Adapted from Canal House Cooking, Vol. no. 3 (winter and spring)

Repeat a phrase often enough and it’s bound to lose something of its original meaning. Such is the case with pasta primavera, a dish that originated to celebrate and spotlight spring’s early glories, but that today has come to mean pretty much any pasta dish featuring pretty much any vegetable, regardless of seasonality. Of course, this hasn’t been helped by the fact that certain of the Italian restaurant chains have taken to offering the dish year-round, no doubt recognizing that diners view it as a healthy alternative to, say, its cream-laden cousin, fettuccine Alfredo. I’m all for healthier eating, but by making primavera available through all four seasons, the very qualities that made it so special originally—the simplicity of its ingredients, the clarity of its flavors—have largely been lost. Regardless of how you feel about carrots or peppers, they have no place in a true primavera, in part because they’re available year-round, and as such lack the sweet, delicate-quality the dish requires to live up to its full potential. So consider this my attempt to wrest what has become a pasta mainstay from the clutches of all those ordinary vegetables, thereby returning it to its proper place—as a seasonal menu item with an expiration date landing squarely on the final day of spring.

If all this sounds a little strident I should mention that for a long time, and precisely for the reasons listed above, pasta primavera was the sort of thing I never thought of making. So removed from its original form was my concept of the dish that there simply seemed no reason to bother. That changed, however, when I opened Canal House Cooking’s winter/spring collection of recipes and came across the version of the dish I bring to you here (in slightly modified form; more on this a little further down). As can sometimes happen when you stumble upon a recipe that grabs you, a quick scan of the ingredients and instructions opened my eyes to both the dish’s possibilities and the very qualities that had made it so special in the first place. Immediately it moved to the top of my must-cook list.

It’s fitting that this opening of eyes would be thanks to Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton, the fine ladies of Canal House (don’t be confused by the name—Christopher is a woman), since so many of my favorite cooking discoveries of the past few years have come courtesy of this talented duo. And when I say “talented” I don’t mean a Top Chef–style ability to whip up complex dishes in a matter of minutes, or to transform a variety of ingredients into a kind of edible science project (though both are skills the pair may well possess). No, where the two have placed their considerable talents and energy is in the kind of food people sometimes call “honest”—dishes with a focus on seasonality, bold flavors, and the primacy of quality ingredients. Think roast chicken of the most flavorful variety, and you get an idea of the culinary territory in which the pair elects to toil.

All of which makes pasta primavera a natural for them, and explains why their version of the dish would immediately grab me by the apron strings. Finally, here was a rendition that practically screamed the word, “spring!” What’s more, since the goal of the recipe is to capitalize on the bright flavors of the season’s young vegetables, preparation and assembly require little more than a quick sauté and a gentle toss. (Lengthy cooking time would, of course, rid the ingredients of the very things that make them so appealing, namely their natural sweetness and their textural snap). So from start to finish, the entire enterprise should take little more than half an hour, making this the perfect meal for a busy weeknight.

Which brings me to the ingredients themselves. As mentioned earlier, I modified the recipe slightly from its original form, both because precise measurements were not always included for the various ingredients (namely for the fresh mint and the grated pecorino, both of which are used to garnish the individual servings), and because some of the vegetables were simply not available when I went to the market. To the first point I assume that it was Hirsheimer and Hamilton’s intent that those working with the recipe simply follow their own instincts when it came to adding the herbs and cheese to the finished dish, and that, of course, makes perfect sense. Nonetheless, if only as a guide I often like an idea of what amount to start with, and so have provided those here—with the understanding that you will play with the amounts as you see fit.

As for the dish’s star ingredients—the vegetables themselves—since the goal of the Canal House recipe is to make the most of what’s in season, I felt no compunction about swapping out those items that weren’t available (namely fresh fava beans) with those that were (extraordinarily sweet snap peas). In other words, use the recipe as your guide, but let the produce bin dictate your decisions. On both of the two days I made the dish this meant snap peas, but it could just as easily have been fiddleheads, baby zucchini, edamame, or yes, those fava beans listed in the original recipe. The point is to maximize what’s freshest—and presumably that’s the stuff on most visible display—and you can’t go wrong here.

That said, if all else fails, frozen vegetables can be a good alternative to fresh, and while it would be a shame to go that route for everything in the dish, even the Canal House duo (seasonality-sticklers that they are) list frozen peas as a viable option in their list of ingredients. Given the fact that the original recipe had done this, I felt okay about swinging by the frozen foods section and picking up a package of lima beans when I couldn’t locate the range of fresh spring vegetables I needed (it was early in the season and there was a limit to how much was available). Still, I also had fresh asparagus and those snap peas in my shopping cart—elements I knew would go a long way to balancing out any shortcoming presented by the frozen lima beans. So consider the mix when making your decision.

Also, having never made a primavera before, I confess to being a little surprised by the presence of a cup of diced smoked ham in this recipe. And while I suppose one could get away with omitting it, I found its presence here to be key, offering a salty balance to the natural sweetness of the veggies. In fact, by first browning the ham in a skillet along with a few tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil prior to adding the vegetables, the fat from the ham combines with the oil to provide a simple pan-sauce that coats the vegetables and ultimately works its way around the strands of spaghetti. A tablespoon of tomato paste for a subtle acidic component, plus a scattering of cooling mint and salty pecorino cheese is all it takes to round out this simple medley of flavors.

If you ever wondered what spring tasted like, here’s your answer. Get it while you can!

Ingredients:
—Salt
—2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—1 cup diced smoked ham
—1 cup fava beans, blanched and peeled (TRG note: I used frozen lima beans instead)
—1 cup fresh or frozen English peas (I used fresh snap peas)
—1½ cups chopped thin asparagus
—Pepper (to taste)
—1 lb spaghetti
—1 tbs tomato paste
—Best quality extra-virgin olive oil (for drizzling)
—Finely chopped fresh mint leaves (TRG note: about ¼ cup)
—Grated pecorino romano (TRG note: about ½ cup)

Directions:
—Fill a large pot with water, add a few pinches of salt, and bring the water to a boil over medium heat.
—Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the ham, and cook, stirring often, until the ham is lightly browned. Add the favas, peas, and asparagus (TRG note: or whatever vegetables you’re using), season with salt and pepper, then add a splash of water. Cook, stirring often, until the vegetables are just cooked, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat, cover, and set aside.
—Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook until just tender, about 10 minutes. Drain, return it to the pot, add the tomato paste, drizzle with some really good olive oil, and season with salt and pepper.
—Add the ham and vegetables and all their pan juices to the pasta and gently toss everything together. Divide between 8 individual warm bowls and sprinkle with fresh mint and pecorino romano.

Serves 8

The post 05/14/13 • PASTA PRIMAVERA appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen 

I know, I know, lasagna—not exactly consistent with the theme of last week’s posting in which I gave voice to a post-holiday impulse to lay off the sort of rich, rib-sticking foods I’m usually drawn to. What can I say? I did that for a few days, and then, well, I didn’t want to anymore. And in truth, I’m a big believer in giving your body what it’s asking for, so if it wants spinach give it spinach, and if it wants pizza, give it pizza… at least in moderation. Anyway, that approach has pretty much worked for me, with an understanding that if the pizza begins to outweigh the spinach, it may require a dialing up of the exercise routine. Still, lasagna is the sort of thing I never make and rarely order, despite the fact that it’s a dish I really, really like (I mean seriously, who doesn’t?). It’s simply one of those foods, like chocolate cake and fried chicken, that I managed to erase from my inner favorite foods hard drive, having determined that it posed too much of a challenge even for my relatively speedy metabolism. But several months ago, when my friend Dennis casually mentioned that he’d made lasagna the previous weekend, the lost (or at least hidden) memory of that seductive dish came rushing back, reigniting a craving that proved as powerful as it was insistent. I’m not exaggerating when I say that anytime the issue of what to cook arose, lasagna was at the head of the line, demanding equal consideration. And so, in the end, there was nothing to do but ignore my reservations and welcome the dish back into the kitchen.

Of course, that eventual waving in process also involved finding the right recipe, a process which took longer than expected as I discovered one more reason the dish hadn’t been featured on my table lately: most versions of it can take the better part of a day to prepare. That was more time than I was ready to commit to something I wasn’t convinced I should be making at all. Still, if I could find a recipe that somehow sped up the process to no more than a few hours without giving up the rich sauce and classic mix of ingredients I associated with all of my favorite lasagna-eating experiences (namely ricotta cheese, mozzarella, Parmesan, and sausage—this last an absolute requirement) then I was in. And after scanning my own archives and a variety of cooking magazine websites, that’s exactly what I found in the ever-reliable America’s Test Kitchen cookbook.

As I recall, “simple” was the key word in their description, and while I question whether any lasagna, no matter how speedy its assembly, can ever be called simple (let’s face it, with its multiple layers of sauce, noodles, and cheese, few dishes require more assembly than this one), two key shortcuts promised to get me to the finish line in record time. The first involved fashioning a bolognese that had all of the rich, well-rounded flavors of a long simmered sauce but in just a fraction of the time. And the second with swapping out traditional lasagna noodles with the no-boil variety (also called “oven ready”) that are now standard issue on most supermarket shelves—a step that eliminates the laborious process of boiling the noodles, then plunging them in ice water and carefully laying them out so they don’t clump, all prior to putting together the actual dish.

Of course, many recipes make promises—the question is: do they deliver? In the case of this one I’m here to tell you that it does, in large part because that meat sauce is so damn good. Traditionally the sauce’s richness comes from a slow-cooking process that takes hours to complete, but that here is achieved through a handful of steps completed in little more than 20 minutes. The key is simmering the onion, garlic and meat together for a few minutes, adding a small amount of cream for body, then incorporating both the puréed and the diced tomatoes in the final minutes. It’s a combination that ensures the finished sauce will be velvety smooth while still offering the homey satisfaction of chunks of whole tomatoes—a case of having your cake and eating it too. Just be sure to pour the juice off the diced variety before adding it to the pot or the finished product will be disappointingly wet and loose. It’s a mistake I made, and while it had no discernible effect on the flavor of the dish, a slice of lasagna should look firm and almost block-like and not, well, like a melting mound of tomato-smothered noodles.

That said, I tend to like my sauce slightly tangier than I found this one to be. If you’re similarly inclined, increase the salt from a ½ to ¾ of a teaspoon, and add a ¼ cup chopped fresh basil along with a ¼ tsp dried oregano—minor tweaks that ratchet up the flavor quotient. Of course, where anything tomato-y is concerned I lean towards the heavily seasoned, so let your own preferences guide you here. Either way, the sauce will still have plenty of full-bodied flavor.

And as for the all-important meat component, the recipe suggests using a pound of meatloaf mix (equal parts beef, pork, and veal), though it notes that a ½ pound each of beef and sweet Italian sausage will also do the trick. Given my porky preferences mentioned above, I naturally went for the sausage alternative—a move that delivered just the sort of mildly spicy flavor I was looking for. And if you buy the sausage in bulk form you can avoid the time consuming process of removing the meat from its casings.

Although the cooking time required an additional 10 minutes to achieve the bubbly, spotty brown appearance called for in ATK’s directions, the entire recipe from start to finish is still blessedly fast—clocking in at less than an hour-and-a-half, including 10 minutes for cooling. Which means that other than waistline concerns there’s absolutely no reason not to satisfy your lasagna craving on a regular basis. Of course, add the slick of melted cheese to tender noodles and a rich meat sauce and you have a combination that’s famously hard to say no to, which means it’s great dish to have on hand when you’re feeding a crowd but dangerous if it’s just one or two of you (in other words, leftovers spell danger). As Alfredo said to me last night after we’d each inhaled a second serving, “Definitely make this again… just not too often.”

Ingredients:
—1 tbs olive oil
—1 medium onion, chopped fine (about 1 cup)
—6 medium cloves garlic, pressed through a garlic press or minced (about 2 tbs)
—1 lb. meatloaf mix or 1/3 lb. each ground beef chuck, ground veal, and ground pork. (Note: ½ lb ground beef and a ½ lb sweet Italian sausage removed from the casings can also be substituted.)
—1/2 tsp table salt (TRG note: increase to ¾ tsp if you like things a little saltier)
—1/2 tsp ground black pepper
—1/4 cup heavy cream
—1 28-oz can tomato purée
—1 28-oz can diced tomatoes, drained
—1/4 tsp dried oregano (TRG note: optional)
—15 oz ricotta cheese (whole milk or part skim), (1¾ cups)
—2½ oz grated Parmesan cheese (1¼ cups)
—1/2 cup chopped fresh basil (TRG note: plus an additional ¼ tsp for the sauce, if desired)
—1 large egg, lightly beaten
—1/2 tsp table salt
—1/2 tsp ground black pepper
—12 no-boil lasagna noodles from one 8- or 9-ounce package.
—16 oz whole milk mozzarella, shredded (4 cups)

Directions:
—Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 375˚.
—Heat oil in large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven over medium heat until shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes; add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened but not browned, about 2 minutes. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes.
—Increase heat to medium-high and add ground meats, salt, and pepper; cook, breaking meat into small pieces with wooden spoon, until meat loses its raw color but has not browned, about 4 minutes.
—Add cream and simmer, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and only fat remains, about 4 minutes. Add pureed and drained diced tomatoes and bring to simmer, along with 1/4 cup chopped fresh basil and 1/4 tsp dried oregano (if using); reduce heat to low and simmer slowly until flavors are blended, about 3 minutes; set sauce aside. (Sauce can be cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 2 days; reheat before assembling lasagna.)
—Mix ricotta, 1 cup Parmesan, basil, egg, salt, and pepper in medium bowl with fork until well-combined and creamy; set aside.
—Smear entire bottom of a 9- by 13-inch baking dish with ¼ cup meat sauce. Place three noodles on top of sauce, then drop 3 tbs ricotta mixture down center of each noodle, leveling the cheese by pressing flat with back of measuring spoon. Sprinkle evenly with 1 cup shredded mozzarella, and spoon 1½ cups meat sauce evenly across the cheese. Repeat layering of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce two more times. Place three remaining noodles on top of sauce, spread remaining sauce over noodles, sprinkle with remaining cup mozzarella, then with remaining ¼ cup Parmesan.
—Lightly spray a large sheet of foil with nonstick cooking spray and cover lasagna. Bake 15 minutes, then remove foil. Return lasagna to oven and continue to bake until cheese is spotty brown and sauce is bubbling, about 25 minutes longer. Cool lasagna about 10 minutes; cut into pieces and serve.

Serves 6 to 8

The post 01/17/13 • SPEED DEMONS’ LASAGNA appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Sept., 2007 Fine Cooking (click here to view the recipe)

In the last few weeks I’ve begun to notice a subtle shift in peoples’ attitude towards the summer. Gone is the air of anticipation that was everywhere in May and June. So, too, is the vibe of communal celebration that marked the month of July, when people across the city seemed to be gathering at outdoor cafes until the wee hours reveling in the long days and warm nights, or racing out of the office early to catch a train for a three- or four-day weekend somewhere. No, that sense of collective excitement has clearly burned away, leaving in its place something a little more, well, resigned—resigned that the season of fun and freedom is quickly winding down, to be replaced by one of renewed commitments, and responsibilities, and scheduling. In fact, just yesterday someone asked me, “How was your summer?” Was my summer?! I quickly reminded him (and myself) that it wasn’t over just yet, that there are still some warm nights and long weekends to be enjoyed. All the same, I can’t deny that I, too, hear that end-of-summer drumbeat.

Which in its way makes this week’s posting for linguine and clam sauce all the more timely. After all, there are few things that offer a greater concentration of summer-y flavors than this simple pasta dish. Of course, unlike anything made with sweet corn or heirloom tomatoes, it’s a meal that can be enjoyed more or less year-round, but for me there’s something about the briney, garlicky combo here that makes this especially right when the weather gets warm. Come July, it’s a dish I start to crave.

That said I should probably acknowledge that there are those who still hold to the rule that shellfish should only be eaten during those months with an “R” in their name—which is to say, never from May through August, the very period we’re focused on. Obviously it’s a dictum I don’t follow (nor, I might add, do any of the other folks lining up for fried oysters or clam-bakes this time of year), largely because the toxicity concerns associated with this period are pretty much absent these days if you’re purchasing from a reputable fishmonger. (If you’re harvesting yourself, however, beware of toxic blooms in your area.)

So assuming I haven’t scared you away with all that, let me bring to your attention what in my estimation is a quite wonderful, not to mention easy, version of this classic dish. It’s one I pulled out of a back issue of Fine Cooking, and no doubt it’s the recipe’s traditional, by-the-book quality that drew me to it in the first place, as it reminded me of the dish my dad would invariably order when I was a kid and we’d have one of our occasional family dinners at his favorite red sauce establishment in South Philadelphia. I wasn’t so interested in clam sauce in those days (if memory serves, lasagna and garlic bread were my two fixations back then), but the smell of the garlic and white wine-infused broth seems nonetheless to have made a lasting impression on my brain, since any close approximation of that restaurant’s preparation tends to take me right back to those long ago family meals. This recipe does just that, while also improving on my earlier experience of the dish in one, key way: the clams are removed from their shells prior to being tossed with the pasta. It’s a change that, for some, may detract from the dish’s overall plate appeal, but that makes for an infinitely, and undeniably, more pleasant eating experience, as well.

To start, heat half of the olive oil along with the red pepper flakes in a three-quart saucepan for 20 seconds or so—just long enough for the flavor of the flakes to infuse the oil. Next add the wine, two tablespoons of the chopped parsley, and half of the minced garlic, and cook for another 20 seconds, a period during which your kitchen will start to smell about as mouth-wateringly delicious as you can imagine, since there are few fragrances more intoxicating than those of the above ingredients as they’re exposed heat. This is just the beginning, however, as the clams—the dish’s star ingredient, after all—are next up. It’s an addition that infuses the sauce with its all-important briny quality, and one that proves the perfect counterpoint to the various other dominant flavors at play here—namely the wine, the garlic, and the parsley. So after thoroughly scrubbing the mollusks in cold water (skip this step and you risk a mouthful of sand and other grit) it’s time to introduce them to the wine mixture.

Since the point here is to steam the clams, once they’ve been added to the pot you’ll want to keep them covered, checking every few minutes for any that have opened, and removing these to a separate dish (it can take as long as six minutes for all of the clams to open; if any don’t by that point, throw them away—they’re no good.) Once all the clams are steamed, set the broth aside and remove the mollusks from their shells, cutting the meat in half or even fourths if they’re very large. The sliced clams can then be returned to the broth (along with any juices that may have accumulated on your cutting board—this is good stuff!), and the shells discarded.

Two more simple steps to go: the first is to add your pasta (I prefer linguine but angel hair will also work) to a large pot of salted water, then letting it cook to the point where it’s tender but still offers a little give when you bite into it. For the linguine this can take anywhere between six and nine minutes, though it’s much shorter for angel hair. Either way, be sure not to overcook, as the noodles will be exposed to some additional cooking in the final moments of preparation, and you’ll want the final product to retain some of its firmness (otherwise known as “al dente,” a quality whose importance can’t be overstressed). Once done, be sure to hold on to a ¼ cup of the pasta broth before draining—you may not need this (I didn’t) but if the final mixture of pasta and clam sauce seems too dry for your taste, you can always use a little of this to loosen things up.

The other step, and this can be started while the pasta is underway, involves first heating the remaining olive oil in a large (ten- or twelve-inch) skillet, then sautéing the rest of the garlic and chopped parsley for a minute or so, or until the garlic is just soft. Set this mixture aside until the pasta is ready, at which point the noodles, along with the clam mixture, can be added to the garlic/parsley combo. Toss all this over low heat for a minute or so (that final cooking stage I mentioned earlier), add a little salt and pepper as needed, throw in a bit of that reserved pasta water if you think it’s called for, and you’re good to go. It’s a concentrated shot of summer during these waning warm months, not to mention an effective reminder of their laid back attitude when the cold weather sets in.

Ingredients:
—24 littleneck clams
—6 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
—1/3 cup dry white wine
—5 tbs finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus a few whole leaves for garnish
—3 large cloves garlic, minced
—Kosher salt
—8 oz linguini or spaghettini
—Freshly ground black pepper

Directions:
—Scrub the clams under cold water and set aside. In a heavy 3-qt saucepan, heat 3 tbs of the oil over medium heat. Add the pepper flakes and cook briefly to infuse the oil, about 20 seconds. Immediately add the wine, 2 tbs of the chopped parsley, and half of the minced garlic. Cook for 20 seconds and add the clams.
—Cover and cook over medium-high heat, checking every 2 minutes and removing each clam as it opens. It will take 5 to 6 minutes total for all the clams to open. Transfer the clams to a cutting board and reserve the broth. Remove the clams from the shells and cut them in half, or quarters if they’re large. Return the clams to the broth. Discard the shells.
—Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until it’s almost al dente, 6 to 9 minutes. Don’t overcook.
—While the pasta is cooking, heat the remaining 3 tbs olive oil in a 10- or 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add the remaining 3 tbs chopped parsley and the rest of the garlic and cook until the garlic is just soft, about 1 minute. Set the skillet aside.
—When the pasta is done, reserve about ¼ cup of the pasta cooking water and then drain the pasta. Add the pasta, the clams, and the broth the clams were cooked in to the skillet. Return to low heat, toss the pasta in the sauce, and simmer for another minute to finish cooking it, adding a little of the pasta water if you prefer a wetter dish.
—Taste for salt and add a large grind of black pepper. Serve immediately, garnished with the parsley leaves.

Serves 2 to 3

The post 08/23/12 • THE HAPPY CLAM SAUCE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Harvest to Heat: Cooking with America’s Best Chefs, Farmers, and Artisans by Darryl Estrine and Kelly Kochendorfer

When I started this blog a little over a year ago, one of the intents was to challenge myself to cook outside my comfort zone. You see, despite the fact that I’ve been noodling around in the kitchen for years, turning out meals that, more often than not, are pretty good and sometimes even better, I have a tendency to stick to dishes, ingredients, and modes of cooking that mostly fall within an established repertoire. That can get a little boring—for the chef, certainly, and probably also for those partaking of the meal—so if nothing else, I hoped the weekly exercise presented by this project would force me to cook a little more dangerously. And by and large I’d say that’s what’s happened. True, I haven’t tackled anything wildly ambitious—I haven’t made sausages from scratch, or French bread, or even a crockenbouche (yet)—but then choosing recipes purely for their “Wow!” factor was never the goal. Rather, I was simply aiming to create a degree of ease for myself around items that for whatever reason seemed to say to me, “don’t try this at home” (and hopefully in the process do the same for some of you as well).

Of course, internalized warning labels such as these aren’t always logical, and as I’ve ventured further afield I’ve often found myself repeating that old lyric from Peggy Lee: “Is that all there is?” That was certainly the case with this week’s recipe for risotto—a dish that wasn’t half as challenging as I remembered it being (I think I last made risotto a decade ago, which is weird because I really like risotto), though it did prove a little tricky in the photography department, as risotto tends to start looking like oatmeal if it sits too long (see final image, below)! In any case, the recipe comes from a newly released cookbook, Harvest to Heat, a collection assembled by Darryl Estrine and Kelly Kochendorfer, with all of the dishes sourced from various farm-to-table oriented chefs around the country. This particular risotto recipe (featuring fresh fresh peas and pancetta) was provided by Doug Keane, of the Michelin-starred northern California restaurant Cyrus, and immediately spoke to me. And it did this not just for the reason listed above, but also because the imagined flavors of the fresh peas and pea shoots called for by the recipe were so vivid in my mind that I simply had to bring them to reality.

Who knows, maybe all those fresh peas I’ve been seeing around had worked their way into my brain, making me particularly vulnerable to their charms. The vegetable, of course, is at its most plentiful during the spring so you’re likely to find an abundance of them at both the farmer’s market and your local supermarket, as I did. More of a concern to me, however, were the pea shoots, an item I’d never cooked with before and wasn’t sure I’d be able to locate. I needn’t have worried. While the green has been largely off my radar, it nonetheless seems to have become commonplace in many produce departments, and I found ample supplies everywhere from the greenmarket to my neighborhood Whole Foods. And while I’m tempted to say you can always substitute watercress here (which pea shoots resemble in some superficial ways, namely those small leaves and edible stems) the flavor of the shoots is much sweeter and pea-like (and also a little bean sprout-y), and I think would ultimately be missed here.

That pea flavor is the hallmark of this dish. In fact, one of the things I like most about this recipe is that the shelled peas are only cooked for a minute—just long enough to bring out their signature sweetness, though not enough to render them mushy or even particularly soft. Still, they’re pliant enough at this point to be pureed (in either a blender or a food processor), which is exactly what you’re meant to do once they’ve had a chance to drain and cool—a process I gave about a half hour. And following this the pureed mixture is then pressed through a fine-mesh strainer, with the goal of separating out any solids. Here I met a minor speed bump, as no matter how forcefully I pushed the puree against the sides of the strainer, nothing came through. So after several attempts I elected to live with whatever tiny pieces of skin the food processor’s blade had failed to reach—a decision that made no discernable impact in the final tasting as far as I could tell.

And another minor point regarding the recipe: rather than moving on to the making of the rice at this point as the recipe suggests, I advise jumping ahead to the preparation of the two items that will be scattered across the finished dish—namely the diced pancetta (or bacon), and those aforementioned peas shoots. The reason for this is simple—the nature of risotto making is such that it doesn’t allow for any simultaneous activities, nor do you want it to sit for any length of time while the rest of the ingredients are readied. So rather than jumping in to the critical rice stage, I first cooked the bacon on the stove top at medium-high heat until crispy (about 8 minutes or so), then gave the pea shoots a quick sauté in the same pan (wiped clean of the excess bacon grease, and moistened with some additional butter)—a process that takes little more than a minute. With both of these items prepared and set aside, you’re now in good shape to focus on the main event: the risotto, itself.

Despite my anxiety about making risotto, it’s actually quite easy. What’s challenging about it, though, (and the reason for my overblown reluctance to take it on) is that it requires undivided attention on the part of the cook—attention that comes in the form of constant stirring (for roughly 35 minutes), and the incremental addition of liquid the moment the rice begins to look dry. Given all this, before beginning the rice you’ll want to make sure you have all of the ingredients prepped and ready to go. So the vegetable broth should be brought to a simmer, the white wine should be measured and standing at the ready, and the various items needed for the flavoring base (in this case, the onion, the garlic, and the herb bouquet) should be chopped and assembled. Once all these items are in place it’s time to tackle what in many ways is the most rewarding phase of this recipe, since along with all the wonderful fragrances that emerge from the pot—the butter and onions, the herbs and white wine—you also have the reward of watching the rice transform from a dry little grain into something that’s plump and bursting with the flavors of the ingredients it’s cooked beside.

Like so many good things, though, it’s a process that can’t be rushed. So whether it’s the wine, which is added to the rice and onion/garlic mixture all at once, or the broth, which is added incrementally as each of the four cups is absorbed, it’s important to give the various liquid stages plenty of time with the rice—roughly 15 minutes for the wine, and five minutes for each of the broth additions. To that end you want to make sure that the stove is hot enough to allow the liquid to cook the rice, but not so hot that it’s simply evaporating out of the pot. I mention this because on my stove the recipe’s suggested settings—medium-high for the wine stage, medium for the broth—proved too hot, and I found the liquid disappearing sooner than it should have. The danger, of course, is that if I hadn’t lowered the temperature, at the end of the cooking process I would have found all the liquid gone but the rice still not fully cooked through.

Calibrate things correctly, though, and what you’ll end up with is rice that’s tender to the bite but still offers a touch of resistance—in other words, nothing mushy. Instead, in this semi-broken down state the rice is marked by a creamy consistency, making it a willing partner for whatever ingredients are to follow. Here that means a quantity of butter, some additional herbs, a bit of salt and pepper (which it needs), and most important of all, that pea puree. After several good stirs, this final addition turns the entire mixture a glorious shade of green. Topped with the bacon and the sautéed pea shoots and you have something as vivid as it is delicious—a mingling of the sweet (those peas and pea shoots) and the salty (the bacon), all of it framed by the subtle acidity of the wine. The only thing missing is a generous dusting of grated Parmesan cheese (my addition, not the recipe’s) to make this dish really sing: the flavors of spring nestled in a soup bowl.

Ingredients:
—2 cups fresh peas
—4 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley, 2 left whole and 2 chopped (2 tbs)
—4 sprigs fresh thyme
—2 bay leaves
—1 tsp black peppercorns
—1 tsp fennel seeds
—4 cups vegetable broth
—8 tbs (1 stick) unsalted butter
—1/2 small onion, finely chopped
—1 clove garlic, minced
—2 cups carnaroli or arborio rice
—2 cups dry white wine
—1/4 lb pancetta or bacon (about 6 slices), diced
—2 cups pea shoots or tendrils
—1 tbs finely chopped fresh chives
—Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper

Directions:
—Bring a small saucepan of water to a boil. Add the peas and cook for 1 minute. Drain and cool. Transfer to a food processor or blender and puree; strain through a fine-mesh strainer and discard any solids. Set aside.
—Wrap the whole parsley sprigs, thyme, bay leaves, peppercorns, and fennel seeds tightly in cheesecloth and tie with butcher’s twine.
—Heat the broth in a medium saucepan over medium heat to a simmer. Melt 4 tablespoons of the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat; add the bouquet of herbs, the onions, and garlic. Cook until the onions and garlic are softened, about 5 minutes. Add the rice and stir to coat evenly with the onion mixture. Add the wine, increase the heat to medium high, and cook, stirring constantly, until the wine is completely absorbed, about 15 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium, then add the warm broth 1 cup at a time, stirring the rice constantly until most of the liquid is absorbed before adding additional broth. Continue to add broth, stirring until the rice is almost cooked through, about 20 minutes.
—Meanwhile, in a medium skillet over medium-high heat, cook the pancetta or bacon until crisp, 5 to 8 minutes. Drain on a paper towel-lined plate, then transfer to a small bowl and set aside. Wipe out the skillet and heat 1 tablespoon butter over medium heat; add the pea shoots and cook until just wilted, about 1 minute. Set aside.
—When the rice is just cooked through, remove the bouquet of herbs, then add the remaining 3 tablespoons butter, the pea puree, chopped parsley, and chives. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
—To serve, ladle the risotto into soup bowls. Top each serving with the crisp pancetta or bacon and the pea shoots.

Serves 6

The post 06/14/12 • SPRING’S BEST RISOTTO appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Elle Decor (click here to view the recipe)

Maybe it comes from growing up in a house where Sunday football was the sort of social event that had family, friends, even a few of my stepfather’s graduate students, gathered around the television, feasting on sandwiches and anything else my mom brought out of the kitchen, but today I like nothing more than inviting a group over for food and TV. Of course, it helps if there’s actually something on TV worth watching — ideally the sort of program that doesn’t require a lot of concentration or preclude the possibility of conversation. This coming Sunday’s Academy Awards offers just such an occasion, in part because it’s a show that doesn’t just invite commentary from those splayed across your living room sofa but is generally made better because of it. (Who needs Joan Rivers when you have your own crew of self-appointed fashion critics picking apart those Red Carpet looks?)

The challenge, of course, is what to feed a crowd that will mostly be balancing plates on their knees. A fun/silly event like the Oscars calls for something in a similar vein, but one that will have you out of the kitchen and claiming your spot on the sofa in time for your guests’ arrival. In past years my solution to this puzzle has come in the form of one-dish dinners like chicken potpie or a souped-up mac-and-cheese, though the chicken and mushroom lasagna I bring to you here is one I’d also add to the list. It’s a recipe I pulled from the Jan./Feb. 2012 issue of Elle Décor, and while there’s definitely some effort involved (preparation and assembly takes at minimum a few hours), most of the heavy-lifting can be done up to a day in advance. And the payoff is huge.

I fear I may already have lost you with that “heavy-lifting” bit but let me repeat the previous sentence: the payoff is huge. In other words, that heavy lifting is well worth the effort. Unlike the dish you typically think of when you hear the word lasagna this one involves no tomato, ricotta, or mozzarella. Now I personally hold all three of these ingredients in high esteem, but the fact that this version substitutes them for things like cream, chicken, and wild mushrooms means that the end result is something both richer and earthier than the standard. So instead of the acidic tang of a marinara sauce cutting through the richness of the cheese, you have a cream sauce providing heft and depth to the proceedings. Factor in the presence of the sautéed chicken, mushrooms, spinach, and some white wine, and you’re left with a heartier, Gallic version of the Italian classic — think of it as lasagna’s brother from another mother.

With all this, however, comes a number of added steps — from chopping (the onions, celery, chicken, mushrooms, cheese), to sautéing (see previous, minus the cheese, plus the spinach), to grating, to stirring… lots of stirring, in fact, and simmering. The simmering comes into play late in the game, during a final prep stage that calls for making a kind of bechemal sauce in a pot already containing the sautéed chicken, previously coated with flour and having absorbed a good deal of white wine. None of this is particularly taxing, but it does require some patience and, in my experience, tends to take longer than the instructions estimate. But again, it’s worth it. Just wear comfortable shoes.

Not convinced? Well, I haven’t even mentioned the cheese, of which there is plenty to provide the textural component that’s so important with lasagna — part runny/gooey, part crispy/crackly. The latter comes from the addition of some grated parmesan cheese, added in the final moments before the whole assemblage is slipped into the oven (or the fridge, if the cooking stage has been put off until the following day). The gooey quality, on the other hand, arrives thanks to the presence of a substantial amount of diced fontina cheese, which is sprinkled across each of the three layers and, once cooked, melts down to an oozing perfection. That said, though the texture couldn’t have been more enticing, I did find myself craving a bit more of a cheesy bite — an added sharpness I ultimately found by swapping the fontina for comté (though gruyere would work just as well). But that’s me; you may prefer something milder, in which case the fontina is the perfect choice.

I would counsel, however, against using chanterelles, one of the three varieties of wild mushrooms suggested by the recipe. Once sautéed and baked alongside the other ingredients I found they became unpleasantly soft and slippery — a sensation that in the company of sautéed chicken can be a little off-putting. Far more successful from my perspective were hen of the woods (which are also suggested by the recipe), though I ended up supplementing them with standard issue Baby Bellas as the market didn’t have enough of the former to satisfy the recipe. Despite the addition of this domestic variety, the mushroom combo still had plenty of earthy flavor and held up far better than the chanterelles, making them a far more appealing partner to the chicken.

One other minor tweak involves the cooking time. After baking for 30 minutes, covered, at 350 degrees, the recipe instructs you to remove the foil and brown the parmesan topping in a 400 degree oven for ten to fifteen minutes more. Maybe it’s a quirk of my oven, but even after thirty minutes at the suggested temperature, the color of the topping obstinately refused to budge into golden brown territory. So instead, I’ve taken to turning the oven to the broiler setting and doing a final blast at that temperature for the last ten minutes. Whatever you do, however, be sure to keep an eye on things as the last thing you want after all that chopping, sautéing, whisking, and simmering is to see your efforts turn the color of your broiler pan.

Ingredients:
—5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
—2 medium onions, finely diced
—2 stalks celery, finely diced
—1 lb. fresh wild mushrooms (such as Chanterelles, black trumpet, or hen of the woods, also called Maitake), trimmed, washed, and roughly chopped
—1/2 lb. spinach leaves, stems removed, washed
—4 tbs. butter, plus extra to grease pan
—2 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken thighs cut into approximately 1/2” pieces
—1 cup dry white wine
—1/2 cup all-purpose flour
—1 cup heavy cream
—3 cups milk
—1/2 bunch Italian parsley leaves, roughly chopped
—Freshly grated nutmeg to taste
—16 dried lasagna noodles
—1 lb. fontina cheese, cut into small dice
—1 cup grated Parmesan
—Salt and freshly ground white pepper

Directions:
—In a large Dutch oven or stockpot, heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the onion and celery with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and cook, stirring, until translucent, about 3 minutes. Increase heat to medium-high, and add mushrooms. Cook, stirring, for 3 minutes, then add the spinach with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Cook until spinach is wilted and mushrooms are tender. Remove the vegetables from the pot and reserve.
—Add the butter to the same pot, and adjust the heat to medium. Season the chicken on all sides with salt and pepper, and add to the melted butter. Cook, stirring, until the chicken is almost cooked through but not browned, about 6 minutes. Add the wine and simmer until almost completely reduced.
—Sprinkle the flour over the chicken, and cook, stirring, for about 5 minutes, allowing the flour to coat the chicken and absorb the liquid. Gradually stir in the cream and milk, scraping the pot to release any cooked flour from the bottom and sides (if necessary, stir with a whisk to break up any lumps). Simmer for 5 minutes, stirring constantly, allowing the liquid to thicken.
—With a spoon or ladle, reserve 1 cup of liquid. Remove the pot from the heat, and add the cooked vegetables and mushrooms. Add the chopped parsley. Season with nutmeg, salt, and pepper to taste.
—Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the noodles for about 8 minutes; they should be not quite cooked through (al dente). Strain the noodles in a colander, and rinse in cold water. Drain, then toss noodles with 2 tablespoons of olive oil to prevent sticking.
—Center a rack in the oven and preheat it to 350 degrees. Butter a 9” x 13” baking pan. Place a layer of 4 noodles on the bottom, overlapping them slightly. Top with one third of the chicken mixture, then one third of the diced fontina. Repeat layering twice more, finishing with a layer of noodles. Spread the reserved sauce on the noodles and then sprinkle with Parmesan. (At this stage, the lasagna can be refrigerated overnight. Cover tightly with aluminum foil or plastic wrap.)
—Cover with aluminum foil or a lid and bake for 30 minutes. Increase heat to 400 degrees, remove the foil, and continue to bake until golden brown, 10 to 15 minutes more.

Serves 10 to 12

The post 02/23/12 • A LAYERED PERFORMANCE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Oct., 2011 Esquire (click here to view the recipe)

In the last week I’ve eaten pork braciola at Frankie’s 570 (the new West Village outpost of Frankie’s Spuntino); a big bowl of papardelle with a braised rabbit ragu at a newly resurgent Morandi; a large marinara and cheese pizza at Tappo in Chelsea; and, from the Sunday Gravy stand located at Smorgasburg — the open air food market held each Saturday at the Brooklyn Flea — a special delivery of the aforementioned gravy (which to the uninitiated is basically a spaghetti sauce thickened up with ample chunks of pork meat and sausage). All this may sound like red-sauce overload to some, but to me it sounds just about perfect — especially now that there’s a chill in the air.

I sometimes think I could serve myself a bowl of freshly made marinara sauce with nothing else and be perfectly content. And I probably would be, though my stomach might not. So instead I’m constantly on the hunt for other ways to get my red sauce fix. Of course there’s the obvious spaghetti option, but as good as that can be, eat a half pound of the stuff (sorry, I can’t do less) and I tend not to feel so great — especially the morning after when I wake up with a kind of carbohydrate hangover, all woozy and slow. Which means I’ve had to be a little more wide-ranging in my red sauce alliances.

The good news is that there’s plenty you can do with tomato sauce beyond pouring it over spaghetti or layering it between sheets of pasta (see first paragraph for details). Notable among this group is the meatball, which for pure marina compatibility has few equals. Despite the fact that meatballs have begun showing up on an increasing number of restaurant menus around town, and is even the featured item at one popular chain-let, The Meatball Shop, I’ll go out on a limb and say that where meatballs are concerned, no one wants a naked ball. In other words, it’s all (or mostly) about the tomato sauce — at least it is for me. You can layer a meatball with raisins or pine nuts, lard them with chunks of bacon, add more cheese to the mix, or less, but without the sauce, you don’t have much.

The right sauce, however — a good sauce flecked with fresh basil and the tang of garlic and oregano — can propel a so-so meatball to memorable heights, and an excellent meatball outta this world. It’s a response I’m not unfamiliar with, and one reason why a new meatball recipe can stop me in my tracks. That’s exactly what happened when I opened this month’s issue of Esquire and came across Shane Solomon’s meatball recipe. Solomon is the chef at the popular Pizzeria Stella in Philadelphia, and Philadelphia is one city that knows its way around Italian/American cooking. But beyond that, I figured if any resource could teach me a thing or two about meatballs, it would be a men’s magazine. Because let’s face it, meatballs may have their share of female acolytes, but if you’re going to assign this particular dish a gender, we’re definitely in the land of man food here.

One reason for this is that most men I know live in fear of leaving the table hungry — something that’s pretty unlikely when meatballs are on the menu. Eat just two or three and even the biggest appetite is likely to be satisfied. Which makes the fact that the attached recipe produces 25 to 30 meatballs something of a head-scratcher, because unless you’re feeding the starting lineup for the New York Jets, that’s a lot more meatballs than you’re going to want. Of course, you can always freeze what you don’t use (and, admittedly, you could do a lot worse than having a dozen meatballs sitting in your freezer), but considering the chopping, grating, and frying time involved here, I’d suggest reducing the recipe by half, cutting all of the ingredients by fifty percent with the exception of the grated cheese (you’ll want all of this for flavor, and maybe a littler more, too).

Either way, assembly is pretty straight ahead, with a gentle mixing of the meat, eggs, cheese, onions, garlic, and herbs, followed by the addition of the milk/breadcrumb mixture. Instead of shaping the balls with your hands, however, the recipe suggests using an old-fashioned trigger ice-cream scoop, which ensures a uniformity of size and shape, and has the added benefit of eliminating any air pockets that might be lurking in your pre-cooked meatballs. Once that critical step is complete and all your meatballs are in formation, it’s time to start frying. The goal here is not to cook the meatballs (that comes later) so much as to brown them, so pour just a ¼ inch of canola oil into your pan, heat until rippling, and crisp all sides of the meat. Be prepared to work in batches, though, as browning meatballs can be like herding cats. In other words, you’ll need room to maneuver.

Once browned, place the meatballs in an ovenproof casserole, fully blanket them with tomato sauce, and bake in a 350-degree oven for between 1¾ and 2 hours. This to me is the real genius of the recipe as it eliminates one of the problems I’ve often encountered on previous meatball-making outings — namely, that simply frying the meatballs can leave them with a disconcertingly soft center. What’s more, baking the meatballs and the sauce together allows the meat flavors to permeate the sauce, and the sauce to work its way into the meat. Solomon suggests serving the meatballs atop a small base of polenta, which provides some of that starchy goodness we associate with the traditional spaghetti accompaniment (minus the morning-after regret), while also providing a great way to sop up all that wonderful meat-infused sauce. Of course, you can always just tear off a hunk of Italian bread and dip and ladle to your heart’s content. Either way, be sure to have plenty of grated Parmesan cheese on hand; these babies should look like the Matterhorn before you ever introduce your fork.

A few final thoughts on the recipe: while Solomon suggests the addition of some finely minced pancetta or smoked bacon into the meat mix, I found the flavor an unnecessary addition. Follow your instincts here, but for what it’s worth I’ve marked this ingredient as optional in the list below. Also, given my enthusiasm for red sauce, it will come as no surprise that I have a favorite recipe for this favorite item. I pulled it from Fine Cooking a decade ago and have never looked back (I’m a one red-sauce recipe man). It’s just the thing for these meatballs, and it’s included below.

Ingredients for meatballs:
—1 lb ground beef (no more than 20% fat; lean meat is critical)
—1 lb ground veal
—1 lb ground pork
—1 lb pancetta or slab bacon (optional)
—2 whole eggs
—1/3 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (more as needed — as much as one cup for the meatballs; plus more for serving)
—1/2 cup finely diced yellow onion
—8 garlic cloves, minced
—1/4 cup finely chopped flat leaf parsley
—2 tbsp chopped fresh oregano
—2 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
—1/3 cup fine, dry unseasoned bread crumbs
—1/2 cup whole milk
—1 tsp coarse salt (more as needed)
—1 1/2 tsp ground black pepper (more as needed)
—Canola oil
—12 cups tomato sauce (see recipe below)
—Polenta (for serving)

Note: This recipe makes 25 to 30 meatballs, so unless you’re feeding an exceptionally large crowd consider cutting the recipe in half. Do this by reducing the meat, herb, garlic, onion and milk quantities listed above by 50 percent, but leave the cheese quantity as is — it’s not that much and you’ll want it for flavor (you may even want to add more, as I did).

Directions for meatballs:
—Break up the ground meat into a large bowl then add the eggs, grated cheese, onion, garlic and herbs. Mix with your hands until everything is well distributed but don’t over-mix. Set aside.
—Slowly add milk to the breadcrumbs, stirring until the mixture has the consistency of wet sand. Immediately add to the meat mixture, season with the salt and pepper, and mix well. To taste for seasoning heat a small amount of canola oil in a small pan. When the oil is hot (it will ripple in pan) pinch off a bit of meat and fry in the oil. Taste and correct seasoning as needed. Refrigerate the meat mixture for about 30 minutes.
—Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Shape meatballs, ideally using an ice cream scoop. In a large skillet, heat about a quarter inch of canola oil until very hot. Working in batches, brown all sides of each meatball.
—As they finish, transfer browned meatballs to a deep, ovenproof casserole. Cover meatballs with tomato sauce (they must be totally submerged). Place in oven and bake until well done, about 1¾ to 2 hours. When done they should feel firm to the touch, or an instant read thermometer should read 160 degrees.
—To serve, spoon meatballs (2 or 3 per person) and sauce over polenta or simply serve with Italian bread. Top with grated cheese.

Ingredients for marinara sauce:
—3 28-ounce cans Italian plum tomatoes, whole or crushed (ideally San Marzano)
—1/2 cup olive oil
—6 cloves garlic
—1 tbsp plus 2 tsp kosher salt
—1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
—Freshly ground black pepper
—1/4 tsp dried oregano

Note: This recipe yields about 7 cups of sauce so if you’re making the full 35 meatballs you’ll want to double it.

Directions for marinara sauce:
—If you’re using whole tomatoes, put them in a large bowl and crush them with your hands. Discard any cores.
—In a 7-quart or larger saucepot, heat the oil to medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté until lightly golden brown, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and salt. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer, stirring occasionally for 45 minutes to 1 hour (the sauce will reduce and thicken slightly but shouldn’t get too thick). Stir in the basil, pepper, and oregano. Pour over meatballs.

The post 10/26/11 • REIGNING MEATBALLS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Aug./Sept., 2011 Saveur

I went out to East Hampton last weekend and since it was rainy and gray as I was packing, and since it was the first day of fall, like any reasonable person I grabbed things like heavy sweatpants and flannel shirts for what I anticipated would be a damp and chilly couple of days. Except I should have known that the weather never follows the calendar (especially these days, despite what Rick Perry might have you believe), and when I woke up on Saturday morning it was warm and muggy, with the kind of murky sunshine that makes you feel warmer still. So scratch the long sleeved Henleys and heavy socks — this would be a shorts and t-shirts kind of weekend. And forget that ham and white bean soup I’d been planning to make. Summer might be over in the official sense, but the humidity and the fractured sunlight said it was too early for a bowl of hot-anything. It would be one last weekend of summer food, if of the late-summer variety.

Which brings me to this week’s recipe, for something called trenette al pesto (or trenette with pesto, green beans, and potatoes), which I found in the August/September issue of Saveur. According to the magazine, the dish is a Genoese classic, with trenette being that region’s version of fettucine. I’ve never been to Genoa, but with the dish’s simple layering of vegetables over pesto-coated pasta, it seemed appropriately hardy for this northern Italian port city — I mean, potatoes and pasta? Really? You can do that? It also seemed to strike the right note for the weekend, satisfying my desire for something with seasonally appropriate heft, but that was still in tune with the Manila-like conditions outside.

I also loved that I’d get to call into action the basil I’ve been trying to grow all summer. The recipe calls for 3 cups of packed basil, and while I doubted my sad looking basil plant could produce that much (it’s been a rainy couple of months here) I figured I’d strip it bare, then fill out the balance by hitting the local farm-stands, or even the market if necessary. By the way, if you’re looking for an appropriate send off for summer, let me suggest holding a large bunch of basil close to your nose. I did just that as I pulled the juicy leaves from the stems, and it smelled sweet and wet, not unlike damp earth — a scent I tried hard to record given the months of dried herbs that lie ahead.

I love basil, just as I love everything that goes into a pesto — those slick little pine nuts, the olive oil, the garlic, the parmesan cheese . . . especially the parmesan cheese. This pesto has the added bonus of some grated pecorino as well, a bit of salty tang that’s always welcome as far as I’m concerned. Given how much I like everything that goes into pesto — given how much I like pesto itself — it’s odd that I make it so rarely. In fact, as I loaded all of the ingredients into the bowl of my food processor, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d made fresh pesto. My loss, because the payoff is huge. It looks gorgeous, like new grass after it rains, and it tastes even better. It’s easy, too. Just give the whole thing a whir in the food processor (traditionalists believe a mortar and pestle is the only way to go), season with a little salt and pepper, and you’re in business.

The remaining steps are just as easy. There are those red potatoes to prepare, which is simply a matter of tossing them with some olive oil, sprinkling them with coarse salt, and sliding them into the oven for a half hour or so (Saveur doesn’t offer instructions for this but mine are below). As for the pasta, if you’re using the dried variety you’ll want to cook this halfway to al dente (about 5 minutes) then add the haricots verts to the pot and cook three minutes more. If using fresh pasta, both items should go into the boiling water at the same time, since the cooking time for the fresh variety is so short. Once done, drain the pasta and beans, reserving a cup of cooking water as you may need this to smooth out the pesto, then toss with the potatoes and the pesto. And presto — the perfect weekend lunch. Who needs white bean soup anyway? Seriously, there will be plenty of time for that.

One final note on the recipe: As you may have noticed, Saveur’s title for this dish indicates it’s made with green beans, while the shopping list specifies haricots verts. Is this a contradiction? The answer is yes, and no. While haricots verts literally means green beans in French, there is a difference between the two, in that the French version tend to be longer, thinner, and to have a more complex flavor than the American. You can often find both at many markets, but if standard green beans (also called string beans or snap beans) are the only kind available, try to pick the thinnest ones possible as these will be the youngest and have the best flavor. And if the fat American variety is all you can locate, that’s fine too — your pasta will still be delicious.

Ingredients:

—3 cups packed basil

—1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus 1 tbsp for the potatoes

—3 tbsp finely grated parmesan

—2 tbsp finely grated pecorino

—2 tbsp pine nuts

—1 clove garlic, finely chopped

—Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

—1 lb trenette (Genoese fettucine) or linguine pasta

—8 oz (1/2 lb) haricots verts, trimmed

—8 oz (1/2 lb) baby red potatoes, roasted, then halved

Directions:

Preheat oven to 425. Process basil, ½ cup olive oil, nuts and garlic in a food processor until finely ground. Season with salt and pepper, set aside.

Toss 8 oz (1/2 lb) red potatoes with 1 tbsp of the extra-virgin olive oil. Spread in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet and season with a tsp of coarse salt. Roast in 425-degree oven, stirring halfway through cooking, until tender, about 30 minutes. Let cool, then halve.

Bring a 6-qt saucepan of salted water to a boil over high heat; add pasta and cook, stirring, until half-cooked (about 5 minutes for dry pasta). Add haricots verts, and cook, stirring, until pasta is al dente and beans are tender, about three minutes more (note: if using fresh pasta, beans and pasta should be placed in the boiling water simultaneously). Drain pasta and vegetables, reserving ¼ cup cooking water, and transfer to a large bowl along with potatoes and pesto; toss to combine, adding a few tablespoons reserved cooking water, if needed, to make a smooth sauce.

The post 09/29/11 • PESTO PASTA (AND POTATOES) appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the April, 2006 Gourmet (click here for the recipe)

I seem to be eating a lot of spaghetti these days, and when I’m not eating it I’m thinking about it. For a long time I only ever thought about it and never ate it, as once upon a time I subscribed to a strict no-carbs policy. I’m glad those days are behind me, but even though I now eat bagels, baguettes, potatoes, muffins, gnocchi, and pizza with abandon (I do follow an only-on-weekends rule where cookies are concerned, unless I made them myself in which case all bets are off), there’s invariably a moment before I take that first bite where I ask myself, “should I . . . ?” The answer is almost always “yes,” especially since starting this project, which has given me license to cook, and to eat, all sorts of good things I might never have allowed myself. Which probably explains why I can’t get spaghetti out of my head.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re helping me to assuage my guilt. For that I thank you, and in exchange I offer one of my all-time favorites — a bowlful of garlicky, buttery angel-hair pasta, dotted with a generous quantity of equally garlicky, buttery shrimp, all of it infused with the seductive flavors of olive oil, white wine, and just a hint of red-pepper flakes. We’re talking shrimp scampi here, of course, that classic of Italian-American cooking and a favored dish at so many red sauce establishments. In other words, this is a good trade.

This particular interpretation comes from the April, 2006 edition of Gourmet (R.I.P.), when the magazine was headed up by the illustrious Ruth Reichl, and when each issue would present me with at least a half dozen recipes that I had to try, urgently. Today those recipes fill two thick binders in my kitchen, though few are as dog-eared as this one. Funny, but I’m not even sure I knew what shrimp scampi was when I came across the recipe. I certainly knew the name of the dish and had probably even eaten it, but prior to landing on this version I doubt I could have told you how it was made or what ingredients it featured. All I knew was that it was going to be dinner, and soon.

I was curious, though: why “scampi?” Was this a variety of shrimp I wasn’t familiar with? A particular method of cooking seafood that features copious amounts of garlic? The name of a once illustrious Italian-American chef now lost to time? In fact, a little Internet digging (thank you Melissa Clark) revealed that scampi are tiny lobster-like crustaceans sometimes called langoustines, and that one cooking method popular among cooks in Italy is to sauté them in garlic, onion, olive oil, and white wine — in other words, a similar approach to the one used in making our American shrimp scampi. Apparently Italian cooks newly immigrated to the U.S. simply substituted scampi for the more readily available shrimp while retaining both names, thus giving life to the dish we now know as shrimp scampi. (And this concludes the historical portion of today’s posting).

Like so many creations born of home cooks’ ingenuity, shrimp scampi has lots of variations — it doesn’t always feature pasta, and often includes ingredients such as tomatoes, breadcrumbs, onions, and assorted herbs. Aside from the aforementioned capellini, the version presented here features none of those. In fact, what I liked about it was that it called into play relatively few ingredients, and that those that were used would create the kind of dish I was jonesing for — rich, a little decadent, and with enough garlic to ward off a family of vampires (four large cloves, so we’re talking serious protection here). I mean, who needs breadcrumbs or tarragon? Here was a scampi for purists!

That said, with just a handful of key players I knew I wanted to use the best quality ingredients I could find, which includes the shrimp (of course), but also the white wine and the olive oil. The recipe calls for just a ½ cup of dry white wine, so I cooked with a decent bottle and downed the rest with dinner. As for the olive oil, I used a Spanish variety called Romanico made from Arbequino olives. This had just the clean, peppery kick required to offset the acidity of the wine and the richness of the other ingredients (it’s also great as a dip for bread). It all worked beautifully — so beautifully, in fact, that a recipe meant to serve four only fed two of us, but then we’re greedy eaters.

One final note about the shrimp: the recipe calls for deveining, which is the most labor-intensive aspect of this otherwise speedy dish. Deveining, of course, involves cutting a ¼” or so sliver down the back of the shrimp and then using the tip of your knife to lift out the string-like vein. Why bother? Many don’t. Others, however, feel quite strongly about taking this extra step, both for esthetic reasons (a big black vein running down the hump of an otherwise pretty pink shrimp can be a deal-breaker for some) and for taste, as the vein can sometimes be a little gritty and bitter. There’s no clear consensus here, though for what it’s worth I did devein and will probably continue to in the future.

Also, unless you’re buying your shrimp straight from the deck of a fishing boat it will most likely have been frozen and then thawed prior to your purchase. As a result, America’s Test Kitchen suggests buying individually frozen shrimp and thawing them yourself. This will ensure less handling by the purveyor and ultimately more flavor for you.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup Romanico olive oil
—1 lb peeled and deveined large shrimp (raw: 20 to 25 per lb)
—4 large garlic cloves, left unpeeled and forced through a garlic press
—1/2 tsp dried hot red-pepper flakes
—1/2 cup dry white wine
—1 tsp salt
—1/2 tsp black pepper
—5 tbsp unsalted butter
—3/4 lb capellini (angel-hair pasta)
—1/2 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Directions:
—Bring a 6- to 8-quart pot of salted water to a boil.
—Meanwhile, heat oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking, then sauté shrimp, turning over once, until just cooked through, about 2 minutes, and transfer with a slotted spoon to a large bowl. Add garlic to oil remaining in skillet along with red pepper flakes, wine, salt, and pepper and cook over high heat, stirring occasionally, 1 minute. Add butter to skillet, stirring until melted, and stir in shrimp. Remove skillet from heat.
—Cook pasta in boiling water until just tender, about 3 minutes. Reserve 1 cup of pasta-cooking water, then drain pasta in a colander. Toss pasta well with shrimp mixture and parsley in large bowl, adding some reserved cooking water if necessary to keep moist.

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From The Best of America’s Test Kitchen, 2011 (click here to view the recipe)

Thumbing through the 2011 edition of The Best of America’s Test Kitchen I came across a recipe for a dish that’s been popping up in a lot of the cooking magazines lately — spaghetti with pecorino and pepper, or as it’s known in Italy, Cacio e Pepe. I don’t know why this one called out to me exactly: maybe it’s how simple the ingredients and preparation were; maybe it’s that it stars Pecorino Romano, a salty cheese I love but rarely cook with; or maybe it’s the fact that nothing can soothe quite like cheese-coated noodles. Whatever the reason, I promised myself I’d whip up a batch as soon as possible.

I’ve cooked from many of ATK’s recipes over the years, so I also knew this was going to be a winner. The team behind ATK — a cooking show that airs weekly on PBS and that publishes a number of their most popular recipes in magazine form throughout the year — is the same as the one that puts out Cook’s Illustrated each month. Both the show and the magazine steer clear of fancy production values in favor of a stripped down, utilitarian attitude that’s in keeping with their CSI-like approach to perfecting a recipe through multiple trials and precision analysis before ever sharing it with the public. I’m not over-selling when I tell you that any recipe I’ve tried from ATK invariably becomes among my very favorites.

Such is definitely the case with this recipe. My opportunity to give it a try finally presented itself a few weeks back on a wet Thursday evening, with no plans for dinner and a rough day behind me. It’s the sort of homey meal an unsuspecting diner on his or her first trip to Italy might order and be completely blown away by — by the clarity of the flavors and by the fact that something so seemingly simple could pack such a wallop of flavor. In other words, it’s one of those dishes that can change, if not your life, then certainly the way you think about food. It was just what I needed at the end of a crummy day.

I’m not suggesting that food can make your troubles go away, of course, but there’s no question I felt better as I wound strands of spaghetti around my fork and slipped them into my mouth. The combination of cheese, spaghetti, and olive oil, all of it held together with a cup-and-a-half of starchy pasta water, made this sauce the perfect consistency, while the pepper proved the ideal foil for the saltiness of the Pecorino and the comforting slick of cheese-coated noodles. Even paired with whole-wheat spaghetti this felt like the ultimate in decadence — rich and creamy in the way of a really good macaroni and cheese, while offering something infinitely lighter and more complex. What’s more, from start to finish the whole dish took only half an hour to prepare, making it the perfect weeknight reward.

A few random thoughts about the recipe: if you’re a fan of this dish but crave something more substantial or want to stretch it out for a larger crowd, the flavors lend itself well to an addition of chunks of poached chicken breast — not exactly Italian orthodoxy, but plenty good nonetheless. Also, if you’re like me and lack a certain amount of self-control where a pound of cheese-coated pasta is concerned, make sure you have at least three around the table doing battle for their fair share. I did not and, as a result, polished off over half the spaghetti myself (okay, I’m a glutton) — a quantity that, according to the recipe, should have been enough to feed at least one other person (ATK claims the entire dish should be enough to feed between 4 and 6 people, though based on the appetites of the people I usually eat with, I put the number closer to 4).

Also, the recipe calls for 6 ounces of Pecorino cheese, something that momentarily slowed me down in the cheese department of my grocery store as mine lists most products by pounds, not ounces, and I didn’t have a calculator or a conversion table at the ready (for the record, one pound equals 16 ounces). So assuming your market measures weight like mine does, be advised that you’ll want just under a half a pound of Pecorino for this recipe.

Ingredients:
—6 oz Pecorino Romano cheese (4 oz finely grated [about 2 cups], 2 oz coarsely grated [about 1 cup]; see note #1, below)
—1 lb spaghetti
—Table salt
—2 tbs heavy cream (see note #2, below)
—2 tsp extra-virgin olive oil
—1½ tsp finely ground black pepper

Note #1: Use the small holes on a box grater to grate the cheese finely, and the large holes to grate it coarsely.

Note #2: For a slightly less rich dish, substitute half-and-half for the heavy cream.

Directions:
—Place finely grated Pecorino in a medium bowl. Set a colander in a large bowl.
—Bring 2 quarts of water to boil in a large Dutch oven. Add pasta and 1 1/2 tsp salt; cook, stirring frequently, until al dente. Drain pasta into colander set in bowl, reserving the cooking water. Pour 1 1/2 cups cooking water into a liquid measuring cup and discard remainder; return pasta to now-empty bowl.
—Slowly whisk 1 cup reserved pasta cooking water into finely grated Pecorino until smooth. Whisk in cream, oil, and black pepper. Gradually pour cheese mixture over pasta, tossing to coat. Let pasta rest 1 to 2 minutes, tossing frequently, adjusting consistency with remaining 1/2 cup reserved pasta water.
—Serve, passing coarsely grated Pecorino separately.

Serves 4 to 6

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From the May, 15th 2011 New York Times Magazine (click here to view the recipe)

One of the pleasures of the recently revamped New York Times Magazine has been the Eat column by food writer Mark Bittman. In part that’s due to his writing, which is always crisp and often quite funny, but also because many of the recipes he’s presented in his first few months on the job have been both enticing and user-friendly. His updated version of that old Italian/American workhorse, pasta primavera, is a perfect example.

Starting with the radical premise that for this dish to really live up to its name one should use only seasonal ingredients (and just a few at that, versus the classic’s everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach), Bittman presents eight different versions, each focusing on just one spring vegetable and eliminating any trace of the heavy cream usually present in the dish. Instead, Bittman proposes tossing the pasta and vegetables in a skillet, moistening them with the water used to cook the pasta, and adding a generous flurry of grated cheese and various herbs to enhance the flavors. This quick sauté and mix approach is actually a more traditional Italian method of making a pasta sauce than the long-simmering variety we typically think of, and assures you won’t be cooking down all those bright spring flavors, while also getting you to the table in about twenty minutes. Bittman presents eight different versions starring everything from carrots to fava beans, though there’s a whole world of fresh produce that would work equally well here (asparagus and cherry tomatoes both come to mind). The key is to follow his approach but to use whatever your eye and personal preference says will taste best.

Of the various versions presented by Bittman I couldn’t resist giving his taglietelle with peas, pecorino, chili and mint a try — in part because I’d been staring at the mountain of fresh spring peas at my local Whole Foods for weeks and was determined to strike before the moment passed. Unfortunately, as bountiful as they were in quantity, what lay inside the actual pods was not, and the armful I’d purchased failed to deliver the two cups the recipe called for. A stray bag of the frozen variety found floating in my freeze, however, filled things out nicely, and without any noticeable loss of flavor. In fact, if you’re pressed for time (to those new to this, shelling peas is a time consuming process) I’d go so far as to make the un-orthodox suggestion of using frozen peas exclusively. Freshly shelled peas are indeed something special, but in my experience the variety found in the freezer section of most quality markets tends to retain much of its flavor (unlike spinach, which does not).

As one of my dining companions that day has an aversion to chili I ended up eliminating that particular ingredient, though I suspect its fiery kick would be a nice addition. Still, with just the pasta, peas, mint, and cheese (I upped the pecorino Romano from a ½ cup to ¾ to adjust for the missing chili) the dish was sensational — the sweetness of the peas perfectly offset by the bracing flavor of the mint and the saltiness of the cheese. The current cool, wet weather notwithstanding, it was a clear indication that summer is indeed just around the corner.

Ingredients for TRG’s Modified Taglietelle with Peas, Pecorino, and Mint:
—2 cups of shelled peas (fresh ideally, or frozen)
—2 tablespoons olive oil
—1 lb taglietelle or other flat pasta such as fettucine
—½ cup chopped mint (more for garnish)
—¾ cup grated pecorino Romano (more for garnish)

Directions:
—Cook peas in a large pot of boiling, salted water until tender (3 to 5 minutes). Place strainer over a large bowl and pour in contents of pot. Set peas aside and return water to boil in original pot; add pasta and cook a few minutes shy of al dente, reserving one cup of pasta water when finished.
—Meanwhile, place peas and olive oil in a ten or twelve-inch sauté pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally until warmed through.
—Add the pasta, the chopped mint, and the grated pecorino and toss with the pasta water as needed to cook the pasta through and to bind the various ingredients.
—Finish with a splash of olive oil and serve with more fresh mint and grated pecorino.

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