seems to be coasting, and in a neighborhood brimming with esteemed restaurant competition, including a lot of consistently solid Italian, from newcomer Lunetta, to staples like Beppe, Novita, Georgio's, and Pizza Fresca, there is never time to coast.--F

A New Pizza Rustica

I'm learning that every family has their own version of classic dishes, and Pizza Rustica among Italians is no exception. Our family friend Linda makes the traditional savory Easter pie with hard-boiled eggs and salami; my colleague Louisa uses dry basket cheese and sausage. Last year, my family abandoned our usual "Cement Pie" (so named for the dozen or so hard-boiled eggs in one pie) in favor of a jazzier version with spinach and roasted red peppers. And this year, my cousin Kathy and I continued to experiment, with a recipe Chris Kimball of Cook's Illustrated gave me last summer.

This Pizza Rustica was a free-form creation, meaning we shaped it into a pie on a cookie sheet, without the confines of the walls of a pie dish or springform pan. This resulted in a rather, um, rustic looking pie, gently misshapen, but we kind of liked it that way. Besides, it's what's inside the Easter pie that counts, right? And the contents of this pie featured some real gems: fresh spinach, mushrooms, ricotta cheese, freshly grated Parmesan, sweet Italian sausage, prosciutto, and plenty of herbs and spices, plus some beaten eggs to bind it all together. As with any Pizza Rustica I've ever made, this one was labor-intensive, but part of the tradition of the Easter pie is that you make it with your family's help, one or two days before Easter, knowing your extended family is going to be so happy when they see this culinary wonder hit the table.

And when we gathered at my aunt's house on Easter afternoon and sliced the pie, they were happy indeed. Aunt Mimi told me she never really liked Pizza Rustica (some comment about its cement-ness), but that this one, she loved. Pop did his usual routine, throwing his head back in ecstasy and hands in the air at the deliciousness of what Kathy and I had made, as he always does when we cook something--but he later admitted that his performance was not an act, because this time, the food actually warranted such grandiose behavior. My co-chef and I agreed; this was one tasty Pizza. Moist, rich, but not overly so, a little salty from the meats and light, thanks to our extra efforts to press the ricotta through a sieve before mixing it in with the other filling ingredients.

I'm sure we'll return to Cement Pie one of these Easters, but I, for one, am enjoying this walk on the lighter side.--S

Pizza Rustica

Serves 12 as a main course or 18 as an appetizer

10 to 12 ounces fresh spinach, stemmed, washed, or one package (10 ounces) frozen spinach, thawed, squeezed dry
2 egg yolks
1 egg
1 container (15 ounces) ricotta cheese
3/4 c freshly grated Parmesan cheese
3 T unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 t salt
1/2 t freshly ground black pepper
1/4 t ground nutmeg
1 T olive oil
1 to 1 1/4 c thickly sliced mushrooms (about 4 ounces)
1/2 lb sweet Italian sausage, meat removed from casings
3 to 4 ounces prosciutto, cut into small squares
1/4 c chopped fresh parsley
1 t dried basil, crumbled, or 1/4 c shopped fresh basil
Pinch cayenne pepper
Double recipe pastry dough

Egg wash:
1 egg yolk beaten with 1 t milk or heavy cream

1. If using fresh spinach, blanch briefly in large pot of boiling salted water until wilted, 1 to 2 minutes. Drain; rinse under cold water to stop cooking. Squeeze dry thoroughly. Coarsely chop fresh or frozen spinach. Reserve.
2. Beat egg yolks and egg together in bowl. Sieve in ricotta; stir to combine. Stir in Parmesan.
3. Heat 2 T of the butter in large skillet over medium heat. When foam subsides, add onion. Saute until wilted, about 5 minutes. Add garlic; saute 2 minutes. Add chopped spinach, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Raise heat; dry out spinach, tossing, about 4 minutes. Add to ricotta mixture.
4. Heat remaining 1 T butter and olive oil in skillet. When foam subsides, add mushrooms. Saute until lightly golden, 3 to 4 minutes. Add to ricotta mixture. Crumble sausage meat into skillet; saute until meat loses raw look, about 4 minutes. Drain excess fat; add sausage to bowl. Add ham, parsley, basil, and cayenne to bowl; toss to combine. Chill. Correct seasonings.
5. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.
6. Roll out slightly more than one-third of the pastry on a lightly floured surface into 1/8"-thick rectangle or circle. Transfer pastry to baking sheet. Brush lightly with egg wash. Arrange filling on pastry, leaving 1- to 1.5" border all around. Mound filling in center, building up sides.
7. Roll out remaining pastry into rectangle or circle to match bottom. Lay pastry loosely over filling. Press edges of top piece of pastry together with bottom piece of pastry. Trim pastry, leaving 1- to 1.5" border. Brush top piece of pastry with egg wash. Roll up pastry border all around; press against top piece of pastry. Press edge with fork; brush border with egg wash. Cut two or three steam vents in top. Chill.
8. Brush pastry again with egg wash. Form decorations [we used a bunny cookie cutter] with pastry trimmings, if you like. Affix to top; brush with egg wash. Bake until pastry begins to brown, about 10 minutes. If browning too fast, lower oven heat to 350. Bake until golden, about 45 minutes in all. Let pizza sit about 10 minutes. Cut pie in half lengthwise with long serrated knife; then cut in thin crosswise slices. Serve hot or warm.

Macaroni Pie

Last night's dinner was a bit of a dud with the best intentions: I decided to finally use some dried pasta and porcini mushrooms my mom brought me back from Italy a few months ago, but to rather poor effect. The sauce I made--from garlic, olive oil and canned tomatoes--wasn't rich enough for the mushrooms, and adding cream helped only slightly. I was truly bummed over handling such fine ingredients so poorly, and moped around all night until Fork got the brilliant idea that I should make a batch of Blondies. It helped a little.

But tonight I was determined to make something good out of the leftovers. I'd saved about half the pasta--"stringozzi" that was thicker than spaghetti and had a delightful chewiness to it--and did not sauce it, just drizzled it with olive oil to prevent it from clumping. My idea this evening was to make macaroni pie, something I'd never made before but that I know various family members adore.

I went with Giada De Laurentiis's recipe for Pizza di Spaghetti. She has you dress cooked spaghetti with olives and tomato sauce; I skipped the olives and made a batch of my mom's sauce, and mixed it in with the pasta. In a bowl, you combine eggs, milk and grated Parmesan with a little salt and pepper, and then you add your sauced pasta to that mixture. You grease a non-stick skillet with a good amount of olive oil, then pour the pasta-egg mixture in, pressing it down into the pan. After eight or so minutes you very carefully flip it onto a plate and slide it back into the pan so the other side can cook, a maneuver not unlike Spanish Laura's technique when making tortilla espanola. Another six minutes and it's ready to eat.

This was the delicious meal I'd wanted last night. The crispy exterior gave way to the soft and chewy pasta inside, and the overall taste of the dish was richer, more flavorful and pulled-together than simple pasta with tomato sauce, thanks to the binding powers of egg, milk and cheese. I am so relieved my mother didn't schlepp that pasta home from Umbria for nothing.--S

Eggplant Zapatini

Each issue of Everyday Food has a page with the unfortunate title "zap it," featuring a dish cooked entirely in the microwave. I've never made any of these recipes, a little skeeved out with the idea of cooking my dinner entirely with microwave radiation, no matter how safe they say it is.

So I compromised on this month's offering. For EF's "zap-it" version of Eggplant Rollatini, you season eggplant slices with salt and pepper and microwave them "until tender and pliable but not fully cooked, 6 to 8 minutes." I zapped them for 5 minutes, and worried that even that was too much, but it turned out alright. However, I wasn't about to roll them up with a mixture of ricotta, Parmesan, egg, garlic, salt and pepper and zap that. The recipe recommended 15 to 17 minutes and I imagined a rubbery mass of eggplant and cheese. So I baked the rolled eggplant, surrounded with some of my homemade marinara, at 350 for 20 minutes, going on my grandfather's old saw, "I like a nice 350 oven." Once the sauce was bubbling up from the bottom of the dish, I scattered some shredded fresh mozzarella on top and let it melt for another four minutes.

Semi-zapped, I'll take this dinner any day. Salty cheese stuffed inside eggplant that had become almost sweet in the cooking, topped with chunks of tomatoes. And now I've got another use for my microwave besides warming up milk for my morning coffee.--S

The Family That Cooks Together...

Friday night, my family and I took a cab over to chef Micol Negrin's Midtown cooking studio to officially wind down the holiday season. It'd be tough to come up with a better finale to 12 days of eating and drinking than attending Micol's "Winter Feast in Northern Italy" class, helping to prepare the meal, learning cooking techniques and tricks, drinking wine and enjoying one of the best meals I've had this season.

In Micol's spacious, tricked-out kitchen (Wolf ranges and ovens; Subzero fridges, freezers and wine storage; Henckels knives), we chopped, sauteed and stirred. The first course was Crepes Stuffed with Two Cheeses & Shiitake Mushrooms in Béchamel Sauce. Micol did us the favor of making the crepes ahead of time, so we set to work making the sauce, sauteeing the mushrooms (a mix of shiitake, baby bella and oyster), mixing them with Raclette and Mozzarella cheeses, and assembling the crepes (my mom directed the positioning of the quesadilla-like crepes into a big roasting pan and ladled béchamel sauce over them). The main course was Slow-Cooked Lamb Ossobuco with Mint Gremolata, which Micol had started the day before. Our task: make the sauce, which consisted of butter, onions, carrot (expertly chopped by my dad), celery, bacon and juniper berries. Once everything was soft and starting to caramelize (under Laura's watchful eye), in went flour, then red wine, then tomatoes, demi-glace, salt and pepper. The side dish was Roasted Garlic Risotto (I squeezed the hot, roasted garlic paste out of the garlic skins), and for dessert, Grand Marnier Mousse with Fresh Berries (layered into wine glasses as per my dad's instructions).

After about an hour and a half of cooking, we were ready to eat. It was an amazing meal: the crepes were a huge hit, nice and cozy, the Alpine cheeses lending a delicious Vermonty taste. The lamb was unbelievably tender and rich, and the risotto a comforting side. And dessert was lovely, light and airy. We ate around a large table with the other class participants (we were 20 in all). About halfway through dinner, I heard someone remark, "How about those carrots! Look how nicely they're chopped!" and before long I heard my dad saying, "I'm gonna bag 'em! Ron's diced carrots!"--S

Merry Christmas!

It started with champagne, of course. Because Christmas Eve is always celebratory: the flocking of family members from around the country to one modest New Jersey dining room, the excitement of it being the night before Christmas, the happiness that comes from delicious eating foods you consume only once a year. Reasons enough to break open the bubbly!

This year, 23 of us sat down to three tables Aunt Mimi had lined up, stretching from the dining room bay window through the hall and well into the living room (God forbid we split up and eat in small groups). And we ate. Six fishes, with a bowl of Goldfish crackers on the table as our seventh. It sure was grand. The approximate order of events follows:

1. Antipasto: roasted red peppers, Italian tuna in olive oil, olives, marinated eggplant and artichoke hearts, Provolone.
2. Fresh mozzarella with tomatoes.
3. Fried calamari.
4. Pop's smelts, with vinegar and mint.
5. Baked stuffed clams in the beautiful clam shells.
6. Fork announces the scratch-off Lotto ticket my aunt left on his plate is a winner; once he has everyone's attention he admits he didn't win the lottery, but that he hit the jackpot: Spoon and Fork are getting married!
7. More champagne, kisses, hugs, tears.
8. Pasta with clam sauce.
9. Shrimp francese, affectionately referred to as "The Shrimbola," accompanied by Pop's retelling of Uncle Louie Barese's mispronunciation of the word "shrimp."
10. Mom's stuffed escarole, this year featuring Gaeta olives (instead of pimento-stuffed), capers (as usual), golden raisins, pignoli nuts, less breadcrumbs and no Parmesan cheese. A new classic.
11. More champagne. Pop tells jokes we've heard a thousand times, we all die laughing, for the thousandth time.
12. Family assembles around the piano for the worst-ever (musically speaking) but perhaps funniest-ever (performance-wise) rendition of A Partridge in a Pear Tree. Spoon can barely keep up with the mayhem, but the glittering diamond on her finger inspires her to keep playing because it sparkles nicely as she plays. Merry Christmas!--S

Botch-a-Mi

At a party once when I was a kid, my grandparents got up and lip-synched to a 1950s Rosemary Clooney song called Botch-a-Mi, a cute little Italian ditty about a kiss making "everything go crazy." Ba-ba-baciami piccina! I still remember it, Pop looking every bit the classy Neopolitan, Mina grinning and blowing kisses out to us.

I thought of that today as I made Chocolate Kisses (Baci di Cioccolato), from Dolce Italiano, which has muscled its way onto my "frequent use" cookbook shelf. This stellar recipe was one of the first ones Gina de Palma created for Babbo, so they carry fond memories for her. Baci means "kisses" in Italian, and here two chocolate cookies are sandwiched with a kiss of chocolate ganache. They're pretty superb. The cookies have chopped almonds and amaretto (my addition, in lieu of dark rum). I made a batch for Fork's family, and after tasting one, I knew I had to make more. The second batch are cooling now. Pucker up!--S

Best Biscotti

Christmas cookies of the cookie-cutter variety are cute and all, but to me, the best sweet bites of the season are biscotti. I grew up eating my family's version, which have walnuts, anise seed, anisette or sambucco, and a hint of almond extract. They're a little soft and crumbly, not too sweet and shaped a bit like rounded rectangles. A far cry from the long, skinny and rock hard versions they serve at Starbucks. I once gave some to my building's doorman and he told me they were "Delicious! They taste like something imported!"

While the family's biscotti are still my favorite, I have branched out to try many other varieties over the years, with varying degrees of success. This year I went to one of my new favorite cookbooks, Dolce Italiano, by Gina De Palma, and tested out the Mosaic Biscotti, and the Polenta and Sesame Biscotti. I'm pleased with both, though I'm partial to the polenta/sesame ones. The Mosaic Biscotti are a riot of nuts and chocolate, containing semisweet chocolate bits, and chopped hazelnuts and pistachios. They're a substantial cookie. Next time, I'd chop the chocolate into smaller pieces; the chunks I used melted into blobs that lend more of a homemade than dainty look to the biscotti. But they do taste pretty yummy. The Polenta and Sesame Biscotti, on the other hand, are, to me, the perfect biscotti. As De Palma says, sesame seeds and cornmeal are a fantastic combination. The cookies are light and lovely, with a tender-crisp texture and bright interior. A definite keeper.

I also made a batch of nut brittle to give my grandparents--they love this stuff. It's Best-Ever Nut Brittle from December's Food & Wine, and it looks pretty sweet.--S

Tortellini Soup

Still working out the last remains of soreness in my quads and trying to prevent a scratchy throat from becoming a full-blown cold before my big trip on Thursday, I wanted a simple dinner tonight. Italian White Bean, Pancetta, and Tortellini Soup was calling my name.

It's a recipe from Giada DeLaurentiis's Everyday Pasta. Very simple, very tasty. My yoga class ended at 7:45 PM, by 8 I was at the supermarket buying escarole, cannellini beans, chicken broth and pancetta, and at 8:40 Fork and I were slurping down some very delicious soup. It's filling but not heavy, with leaves of wilted escarole (which I used instead of Swiss chard) swirled throughout. We sprinkled it with grated Parmesan, more for effect than out of necessity, since the pancetta and little hats of cheese-stuffed pasta added just the right amount of flavor.--S

Italian White Bean, Pancetta, and Tortellini Soup
4 to 6 servings

3 T olive oil
4 ounces pancetta, chopped
3 large shallots, chopped
1 carrot, peeled and chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 (15-oz) can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
4 c chopped Swiss chard or escarole (1 bunch)
6 c low-sodium chicken broth
1 (9-oz) package cheese tortellini, fresh or frozen
1/4 t freshly ground black pepper

1. In a large, heavy soup pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the pancetta, shallots, carrot, and garlic and cook until the pancetta is crisp, about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the beans, Swiss chard (or escarole), and broth.
2. Bring the soup to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Add the tortellini and cook 5 minutes for fresh, 8 minutes for frozen, or until just tender. Season with pepper and serve.

Recipe courtesy of Everyday Pasta

Home Cooking To Hold Me

I'm flying to Indianapolis tomorrow. I'll spend Thursday and Friday visiting Wal-Mart stores in northern Indiana and arrive in Chicago Friday night. While I'm sure this will be an eye-opening trip, my dining options may be limited. Airports are largely culinary wastelands. Indianapolis and its environs appear to be overrun by chain restaurants, and apparently the food at Wal-Mart's "Deli Cafe" restaurants leaves something to be desired.

So tonight, I sent myself off with a tasty homemade meal. The September issue of Food & Wine landed in my mailbox today, and the whole thing concerns the foods of Italy (a risky choice, Fork deadpanned). Tonight I made the Spaghettini with Eggplant and Fried Capers, an excellent choice. The recipe is part of a story on canned, jarred, bagged and boxed foods from Italy, including chocolate-hazelnut paste, oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, tuna in olive oil and... capers! When you fry the salty buds, they puff up into crispy little blossoms and add intense flavor and crunch to the pasta. The other ingredients in the dish are eggplant, garlic, crushed red pepper, Italian bread and pecorino--all great, classic Italian flavors, unadulterated.

Here's hoping the suburbs of Indianapolis surprise me.--S

Eat Local!

It's basil season, and it's been a bumper crop so far this year! Already our colleague Diane, who grows it on her roof, apparently on an industrial scale, has brought in two huge bags full of some of the finest basil you'd ever want. And we'll take all we can get. It sure is awesome to have an herb dealer right at work!

Tonight, we had a lovely Caprese salad, with some delicious, marble-size cherry tomatoes, also courtesy of Diane's green thumb. It's always great to eat fresh-picked herbs right away and this simple, classic dish of fresh mozzarella cheese, tomatoes, olive oil, salt and pepper, is a perfect showcase for great, fresh basil. Last night it was pesto with fresh fettucine, one of Fork's favorite comfort meals. Thanks, Diane!--S&F



Basic Pesto

2 loosely packed cups fresh basil leaves, big stems discarded, rinsed, and dried
Salt to taste
1/2 to 2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 T pine nuts or walnuts, lightly toasted in a dry skillet
1/2 c extra-virgin olive oil, or more
1/2 c freshly grated Parmesan or other hard cheese (optional)

1. Combine the basil, salt, garlic, nuts, and about half the oil in a food processor or blender.
2. Process, stopping to scrape down the sides of the container occasionally, and adding the rest of the oil gradually. Add additional oil if you prefer a thinner mixture. Store in the refrigerator for a week or two, or in the freezer for several months. Stir in the Parmesan by hand just before serving.

Recipe courtesy of How to Cook Everything

Best Fishes

"They're like the French fries of the sea," said the potbellied guy with the suntan, stubbly beard and New Yawk accent. He was probably in his 50s, wearing a sports jacket and Dockers, and stood with two other men in nearly identical get-ups. They balanced tiny cocktail plates in their huge hands, rhubarb Bellinis sitting on the buffet table, sweating in the Manhattan humidity.

These Dockers-clad angels turned out to be David Pasternack's fishing buddies, hard-working Long Island natives there to toast their local boy at a party celebrating the fisherman-turned-Manhattan chef's first book, The Young Man and the Sea: Recipes and Crispy Fish Tales from Esca. I piled some of these so-called french fries onto my plate, figuring if these guys say they're good, they're probably right. The french fries they spoke of were actually fried sand eels, crisped up with fresh mint. They were sensational.



The party, not coincidentally, was at Esca, the Mario Batali/Joe Bastianich-run Southern Italian seafood mecca in Midtown where Pasternack has been the chef since its opening in 2000. (pictured:Iron Chef judge Jeffrey Steingarten, Pasternack and Batali at the party). I'd been to Esca only once before, to celebrate my 26th birthday with Fork. We were blown away by the crudo, sort of an Italian take on sashimi. Before I tasted crudo, my only experience with raw fish was with soy sauce and wasabi, or lime and cilantro, a la ceviche. But at Esca, the fish was accompanied by flavors comfortingly familiar to me. Extra virgin olive oil. Lemon. Basil. Rosemary. Garlic. Crunchy sea salt. The restaurant also impressed us with its whole roasted fish and pasta dishes, too. I remember a linguine with rock shrimp that was out of this world.

As my colleagues and I sauntered up to the buffet table yesterday, we were tantalized by the offerings. It all looked splendid. Of course, we weren't sure what everything was. That's where the Pasternack's buddies came in. Like the finest fishing guides, they steered me toward whole roasted striped bass, ivory salmon crudo, Nantucket bay scallops, and razor clam crudo, served in the shell and topped with diced red pepper and julienned mint leaves (pictured). I eyed a baked stuffed clam that was laced with prosciutto, having a flashback to the recipe my Aunt Ann makes every year for our Christmas Eve vigil.

One of the fishermen smiled as I happily scooped a clam onto my plate. "If Dave made it," he laughed, "it's going to be good."--S