Upstanding Baked Pasta

I'm not a giant meat eater, and yet here I am again offering you another very heavy meat and pasta dish--the kind of dish Henry VIII or Fred Flintstone or the king in the Hossenfeffer episode of Bugs Bunny (titled "Shishkabugs") or any other cartoonishly big eater would enjoy. I swear on a stack of Bibles we eat salads and green things at my house. We do! We make vegetable soup the way some families breathe air.

For now though, since I'm entering a dish in this week's Food52.com contest, for baked pasta, I may as well share what I've devised. Because sharing is a virtue, whether arteries are clogged as a result or not. That is what I must choose to believe.

I'd seen a recipe in some magazine--I think it was Martha Stewart--for a dish of vertical rigatoni lined up like little soldiers (with sauce poured over them) and baked in a spring form pan. It seemed like a fun dish to make with a kid in the room, and it turns out that I was right. And if you use really good ingredients (I bought hand-dipped ricotta, really good buffalo mozarella, reggiano, and some pasta that I don't even want to discuss--the bag was tied with a ribbon) it's pretty devourable and just what you want a baked pasta to be: plentiful, rich, and very satisfying.

If you have a pastry bag, it would probably be the best way to squirt the ricotta mixture into the pasta, plus it would be fun for the kid that is in the room. If not, you'll be fine. The pasta is big enough to drop a spoonful into using a spoon. This sounds like a lot of trouble, but it's the only thing about this recipe that could possibly make peevish those people who think they don't have time to cook. It is otherwise easy-peasy.

Upstanding Baked Pasta

SERVES 6

• 1 pound Italian sausage, casing removed
• 1/2 cup plus 1 TB olive oil, divided
• 2 15-ounce (or 1 28-ounce) cans of whole peeled Italian tomatoes
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
• 2 cups fresh ricotta cheese
• 1 cup cup Parmigiano Reggiano, grated, divided
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1 pound fresh mozzarella
• salt, pepper (to taste)
• 1 pound paccheri (giant rigatoni)

1. Preheat oven to 375. Get out your spring-form pan, wherever it is, and lightly grease it. Put on a giant pot of water to boil for the pasta.
2. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a large heavy skillet; raise heat to medium high and brown sausage well (without casing), mashing it to break it into very small pieces as it cooks, about 8-10 minutes.
3. Place tomatoes, remaining half cup of olive oil, garlic in blender. Puree until just smooth.
4. Once meat has browned properly, add puree to skillet. Add salt; bring sauce to a very lively simmer and cook, over medium high heat, for 5 minutes. Reduce heat and simmer until the sauce has reduced by about one-third (20 minutes). Add red pepper flakes, balsamic vinegar, and continue cooking for 5 more minutes.
5. Meanwhile, mix together ricotta, half the Parmesan. Stir in the beaten egg. Thin the mixture with a bit of milk if it seems too thick for its own good. Season with freshly ground pepper (about 1/2 teaspoon).
6. Cook the paccheri at a rolling boil until it is barely al dente. You don't want the large tubes to lose their shape and become too flattened. Rinse with cold water, then toss with a bit of olive oil and the remaining Parmesan cheese.
7. Place the paccheri vertically in the prepared spring-form pan. Using a pastry bag or a small spoon, squirt about a tablespoon or so of the ricotta mixture into each noodle, pushing it down a bit to make room for the sauce. Pour the sauce over the cheese-filled noodles. Place the spring-form on a cookie sheet and bake for 25 minutes. Remove, cover the top of the casserole with slices of mozzarrella, and continue cooking until the cheese has browned and the casserole has heated through, about ten more minutes. Serve in slices, like a pie.
8. Run 8 miles.
   
   

Boo-hoo? Ragu.

I went away from myself for a while. (Sigh!) That sounds very melodramatic, I realize. As if I rowed away from myself while I remained on the shore, waving goodbye. In a student film. Made in Sweden. Or Germany.

It's been a schmaltzy, self-involved year. But tell me you've never been there! It happens to all of us: we come to a point where we have to sit ourselves down and establish who, exactly, is the boss of the relationship: our worst selves (surly, sockless in winter, feckless in all other seasons, and undecided to the point of absurdity) or our better selves (focussed, sly, claws unclenched from petty discontents). I cried like a slob more than once in the process (and when I say "slob." I mean the charming, adorable, interesting sort of slob whose face does not get red, and whose tears reflect the color of her eyes and the depth of her soul, under particularly flattering lightl). The point is I made a choice.

I still go sockless at the wrong times, but I'm definitely focussed enough to want to get back to being a writer. And I've settled into the idea that it's okay to spend one's days and afternoons doing something a person loves as much as I--and many people I know and admire--love to cook. And that sharing recipes writing about food can be as noble as writing about City Hall. Or as useful, at least. And more noble, certainly, than passing along gossip about American Idol judges.

Actually, let's just leave the word noble out of it.

I owe some of the return of my zest for life (and the reappearance of a lemon zester into my kitchen) to Food52.com, which is dedicated to home-cooking and will result in a cookbook containing winning recipes from a year's worth of competitions (hence the 52). If you don't know about the site, and you love to cook, you really should log on and see what's going on over there. It was created by two friends who've cooked together for some time (the lovely team of Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs), and once you start to participate you feel like they and all the other cooks are your friends, too. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the competition had something to do with it how much I like the site. Winning (as I did, for my lemony cream cheese pancakes) really will put the git back in your gittyup, no matter how zen-like your resistance to the idea of competition may be.

None of this is to say I didn't cook much over the last 9 months or so. I cooked a lot, and it made me really happy, even when I was being a pill; I think it made the two people closest to me happy, too.

Anyway, here is my Ragu Bolognese, which I perfected during my fallow period and which we have begun serving at Christmas in my family. It will make you cry. But in a good way.

Ragu Bolognese

Yield: 7 cups, which serves at least 10 people, or 10 million, I can’t remember. It’s a rich sauce. It freezes very well.

4 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter (you can leave this out and substitute more olive oil if you insist; I think it helps browning process)

2 medium onions, finely chopped

1 large carrot, scraped and finely chopped

2 stalks celery, finely chopped 4 cloves garlic, minced

1 pound ground veal

1 pound ground pork (or use all beef/veal)

1/2 pound ground beef

1/4 pound pancetta, minced or ground (or you can use bacon, but less)

2 cups cream, half and half, or milk (or use a combination)

1 (16-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes, chopped, with the juices

1 cup dry white wine

2 cups chicken stock

Salt and pepper

1. In a very large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, heat the olive oil and butter over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic and sauté over medium heat until translucent.
2. Add veal, pork, beef, and pancetta to the vegetables, cook over medium high heat for about 15 to 20 minutes. You really want it to brown; stir it often, breaking up clumps of meat.
3. Add half the milk/cream and simmer until almost dry, about 15 minutes. Add the tomatoes and simmer, breaking up any large pieces, 15 minutes. Add the wine and broth, bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer for 2 hours.
4. After 2 hours, add remaining milk; simmer for another 1/2 hour, or longer, until the flavor has intensified, and the sauce has become somewhat dry. It is not a very “saucy” sauce. It’s a meaty sauce. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Serve on pappardelle, with freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano.

"Julie & Julia" movie: my piece about Julie Powell from 2002

I've never interviewed Meryl Streep, but I did do a phoner with Julie Powell before she finished the project on which her blog was based. She cussed a lot. And that made me like her.  Click below to read the story, from my dark and painful Chicago Tribune days. Maybe I'll do a blog!

From: 525 Julia Child recipes in 365 days: `government drone' climbs a food mountain.
Source: Chicago Tribune (Chicago, IL), 9/2/2003.
Via: HighBeam™ Research
COPYRIGHT 2007 Chicago Tribune

Hello, Gorgeous (#3)

Chicago: Beautiful lake views at sunset. Very little pimento cheese.

Pimento Cheese (It's a Spread)

One of my brothers, who lives in Los Angeles, recently asked me for the recipe for Pimento Cheese (if you are Southern: yes, it is capitalized), which reminded me that it has been a long time since I'd tasted any. It's not available in local restaurants, here in Chicago (correct me if I'm wrong). And I imagine the same is true for this brother; if there were someplace he could pick up a tub of it, he'd do that. 

While I was writing down how I make it, I started fondly recalling all the finest Pimento Cheese Moments in my life; there are so many that I won't be able to recount them here. 

The few bad Pimento Cheese Moments of my lifetime will just take a minute, and who wouldn't have time for that?

If you're not a Southerner, you probably don't even know what P.C.  is, and I'll start by telling you that is a cheddar cheese spread with chopped pimentos. 

What is is not is a dip, and if you call it a dip, my sister will let you have it. So annoying to watch someone trying to dip crudite in a batch. You eat it on toast, as a sandwich, or saltine crackers. Watching yankees mess with the recipe, by adding onion or chives or something to give it visual interest, which is insane, is excruciating. Of course, there are Southerners who put pickle relish in it. And sugar. So it's not just the yankees. It all makes my skin crawl. 

Anyway, my worst Pimento Cheese Moment involved making it for two new friends, a father-daughter duo with whom I'm now very close. I made a big batch for them; he is a Southerner living in Chicago, too, so naturally he hankered for it.  I used a lot of black pepper. I love black pepper. And I was not used to cooking for children back then. And after eating way too much of it (removing many of the pimentos one by one) on saltines, the daughter got a stomach ache. I blamed myself. We now know, from this awful experience, that one must decide: make it spicy and eat a little, or make it normal and eat a little more. Do not eat a vat of it. And don't let children eat a vat of it. 

Because this is not health food. The first recipe is one I like very much, from my very favorite restaurant in Charleston, S.C., a place where the food is close to perfect for me. It incorporates some fanciness, but not too much. Mine is lazier. Here is their website, which features a few more Southern recipes. 

Hominy Grill Pimento Cheese

Makes 4 generous cups

6 cups cheddar cheese, grated (1 1/2 lbs)

3/4 cup Parmesan cheese, crated

1/2 cup jarred pimentos, rinsed and chopped fine

3/4 cup mayonnaise

1 1/2 tablespoons bourbon

1 teaspoon ancho chili powder

1/3 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Combine the pimentos, mayonnaise, bourbon and seasonings in a large mixing bowl. Work the grated cheeses into the mix until thoroughly combined.

Emily’s Pimento Cheese

Makes much more than you should consume in one sitting

1 giant (1 lb) block cheddar cheese, grated

1/2 cup mayonnaise (more if necessary; it’s just to bind)

1 jar (4 oz) pimentos, drained, juice reserved, and finely chopped

lots of black pepper (probably no more than 1/2 teaspoon)

Tabasco sauce, a few shakes

Combine the cheese, mayo, pimentos, some of their juice, pepper, and Tabasco.  Adjust seasoning to taste. I usually use about half the pimento juice from the jar. It’s not much. And I probably use more than a half cup of mayo. You don’t want it to be too wet or too dry. It helps to let this sit for a while so the flavors can blossom, before eating. Again: you can eat it on saltines or on toast with more mayo. Some people eat it on celery, but I can’t dope that out. And remember: “It’s a spread not a dip,” and tell that to  yankee lady who insists on calling it “this marvelous dip,” with wonderment, as if she’s never heard of pimento cheese. If you put to much pepper in it, it will keep you awake at night. 

Ruined Beauty, Repaired

O Asparagus! Who among us has not turned your slender felicities into a soup that was unfabulous? 

Many of us, I suspect, have made plain old bad asparagus soup. It probably happens with great frequency, but we'll never know since such statistics are rarely reported. 

Because the shame attached to botching a soup--or any dish-- made with such an appealing vegetable, and composed of nothing more than the lissome stalks, broth, salt, pepper, and some dairy, keeps cooks from sharing, and therefore preventing, such unnecessary horrors in the future. 

Here's how you make a creamed soup with just about any vegetable: you saute some onions or leeks, if you like, maybe a bit of garlic,  in some oil or butter; briefly saute the starring vegetable--broccoli, tomatoes, squash, etc; then simmer it all in liquid, usually stock, until tender. You may add a complementary herb. Then you puree, add some salt and pepper and some cream or half and half. What could be bad? 

And yet. . . I did make bad asparagus soup, or, at the very least, soup for which no one requested seconds. 

I'd love to blame it on the asparagus. But they were not old or tough and imperfect. Just look at them. 

During my most recent Saturday trip to Chicago's great Green City Market, there wasn't much else to buy so early in the season, so I came home with way too many of them. Hence the soup, just for variety. 

I'd also love to blame it on the tawdry chicken stock from a box that I used, even though I have frozen vegetable stock in my freezer. But, free will and all.

Why did I do this? Because I wanted immediate gratification; what I got instead was a beautiful looking puree that had a faint underlying flavor of boxed chicken.

But I fixed it rather than wasting, by adding plain nonfat yogurt, a tiny bit of ground cayenne, some more fresh lemon juice, and a little more salt and black pepper. It was delicious cold and hot. This recipe suggests vegetable stock; use chicken stock from a box, if you must, but don't blame me when your delicate soup tastes like poultry. 

Creamy asparagus soup

Serves 6 or so

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 lbs fresh asparagus, trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces

1/4 teaspoon dried tarragon, crumbled (optional)

4-5 cups vegetable stock

1/2 cup cream

1 1/2 cups plain nonfat yogurt

juice of 1/2  lemon

salt, pepper

pinch of ground cayenne

1. Saute onion in a large heavy pot over medium heat, until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add asparagus pieces and saute, stirring, until they turn bright green. Add tarragon (optional). Add vegetable broth or water, bring to a boil; lower heat to simmer and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. 
2. Once the mixture has cooled slightly, puree in blender in small batches, being careful not to burn yourself; don't fill the blender, and use a potholder to hold down the lid! Return to pan, add cream, yogurt, lemon juice, salt, pepper and cayenne. Cook slowly over low heat, until heated through. Taste for salt and pepper. 

Note: you can remove some of the asparagus tops after step one, and set aside for garnish if you'd like. Sprinkle on top before serving