On my flight to Nashville last week, I stopped in the Hudson Booksellers to get my requisite trashy travel reads, namely: the newest issues of Bon Appetit and Gourmet. What with the sexy centerfold on ramps and Molly Wizenberg's (aka Orangette) recipe for leek confit, I decided it was high time the seasons incline toward my desires.
Saturday morning, back in Chicago, I marched resolute to the Green City Winter Market. I had no time for the warnings that it had been yielding little more than potatoes and mushrooms.
I have no time for such warnings!
It is time for kale!
Time for fresh from the ground leeks!
Time for anise-y drinks and sunsets and cool breezes on rooftops!
Time for the Velvet Underground wafting through windows wide open late into the night!
In other words: time for spring!
But the market would not yield to my unseasonal demands. A canvas bag of mushrooms, eggs, apples and half and half later, I half-heartedly eyed the vast array of microgreens. Pea shoots are lovely. Lovely. But pea shoots are not kale, and kale, my friends, is not yet in season.
(An aside about why I'm not so disappointed, after all: I never thought I'd need to spend time in these pages telling you about half and half. However. That is simply because I'd never had Blue Marble Family Farms half and half. It's cream line, and comes in a pleasing and rotund glass jar fresh from a local cow. It really, really costs more than I should ever think about spending on a coffee condiment [although apparently the farmer gave me a "stimulus plan discount"]; but it's actually so good that I gasped at my first sip, and then sat down to write Lauren an email about it. It would be absurd to consider home delivery of half and half, right?)
Later, having acquired desired kale and leeks from a certain notorious grocery store, we got down to the business of preparing a proper spring feast. And maybe kale is not in season, and maybe Saturday's sixty degrees was just a coy late-winter bluff; but I think we got the last word: because spring was in my kitchen, and on our plates, and in our bellies.
Fresh Egg Fettuccine with Garlic and Kale; Leek Confit
Ingredients:
(for the pasta)
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
4 eggs
a pinch of salt
(for the kale)
1 bunch lacinato kale, cut into thin strips
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
good olive oil
a shake of red chile flakes
(to finish)
leek confit
a splash of the dry white wine you are drinking
parmigiano reggiano
NOTE: A few months ago, Amber and I took the pasta 101 class from Chef Theo at Terragusto. To no one's surprise, I sort of fell in love with him, as he waxed about the relationships he built with farmers, his vehemently locally-sourced menu, and his involvement with the food advocacy scene in Illinois. The best thing that Chef Theo taught me, however, was not to be scared of making your own pasta. You can't really ruin it, which means it doesn't need to be a laborious or delicate process, but really can be something you make on an ordinary evening.
This recipe Chef Theo's; it calls for more eggs than recipes I've made in the past, and no olive oil at all. The dough came out bright sunshine yellow, and the market eggs I used were perfectly imperfect: all different sizes and shades.
Method:
(for the pasta)
Gather all your ingredients. On a clean counter, mound the flour, then make a large and fortified well in the center. Add the eggs to the center of the well and break the yolks. Tracing your fingers around the edge of the well in small circles, gradually pull more and more flour into the center of the raw eggs (ew, ew, ew, ew) until all is incorporated. Pick up the dough and knead for 2 or 3 minutes, then let rest, covered, for about 15 minutes. Your dough should be stiff and not at all sticky.
Break off about a fourth of your dough and stretch into a rectangle narrow enough to fit through the widest setting of your pasta machine; spend enough time running the dough through this setting so that you feel like any of the kneading you were too impatient to do by hand happens by virtue of the machine. Gradually roll the dough thinner and thinner, and then cut into strips. Toss the noodles carelessly and effortlessly with a bit of flour to keep them from sticking to each other, and set aside.
(If you're a bit lazy like Chef Yum Yum, the preceding paragraph would have been where you handed off the real work to your adept and confident companion chef, the one who insisted that it was, in fact, a good idea, to make homemade pasta at 7:45pm [he was right], while you took time to prepare the kale.)
Meanwhile, bring a large, salted pot of water to a boil.
(for the kale)
In a large pan, heat the olive oil over medium high-heat. Add the garlic and a generous shake of red pepper flakes, and stir until just fragrant. Add the kale in handfuls, and stir until it wilts enough that you can add more to the pan; if your kale is fairly dry, you may need to add a little water. Season with salt and pepper, and saute the kale til it is tender-crisp.
(finish)
Just as the confit is finished confit-ing, add a generous splash of white wine, raise the heat, and let the wine evaporate off. Keep warm.
Add the pasta to the boiling water for just a minute or two, and then remove to a large bowl with a slotted spoon. Toss with the kale, a drizzle of olive oil, and lots and lots of grated parmigano reggiano.
Layer each plate with a few spoonfuls of confit, and then a generous heap of pasta. Garnish with more cheese, and marvel that there is something very similar in the taste of leeks and kale, even as they still taste quite different. Maybe that's the taste of spring?
Showing posts with label pasta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pasta. Show all posts
11.06.2008
Matthew Cressler Demands a Dinner Party
I have met Matthew Cressler a total of three times:
Once, at the office when he came to pick up Mary Ellen.
Once, at the American Academy of Religion.
Once, in Grant Park, with 100,000 other giddy Chicagoans (granted, a lot of deep bonds were formed that night).
So, it's sort of - you know - forward, right, for him to invite himself over for a dinner party?
Apparently every time Mary Ellen cooks for him, he asks, "When is Cassie going to have us over for a dinner party?" Now, Matt, if you're reading this, I just want to say - I think Mary Ellen is a pretty rad girl, and I gather she's a decent cook; in general, it's bad form to talk about some other chef's cooking when you've just been cooked a nice meal. It seems particularly bad form if you've never eaten said other chef's cooking. So I'm feeling obligated to throw a dinner party just to keep you from continuing to put your foot in your mouth.
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salad of heirloom lettuces, market grapes, sunflower sprouts,shaved chioggia beets, oregon bleu
I'm thinking December 13th, what do you think Matt? Does that work for you and Mary Ellen? I want to make sure your dinner party fits into your schedule. Do you have any dietary restrictions, or foods I should avoid? Any foods you're particularly fond of? How about any preferences for fresh flowers? What about lighting - do you prefer votive candles or tea lights? Sparkling water or still?
So, I'm banking on waning readership with this one, but who else would like to come to Matthew Cressler's Dinner Party (aside from the usual Chicagoans, you're already invited and you know who you are)? Rumor has it Guy will come up from Woodstock; other out-of-town diners (including, but not limited to, those from: Durham, Seattle, New Haven, Bellevue, Cambridge, Portland, NYC) are invited to take a little trip to Chicago, and since Matt is taking care of a wine pairing with each course, visiting travelers should plan on bringing nothing but their fine selves.
Until then: a recipe from the last dinner party.
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Fresh Sage Pasta, Foraged* Mushrooms, Red Kuri Squash, Sage
(the mushrooms and squash preparation is inspired by a Thomas Keller recipe.)
Ingredients:
(for the pasta)
3 tbs finely chopped sage
1 c unbleached all-purpose flour
healthy pinch of salt
1 large, fresh egg
1 tsp good olive oil
(for the mushrooms and squash)
NOTE: The kuri shell is very very hard - you'll need extremely big muscles, like Chef Yum Yum's, and a very sharp knife to peel it and chop it to the requisite 1/2 inch dice. You should have about 3 cups squash once it is chopped.
1 medium sized red kuri squash; if red kuri is not available, you can use butternut, but you will likely live to regret the decision.
canola oil
1 tbs butter
12 sage leaves
12 oz. mixed foraged mushrooms
canola oil
1 tbs butter
1 medium shallot, minced
1 tbs fresh thyme
(finishing the pasta)
4 tbs butter
2 tbs minced chives
1 tbs fresh italian parsley
1/2 lemon
Method
(for the pasta)
Dear Readers, there are many, many great recipes for making fresh pasta out there; the ingredients above draw from the Greens Cookbook; may I also commend to you any of Mark Bittman's recipes, as well as the excellent, excellent class Amber and I took at Terragusto (more on that in a later post). It is far too late, and far too illegal for me to copy the 3 pages of pasta making instruction that Deborah Madison offers. Buy the book; it is worth the investment, and easier on the eyes than a blog, anyways.
(for the mushrooms and squash)
In a large, deep and heavy bottomed pan (le creuset!), heat a thin layer of canola oil over medium high heat. Add the butter and let it brown a bit, then toss in half the sage leaves and half the squash (you'll want to fill the pan but not crowd the squash), and salt and pepper to taste. Cook squash, tossing occasionally, until well caramelized and brown on the outside, and melting on the inside. On a paper towel lined baking sheet, drain the squash and sage leaves separately. Repeat with remaining squash. Set aside, and wipe out your pan with a paper towel.
Heat another layer of canola oil in the same pan, and add the butter to brown. Toss in the mushrooms and raise the heat; cook until the mushrooms begin to brown, and raise heat to evaporate any excess water they release. Add the shallot, thyme, salt and pepper, and cook 3 or 4 minutes. Drain on another paper towel lined baking sheet, and wipe out the pan with a paper towel.
(finish)
As soon as your pasta water comes to a hot and bothered boil, brown remaining 4 tbs of butter in your pan. Toss in the parsley and chives and let them crackle a little, and then, carefully carefully squeeze the lemon half into the browned butter (it will splatter!). Cook your pasta for just a minute or so, then drain and toss with just 1/2 the browned butter. Toss the remaining butter with the squash and mushrooms and heat until just warmed. To plate, nestle a small serving of pasta next to a scoop or two of the mushrooms and squash. Serves 6, exactly.
*If by "foraged" one means "bought at the Green City Market," then, yes! in fact I did forage those mushrooms!
1.22.2007
Two post-fondue recovery ideas:
Idea Number One:
Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of baguette, just waiting to be chopped, skewered and dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you you do? Why, you chop up that bread, knowing full well that everyone loves the bread best of all. And all guests fill their plates with bread, elated by the bounty.
Now dinner's over, bellies are full and rounded, plates are cleared, when you discover in your living room another bowl of bread bites, completely untouched! And not just any bowl - the largest mixing bowl in your whole kitchen, mounded high with bread. You cradle the bowl, knowing you have enough bite-sized pieces of bread here to make croutons that will last you well into retirement.
But croutons, oh making croutons, right now that seems like so much work. You thoughtfully pat your very full belly.
The snow outside the window catches your eye, your gaze drifts back to the bread bowl. Croutons, yes croutons, if only you weren't so full and fat and lazy, if only you could just get a bit of exercise first and work off this post-fondue-haze. You glance back at the falling snow, back to the bread, and suddenly their seems an analogy here too profound to ignore.
You snap out of your reverie, gather the bread, gather your guests and step out onto your balcony and start throwing pieces of bread into the air one by one, watching them swim, carefree, through the cold winter air. They are snow, they are the milky way galaxy, they are a symbol of your vitality and your youth!
(Oh I know oh I know it's so wasteful, but it just felt so right so amazing at the time. And, the next afternoon when I heard those happy winter birds chirping around my front steps, I knew it wasn't in vain. I worked off a bit of my fondue chub, and those fat little birds didn't feel so cold that night.)
Idea Number Two:
Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of grape tomatoes just ready to be dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you do? Well, given that you're a little light-headed from consuming little more than garlic, butter, cheese and of course bread over the last 36 hours, it's time to make yourself a nice healthy meal. I know you're starving, but just hold out for another four hours or so to make these slow-roasted tomatoes. The tomatoes taste like what sun-dried tomatoes would taste like if they were actually dried inside the sun. It's worth every hour of the wait, I promise.
Fusilli with Slow Roasted Tomatoes and Preserved Lemons
Ingredients
2 pints grape tomatoes, halved
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
3 tbs. olive oil
pepper and salt, to taste
1 lb fusilli
1 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, thinly sliced
1 pint cremini mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup vermouth
5 slices of preserved lemon rind, diced (should you not have preserved lemons on hand, and you're not interested in waiting an additional week or so for your dinner, you could use a tablespoon or so of fresh lemon zest and salt to taste.)
1/2 c. grated parmigiano reggiano
About 4.5 hours before you would like to eat, preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Arrange the halved tomatoes in aesthetically, cut side up in a 9 x 13 baking pan. Combine the olive oil and the garlic, and then gently brush with the garlic and oil. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper, and then roast until shriveled, crinkled and deep, deep red, about 3.5 - 4 hours.
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and cook pasta. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water.
Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Saute the shallot until just beginning to turn golden, then saute the mushrooms until they are beginning to brown. Add the vermouth and simmer until the liquid is reduced to about 2 tablespoons.
Stir the lemons and slow-roasted tomatoes in the mushrooms until just warmed. Toss with hot pasta, parmigiano reggiano and reserved cooking water as necessary. Serve immediately.
Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of baguette, just waiting to be chopped, skewered and dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you you do? Why, you chop up that bread, knowing full well that everyone loves the bread best of all. And all guests fill their plates with bread, elated by the bounty.
Now dinner's over, bellies are full and rounded, plates are cleared, when you discover in your living room another bowl of bread bites, completely untouched! And not just any bowl - the largest mixing bowl in your whole kitchen, mounded high with bread. You cradle the bowl, knowing you have enough bite-sized pieces of bread here to make croutons that will last you well into retirement.
But croutons, oh making croutons, right now that seems like so much work. You thoughtfully pat your very full belly.
The snow outside the window catches your eye, your gaze drifts back to the bread bowl. Croutons, yes croutons, if only you weren't so full and fat and lazy, if only you could just get a bit of exercise first and work off this post-fondue-haze. You glance back at the falling snow, back to the bread, and suddenly their seems an analogy here too profound to ignore.
You snap out of your reverie, gather the bread, gather your guests and step out onto your balcony and start throwing pieces of bread into the air one by one, watching them swim, carefree, through the cold winter air. They are snow, they are the milky way galaxy, they are a symbol of your vitality and your youth!
(Oh I know oh I know it's so wasteful, but it just felt so right so amazing at the time. And, the next afternoon when I heard those happy winter birds chirping around my front steps, I knew it wasn't in vain. I worked off a bit of my fondue chub, and those fat little birds didn't feel so cold that night.)
Idea Number Two:
Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of grape tomatoes just ready to be dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you do? Well, given that you're a little light-headed from consuming little more than garlic, butter, cheese and of course bread over the last 36 hours, it's time to make yourself a nice healthy meal. I know you're starving, but just hold out for another four hours or so to make these slow-roasted tomatoes. The tomatoes taste like what sun-dried tomatoes would taste like if they were actually dried inside the sun. It's worth every hour of the wait, I promise.
Fusilli with Slow Roasted Tomatoes and Preserved Lemons
Ingredients
2 pints grape tomatoes, halved
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
3 tbs. olive oil
pepper and salt, to taste
1 lb fusilli
1 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, thinly sliced
1 pint cremini mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup vermouth
5 slices of preserved lemon rind, diced (should you not have preserved lemons on hand, and you're not interested in waiting an additional week or so for your dinner, you could use a tablespoon or so of fresh lemon zest and salt to taste.)
1/2 c. grated parmigiano reggiano
About 4.5 hours before you would like to eat, preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Arrange the halved tomatoes in aesthetically, cut side up in a 9 x 13 baking pan. Combine the olive oil and the garlic, and then gently brush with the garlic and oil. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper, and then roast until shriveled, crinkled and deep, deep red, about 3.5 - 4 hours.
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and cook pasta. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water.
Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Saute the shallot until just beginning to turn golden, then saute the mushrooms until they are beginning to brown. Add the vermouth and simmer until the liquid is reduced to about 2 tablespoons.
Stir the lemons and slow-roasted tomatoes in the mushrooms until just warmed. Toss with hot pasta, parmigiano reggiano and reserved cooking water as necessary. Serve immediately.
1.07.2007
Food like a hug.
It's the sort of day that calls for comfort food.
Not just any comfort food; while Lauren can attest that I am by no means above a box of macaroni and cheese or really greasy bar food when the moment demands, I wanted a meal that would give me pleasure to create (more so than mixing cheese powder, butter and milk, although I'm not denying the pleasure in that). It should be a meal where not just the eating but also the making should impart comfort. When all's said and done, I wanted to feel like I'd just had, well, a really great hug.
I had some mascarpone leftover from my pancakes, and have been dreaming about the roasted tomatoes Mark and I made a few weeks ago. So here's my little menu, perfectly accented with a nice salad, courtesy of Megan. (As an aside, she tossed a bit of preserved lemon into the simple salad - what a surprise! As with all things pickled, Megan's obsessed with the lemons, and she's been coming up with lots of creative ways to use them; I'm getting more ideas, so more on that in later posts, I'm sure!).
Need a hug?
Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini
Oven-roasted tomatoes
For two.
For the oven-roasted tomatoes:
About a month ago, I turned over a new leaf, the-I-know-it's-winter-but-all-I-want-is-fresh-Tomoates-! leaf. I've always been sort of on the fence about tomatoes, so I'm not quite sure where this is coming from. Anyways, I've been making all sorts of tomatoey goodnes: probably the best tomato soup ever; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; tomato butter sauce that has revolutionized the way I think about a half-pound of butter; and now these. Luckily I've been able to find some pretty incredible on-the-vine tomatoes at the grocery; while a lot of oven roasted tomatoes call for romas, I prefer to use the round vine tomatoes. Look for firm, just ripe round tomatoes for this recipe; the deepness of them will keep them much more moist as they roast than romas. This is one of the simplest ways to ever cook a tomato; your guests will inquire, "Why, what's on the tomatoes?" imagining you scoured the earth far and wide the rare and mysterious flavors. What a trick!
4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
Preheat the oven to 350. Brush a small baking pan (I use a 9 x 9 brownie pan) with a light coat of olive oil.
Cut the top (vine end) off of each tomato, and then with a paring knife gently core and remove all seeds. Place the tomatoes cut side up in the pan, and then drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle very generously with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.
Bake for 50 minutes, maybe more, until the peels begin to brown, curl and crack and the tomatoes are absolutely melting away. If you are not ready to serve immediately, you can put the tomatoes on their serving dish and cover with foil to keep them warm, but they'll taste the best roasting hot.
For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:
I started preparing this after the tomatoes had been in the oven for about 20 minutes. The timing was perfect, and the dish is very, very easy. This pasta is reminiscent of the near-perfect pasta I had at The Greens Restaurant in October, so I was quite pleased with the results.
12 oz broccolini
8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 tbs. butter
3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)
2 tbs. chopped italian parsley
2 tbs. olive oil
Dash of crushed red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup mascarpone
1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; meanwhile, trim the bottom 1/2 inch or so off the broccolini and peel off the outermost fibrous layer of the stalks with a vegetable peeler. This is, certainly, the high-maintenance approach to broccolini. You'd be fine without peeling, but with peeling you have the instant gratification of the sweet inner stalk with less of the hassle of gnawing. Once the water has boiled, toss the broccolini in for 5 minutes (or until tender); remove with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge into ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and set aside.
Add the pasta to the same boiling water. Over medium heat, melt the butter in a small saucepan; as the foam subsides, add one clove of garlic and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the panko, parsley and a generous grind of salt and pepper. Fry the breadcrumbs until luxuriously golden brown, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the remaining garlic and crushed red pepper flakes, similarly stirring until just fragrant. Add the drained broccolini and saute for about 1 or 2 minutes, or until hot and well acquainted with garlic and red pepper. Season with pepper and salt.
At this point, your pasta should be about ready to come out of its water. Put the mascarpone and the parmesan in the bottom of a large bowl. Drain the pasta and then quickly add it to the cheeses, stirring quickly 'til all becomes melty and smooth.
Divide the pasta between two warmed dinner plates; top each with half the broccolini, and sprinkle with half the breadcrumbs. Serve the tomatoes nestled gently up against.
There, don't you feel better?
Not just any comfort food; while Lauren can attest that I am by no means above a box of macaroni and cheese or really greasy bar food when the moment demands, I wanted a meal that would give me pleasure to create (more so than mixing cheese powder, butter and milk, although I'm not denying the pleasure in that). It should be a meal where not just the eating but also the making should impart comfort. When all's said and done, I wanted to feel like I'd just had, well, a really great hug.
I had some mascarpone leftover from my pancakes, and have been dreaming about the roasted tomatoes Mark and I made a few weeks ago. So here's my little menu, perfectly accented with a nice salad, courtesy of Megan. (As an aside, she tossed a bit of preserved lemon into the simple salad - what a surprise! As with all things pickled, Megan's obsessed with the lemons, and she's been coming up with lots of creative ways to use them; I'm getting more ideas, so more on that in later posts, I'm sure!).
Need a hug?
Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini
Oven-roasted tomatoes
For two.
For the oven-roasted tomatoes:
About a month ago, I turned over a new leaf, the-I-know-it's-winter-but-all-I-want-is-fresh-Tomoates-! leaf. I've always been sort of on the fence about tomatoes, so I'm not quite sure where this is coming from. Anyways, I've been making all sorts of tomatoey goodnes: probably the best tomato soup ever; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; tomato butter sauce that has revolutionized the way I think about a half-pound of butter; and now these. Luckily I've been able to find some pretty incredible on-the-vine tomatoes at the grocery; while a lot of oven roasted tomatoes call for romas, I prefer to use the round vine tomatoes. Look for firm, just ripe round tomatoes for this recipe; the deepness of them will keep them much more moist as they roast than romas. This is one of the simplest ways to ever cook a tomato; your guests will inquire, "Why, what's on the tomatoes?" imagining you scoured the earth far and wide the rare and mysterious flavors. What a trick!
4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
Preheat the oven to 350. Brush a small baking pan (I use a 9 x 9 brownie pan) with a light coat of olive oil.
Cut the top (vine end) off of each tomato, and then with a paring knife gently core and remove all seeds. Place the tomatoes cut side up in the pan, and then drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle very generously with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.
Bake for 50 minutes, maybe more, until the peels begin to brown, curl and crack and the tomatoes are absolutely melting away. If you are not ready to serve immediately, you can put the tomatoes on their serving dish and cover with foil to keep them warm, but they'll taste the best roasting hot.
For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:
I started preparing this after the tomatoes had been in the oven for about 20 minutes. The timing was perfect, and the dish is very, very easy. This pasta is reminiscent of the near-perfect pasta I had at The Greens Restaurant in October, so I was quite pleased with the results.
12 oz broccolini
8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 tbs. butter
3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)
2 tbs. chopped italian parsley
2 tbs. olive oil
Dash of crushed red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup mascarpone
1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; meanwhile, trim the bottom 1/2 inch or so off the broccolini and peel off the outermost fibrous layer of the stalks with a vegetable peeler. This is, certainly, the high-maintenance approach to broccolini. You'd be fine without peeling, but with peeling you have the instant gratification of the sweet inner stalk with less of the hassle of gnawing. Once the water has boiled, toss the broccolini in for 5 minutes (or until tender); remove with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge into ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and set aside.
Add the pasta to the same boiling water. Over medium heat, melt the butter in a small saucepan; as the foam subsides, add one clove of garlic and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the panko, parsley and a generous grind of salt and pepper. Fry the breadcrumbs until luxuriously golden brown, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the remaining garlic and crushed red pepper flakes, similarly stirring until just fragrant. Add the drained broccolini and saute for about 1 or 2 minutes, or until hot and well acquainted with garlic and red pepper. Season with pepper and salt.
At this point, your pasta should be about ready to come out of its water. Put the mascarpone and the parmesan in the bottom of a large bowl. Drain the pasta and then quickly add it to the cheeses, stirring quickly 'til all becomes melty and smooth.
Divide the pasta between two warmed dinner plates; top each with half the broccolini, and sprinkle with half the breadcrumbs. Serve the tomatoes nestled gently up against.
There, don't you feel better?
8.24.2006
Springtime in August!
Oh call me a fool for writing about favas - that darling of springtimes everywhere! - in late August. But Chef Yum Yum is not one to be so coy; why, she herself ate favas this very weekend!
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
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