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

Soup's On

Blustery weather and quiet January weekends call for long-simmered, warm dishes—and Pasta and Bean Soup from a new book called The Best Soups in the World (sounds suspiciously Bittman-esque, no?) by Clifford A. Wright—is just the thing. It's a twist on Italian pasta e fagioli, with white beans and small bits of macaroni joining forces with pork stew meat (I used shoulder), pancetta, fennel, chickpeas and, interestingly, a cinnamon stick.

I've been trying to plan ahead (what with Spork Jr. on the way) and have been doubling recipes when possible, so Fork and I can eat one dinner and freeze another one for later this winter when we're not so inclined to shop for food, never mind cook it. This one fit the bill perfectly, and there's already a solid quart of it in our freezer. It really is tasty, with a deeper and richer flavor than your average pasta and bean soup.

If you make this soup (and I highly recommend you do), plan on cooking it much longer than the recommended 1¼ hours—it took at least three hours for the dried cannelli beans I used (which hadn't been pre-soaked) to cook fully—and you'll probably wind up using an additional two to four cups of stock. But when it's 20 degrees outside (and "feels like 8"), few things are more comforting.

Pasta and Bean Soup

Makes 6 to 8 servings

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound pork stew meat, diced
¼ pound pancetta, cut into strips
¼ pound prosciutto skin, whole or cut into strips (optional)
1 large onion, chopped
1 fennel bulb (about ¾ pound), chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
6 garlic cloves, chopped
10 cups chicken broth
1½ cups (about 10 ounces) dried white beans
1 cup (1/2 pound) canned chickpeas
¼ pound Parmesan crusts (optional)
1 cinnamon stick
1 bay leaf
1 sprig fresh rosemary
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
¼ pound tubetti, ditali, or other short tubular macaroni
Extra-virgin olive oil for drizzling
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese for sprinkling

1. In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat, then add the pork, pancetta, and prosciutto skin, if using, and cook, stirring, until they turn color, about 5 minutes. Add the onion, fennel, celery, and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 12 to 15 minutes.
2. Add the chicken broth, white beans, chickpeas, Parmesan crusts, if using, cinnamon stick, bay leaf, and rosemary, bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to medium-low, season with salt and pepper, and cook until the white beans are al dente, about 1¼ hours. Add the pasta and cook, stirring, until they, too, are al dente, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove and discard the cinnamon stick, bay leaf, and rosemary sprig. Both the prosciutto skin and Parmesan crusts can be eaten if desired. Serve with a drizzle of olive oil and the grated Parmesan cheese.

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

Deliciously Unnecessary

Here's the thing about homemade pasta: I know it's not necessary. I live between two excellent shops that carry perfectly respectable dried pasta and pretty delicious fresh pasta. So I'm not going to get all "Homemade pasta is the only option; you simply must make your own, to hell with Barilla!" on you. But. Homemade pasta is really, really good. And the satisfaction of knowing that you (and your pasta machine) spun magnificent fettucine noodles out of flour, eggs and olive oil is not to be underestimated.

Fork and I received the Kitchen Aid pasta roller and cutter attachment as a shower gift. Alas, he was on a fishing trip in Montauk this weekend and missed its debut (but he'll no doubt enjoy the leftovers). So Kate and I gave it a try, and were quite impressed. We followed Lidia Bastianich's recipe for fettucine, using all-purpose flour, eggs, egg yolks, extra-virgin olive oil and ice water. The food processor turned out a soft, stretchy ball of dough in less than a minute, and after it rested for a half-hour, we revved up the stand mixer. Recalling what I'd learned from my mom about making pasta, we began feeding the dough through on the widest setting. We kept running it through, gradually adjusting the thickness setting to four, which resulted in an almost see-through sheet of pasta. Then we ran the sheet through the fettucine cutter, keeping the dough well-floured throughout. We separated the strands and laid them in nests (oh, how I loved those beautiful nests) on floured trays. And so it went for 1 1/2 lbs of pasta dough. The process was easy and fun.

So what to do with all this lovely fresh pasta? We went with Lidia's Fettucine with Squash and Cauliflower, a delicious seasonal dish. Using butternut squash and cauliflower from the greenmarket, plus capers, canned San Marzano plum tomatoes, garlic, onion and hot pepper flakes, we (er, Kate--I had done all the prep work and let her do the cooking!) prepared a warm, cozy, chunky vegetable sauce. The pasta cooked in boiling water for about two minutes, and we tossed it with the sauce, adding lots of pecorino cheese.

The pasta was tender and perfectly cooked, with some little clumps--truth be told, our favorite parts--where we hadn't used enough flour. The squash and cauliflower florets were softened, and the tomatoes strewn throughout added color and texture. We both had seconds, and still barely made a dent in the massive bowl. And this morning I woke up and considered reheating some for breakfast. I held off until lunch, and am digging in right now.--S

Fettucine with Squash and Cauliflower

1/2 c extra-virgin olive oil
3 plump garlic cloves, crushed, peeled
1 small onion, thinly sliced (1 c slices)
3 c butternut squash, cut in 1/2" cubes
3 c cauliflower, cut in small florets (about 1")
4 T small capers, drained
1 t coarse sea salt or kosher salt or to taste, plus more for cooking pasta
1/2 teaspoon peperoncino flakes, or to taste
2 c canned Italian plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, crushed by hand
1 lb pound fettuccine
1 c freshly grated pecorino

1. Pour the olive oil into the big skillet and set over medium-high heat. Scatter in the sliced garlic and let it start sizzling. Stir in the onion slices and cook for a couple of minutes to wilt. Spill in all the cut squash and cauliflower pieces, scatter the capers, salt and peperoncino on top and with tongs toss all together for a minute or so. Pour a cup of water into the skillet, cover tightly and steam the vegetables for 2 or 3 minutes, shaking the pan occasionally.
2. Pour in the crushed tomatoes along with a cup of water sloshed in the tomato containers. Stir well and cover. When the tomato juices are boiling, adjust the heat to keep them bubbling gently. Cook covered for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. When the vegetables are softened, uncover and continue cooking to reduce the pan juices to a good consistency for dressing the pasta, about 5 minutes. Adjust the seasoning to taste and keep at a low simmer.
3. While the sauce is cooking, heat the salted pasta cooking water to a rolling boil (at least 6 quarts water and a tablespoon salt). Drop in the fettuccine and cook until barely al dente. Lift them from the water, drain for a moment, then drop onto the simmering vegetables. Toss and cook all together for a couple of minutes, over moderate heat. Moisten the dish with pasta water if it seems dry; cook rapidly to reduce the juices if they're splashing in the skillet.
4. When the pasta is perfectly cooked and robed with sauce, turn off the heat. Sprinkle over the grated cheese, toss into the pasta and serve.

Recipe courtesy of Lidia's Italy

Remember This One in July

My ardent interest in Super Natural Cooking continues, this time with a buckwheat noodle salad called Otsu. In Japanese, otsu means something "strange, quaint, stylish, chic, spicy, witty, tasty or romantic." Although that's hardly a specific definition, it actually does a pretty good job of summing up this dish. There's a nice interplay of hot and cool, with a fiery dressing (made from lemon zest, lemon juice, ginger, honey, cayenne, rice vinegar and soy sauce) tempered by refreshing cucumbers, scallions and pan-seared tofu. And, as author Heidi Swanson writes, "Unlike many pasta recipes that leave you feeling weighed down and sluggish, this one makes for a healthy, invigorating, and energizing meal that will quickly become a favorite." I agree: as the recipe makes a substantial amount of food, I wound up eating this for lunch a few days, and can report that eating a portion of it sitting on a bench in the park at 1:00 did not result in me slumped over my desk back at the office at 3:00.

A few notes on the recipe: cooking the tofu until it is browned takes some time. Be patient, because it's worth the extra minutes to get the tofu a slightly crispy crust. Also, the recipe calls for shoyu sauce in the dressing. I substituted soy sauce, and while I know it's not the same (shoyo is apparently more complex), it turned out fine. I also used regular rice vinegar (my bottle doesn't say if it's made with white or brown rice). Again, things tasted great.

I'm keeping this recipe in my file, for sure. I have a feeling it'll come in very handy on steamy summer days, when I want something "strange, quaint, stylish, chic, spicy, witty, tasty or romantic" but just don't feel like eating a hot dog.--S

Otsu

Dressing
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Fresh ginger, cut into a 1-inch cube, peeled, and grated
1 T honey
3/4 t cayenne
3/4 t fine-grain sea salt
1 T freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 c unseasoned brown-rice vinegar
1/3 c shoyu sauce
2 T extra-virgin olive oil
2 T toasted sesame oil

Salad
12 oz. dried soba noodles
12 oz. extra-firm nigari tofu
1/4 c chopped fresh cilantro
3 green onions, thinly sliced
1/2 cucumber, peeled, cut in half lengthwise, seeded, and thinly sliced
1 small handful of cilantro sprigs, for garnish
1/4 c toasted sesame seeds, for garnish

1. Make the dressing by combining the zest, ginger, honey, cayenne, and salt in a food processor (or use a hand blender) and process until smooth. Add the lemon juice, rice vinegar, and shoyu, and pulse to combine. With the machine running, drizzle in the oils.
2. Cook the soba in plenty of rapidly boiling salted water just until tender, then drain and rinse under cold running water.
3. While the pasta is cooking, drain the tofu, pat it dry, and cut it into rectangles roughly the size of your thumb (½ inch thick and 1 inch long). Cook the tofu in a dry nonstick (or well-seasoned) skillet over medium-high heat for a few minutes, until the pieces are browned on one side. Toss gently once or twice, then continue cooking for another minute or so, until the tofu is firm, golden, and bouncy.
4. In a large mixing bowl, combine the soba, the ¼ cup cilantro, the green onions, cucumber, and about ⅔ cup of the dressing. Toss until well combined. Add the tofu and toss again gently. Serve on a platter, garnished with the cilantro sprigs and the toasted sesame seeds.

Recipe courtesy of Super Natural Cooking

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

Let the Carbo-Loading Begin!

I've always poo-pooed the marathon eve group pasta dinner, snobbily casting it off as something for out-of-towners and people who eat jarred sauce. I imagined an unappetizing buffet of lukewarm, gummy, not-ribbed ziti, thin sauce pooled around it. I mean, how can they possibly make pasta for 39,000 people taste good?

In the words of my dear Aunt Mimi, I don't know how they make it, but they make it. Because tonight, on the eve of my fourth marathon, I decided to join the masses at the Barilla Marathon Eve Dinner at Tavern on the Green. And guess what? It was actually pretty good.

Some parts of the meal were stronger than others: the salad was overdressed and soggy, and the bowties in the cold pasta salad were too al dente. But the main pastas--gemelli in marinara sauce with mushrooms, and cellentani (corkscrew-shaped pasta) with peas and little bits of sausage--were very tasty. The pasta was hot and the pans were replenished frequently. Lest we forget who was paying for dinner, the tables were decorated with boxes of Barilla pasta, as well as lots of large bottles of Poland Spring.

And for dessert, one of my all-time favorites from the grocery store cookie aisle: Stella D'Oro Breakfast Treats. Not too sweet and just the thing to keep the carbo-loading going. Here's to a great run tomorrow.--S

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

The Only Thing We Have to Fear is Anchovies

I pride myself on eating almost anything; there are few things I won't touch, and they include commonly disliked foods like organ meats and brains. But one food block I can't seem to get past is anchovies. Whenever I order a Greek or Caesar salad in a restaurant, I ask the chef to hold off, and I never cook with them. To me they've always tasted a little too fishy. And they're hairy, too. Yuck.

But my pride got the better of me this week, when, thanks to Mark Bittman's NYT video on the pleasures of anchovies, I decided to bite the bullet. Bittman did make me feel better about my phobia:

"There are places in the world where anchovies are revered, the Mediterranean chief among them. The little fish, usually salted and preserved in oil, is enormously popular on every continent except our own. There are two reasons so many Americans aren’t wild about anchovies. One is that we typically buy those of inferior quality. The other is that anchovies are strong flavored and undeniably fishy. Those of us who can’t get enough of them see these characteristics as assets. You probably will, too, if you buy the right anchovies and cook them in this familiar pasta sauce whose other main ingredients are garlic, chilies and tomatoes."

And I noted that Marcella Hazan, in The Classic Italian Cookbook, writes, "there is no good kitchen in Italy that gets along entirely without anchovies." That was enough to put me over the edge. I needed to do this.

A recipe for Pasta with Garlic, Anchovies and Tomatoes accompanied Bittman's video, and I made it last night. I'll admit I went a bit heavy on the garlic and tomatoes, and used two anchovies instead of 20 (I was making a half recipe! I realize that should've meant 10 anchovies, but baby steps, okay?). Everything about the recipe was right up my alley: the entire thing took less than 20 minutes, and entailed cooking the garlic and a dried chili pepper in olive oil; adding the suspicious and slightly--ahem--hairy anchovies; then adding halved grape tomatoes--all while the penne was cooking in a pot of boiling water. The anchovies kind of melt in the hot oil, and when the pasta's cooked, you add the sauce and top with chopped parsely.

The verdict? I didn't have seconds, but I wiped my plate clean. The pasta had a deeper flavor than it would've sans anchovies, a sort of rich saltiness that kosher salt could never add. It was pretty good. And now I have a jar of anchovies in my fridge. While I may not be ready to throw them on top of a salad, I'll definitely use them in cooking again.--S

Pasta with Garlic, Anchovies and Tomatoes

Salt
1/4 c extra virgin olive oil
10 garlic cloves, peeled
2 or 3 dried chilies, optional
20 anchovy fillets, more or less
2 c halved cherry tomatoes
Freshly ground black pepper
1 pound cut pasta, like penne
Chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Put olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat; a minute later, add garlic and chilies, if using. Cook garlic so it bubbles gently. When it is lightly browned all over, add anchovies. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about a minute, until anchovies begin to fall apart, then add tomatoes. Adjust heat so tomatoes bubble nicely, and cook until mixture becomes saucy, about 5 minutes. Taste and add salt and pepper as necessary.

2. Meanwhile, cook pasta until tender but not mushy. When it is done, drain it, reserving a little cooking water to thin sauce if necessary. Serve pasta with sauce and parsley.

Yield: 3 to 6 servings.
Recipe courtesy of Mark Bittman

Run with It

Isn't it nice when you have a string of great culinary days in a row? No bombs, no duds, no curiosity-killed-the-cat expeditions to, say, Olive Garden? (Okay, I'll stop harping on Fork's and my life-altering [in a bad way] experience at OG). I've had a good run since Friday, though it's bound to end around 9AM tomorrow, when I order a sub-par cup of deli coffee before work.

This weekend, however, was just glorious. On Friday evening I tried a recipe from my cousin Kathy, an excellent baker, a Thyme and Cheese Bubble Bread. Intrigued? Kath's explanation:

a regular bread recipe, but you knead shredded monterey jack cheese into the dough. Then you roll the dough into a rectangle and cut it into 50 one-inch squares, roll each square into a ball and dip them in a mixture of thyme, parsley and butter. Then you place each ball in a loaf pan & bake. It’s like pull-apart bread.

As far as breads go, this is probably the coolest-looking one I've ever made: knobs of crusty, buttered bread, flecked with bits of thyme and parsley, mounded over the rim of the loaf pan. The look is trumped by the phenomenal smell: the aroma of freshly-baked bread, cheese and herbs. Its flavor also gets high mark, amazing out of the oven, but like a lot of breads, a little less exciting when cooled. Fork ate it day-old, and I knew he wasn't getting the full effect.

He did get to enjoy a piping-hot and delicious meal on Saturday. At the suggestion of my friend, Cara, I prepared Giada De Laurentiis' Pork Chops alla Pizzaiola. it's a simple dish: you brown bone-in pork chops, remove them and keep them warm under foil, then saute sliced onions, diced tomatoes (with their juices), herbs and some red pepper flakes in the pan. After 15 minutes, you return the pork chops to the pan with the veggies, get 'em nice and hot, and voila. Spicy tomatoes on top of browned chops: how can you really go wrong? This meal was augmented (actually, who am I kidding, it was dwarfed) by a sublime bottle of Caymus 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon (pictured at the top of this post, with the pork chop) from my cousin Mike. We savored every sip.

Earlier on Saturday, I visited a landmark purveyor of homemade pastas on W. Houston St., Raffetto's. The place is family owned and operated, has been for 100 years, and the original owner's grandsons now help customers. Their mother works the register. Happy shoppers can choose between 18 varieties of ravioli and 16 pastas, including chestnut, saffron or squid ink. Most of their business is wholesale, about 300 local restaurants and hotels serve Raffetto's pasta, including Il Mulino and Patsy's. Good enough for me. I had a pound of bucatini weighed for me, and also picked up some bocconcini mozzarella and a loaf of semolina.

Sunday brought a visit to the Guggenheim to check out the Spanish Painting from El Greco to Picasso exhibit (we also checked out Bill and Chelsea Clinton, who were at the museum, too!). Fork and I had seen a number of the works on display at the Prado and the Reina Sofia on a visit to Madrid in 2005, but it was fabulous to see them grouped like this, periods overlapping, themes uniting--all in the stunning building that is the Gugg. After strolling about 30 blocks, we cabbed it the rest of the way home, and later ordered from one of our favorite pizzerias, Totonno's. The legend probably deserves its own post, but I can say it was the perfect ending to a very tasty few days.--S