Giuliano Bugialli’s minestrone, from The Fine Art of Italian Cooking
Julia Child’s beef bourgignon or coq au vin, from Mastering the Art of French Cooking
Nobu Matsuhisa’s miso-glazed black cod, from Nobu: The Cookbook
Marcella Hazan’s bolognese, from The Classic Italian Cookbook
David Chang’s roasted brussels sprouts (the one that calls for Rice Krispies), from Momofuku
Mario Batali’s beef cheek ravioli, from The Babbo Cookbook
November 2008
Todd and Anne: Pasta Night
You know the penultimate line in Charlotte’s Web? It goes like this: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.” I would revise it to “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and also a good cook.” And this was the quote that came to mind when we first went to dinner at Todd and Anne’s house.
Todd and Anne were food snobs in the best possible way. They loved to cook and eat good food without standing on a platform. They loved the farmers’ market and Trader Joe’s, and, like Michelle and Bill from our Brooklyn days, got really into cooking a meal for us. But the best part of all—unlike our food-loving friends from work who all seemed to live in the same square mile in Brooklyn, Todd and Anne lived five minutes away from us and had two kids just about the same ages as Abby and Phoebe who were always underfoot in the kitchen. Before we knew them well, I remember a local friend referring to Todd as “the guy who drives to Piermont on Fridays just to go to their farmers’ market.” Piermont was across the Hudson River, about a thirty-minute drive away from our town. She delivered the description as one might have delivered the line “He’s the guy who talks to the pigeons and wears shoes that don’t match.”
Eating dinner with Todd and Anne was like eating dinner in our own house with our own family but more fun because they were always trying new recipes (Todd’s Minty Pea Dip was a huge hit when I wrote about it on the blog) or introducing us to new ingredients (I had seen beluga lentils but had never tried them before they served us a four-star-restaurant-worthy bowl of beluga lentil soup with anchovies and chestnuts.) We’d go camping with them in the summer, where Anne, a professional musician who plays French horn for the Metropolitan Opera, would play guitar and sing like an angel around the campfire. In the spring, we’d all drag our kids out of bed early and caravan an hour north to have breakfast al fresco at a diamond-in-the-rough organic farm that served real sourdough pancakes and breakfast burritos with watercress. And at least once a winter we’d all get together to make pasta from scratch.
Organizing this activity for two families is probably complicated, but I wouldn’t know because Todd and Anne are also the kinds of people who decide on something and then do all the legwork behind the scenes to make it happen (another reason why we keep them around). The first time we all made pasta from scratch—a cold, snowy night—this legwork included consulting three or four cookbooks for a composite homemade pasta dough recipe that looked good, figuring out a dish (Todd decided on fettuccine with leeks and bacon), digging up the manual pasta machine from the basement, and last, making sure the house was stocked with bourbon, which we sipped as we cranked.
Their house—a Victorian three times as tall as it was wide—was seemingly built to host parents cranking out pasta and cradling bourbons on winter nights. In the exposed-brick kitchen, there is always something hearty and bacon-y frying in a cast-iron pan or being chopped on a cutting board that looks so well-worn it ought to be a hundred years old. Year-round, twinkly white Christmas lights frame large windows that overlook the Hudson River. And year-round, some old band that Todd and Andy have just rediscovered on the live music archive Wolfgang’s Vault, is playing in the background—often with the kids air-guitaring right along with them.
Making pasta from scratch was the kind of endeavor that I would’ve once called a “someday” project. As in, “Someday, when the kids are older and I have more time I’ll attempt to do that.” That was the best part about having friends like Todd and Anne. When you feel like you’re all in it together, someday suddenly seems a lot less intimidating. Someday suddenly feels . . . here.
Homemade Fettuccine with Leeks and Bacon
The problem with homemade pasta is that once you make it, your pasta standards go way up and you find yourself driving a few extra miles to the specialty store to pick up a pack of good stuff instead of the perfectly fine box of Barilla. Fresh pasta is so good you don’t need to do more than add butter and cheese to make it a world-class dinner-but I can’t really imagine you’re going to complain about this preparation either. Also: If you make this with store-bought pasta, the sun will still rise in the morning. Total time: 2 hours (includes 1 hour rising time)
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional for kneading
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon water
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
4 slices good-quality thick-cut smoked bacon, chopped into small pieces
4 leeks, well rinsed, trimmed, and chopped
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
Pepper, for serving
In a food processor, blend the first four ingredients (except for the additional flour for kneading) and pulse until mixture just begins to form a ball.
On a lightly floured surface, knead the dough, incorporating additional flour when necessary, until the dough is smooth and somewhat elastic.
Flatten the dough into a rectangle shape, and cover with an overturned bowl. Let sit for one hour. Using a pasta machine, roll the dough on the widest setting eight or nine times, folding the dough in half after each time and dusting with flour to prevent sticking.
Turn the dial to the next narrower setting and feed the dough through the machine, once at each setting (without folding) until you reach the narrowest setting. The dough gets smooth and long at this point and you will need a few extra sets of hands to help out. Cut your long sheet in half to make it easier to handle.
Using the fettuccine attachment for your pasta machine, crank out some noodles, snipping them with kitchen scissors as they emerge from the machine.
As you make fettuccine, set it aside in bird’s-nest piles and let it dry for about 10 minutes.
In a large skillet over medium heat, add the bacon and cook until crispy. Remove the bacon from the pan and reserve for later.
Remove half of the bacon fat remaining in the pan. (I usually use a paper towel to absorb it, but please do this carefully, because the bacon fat is hot.) Add the leeks to the pan and cook until soft, about 5 minutes.
While the leeks are cooking, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and begin cooking pasta. Fresh pasta only takes 2 to 3 minutes to cook. Drain, reserving about ½ cup pasta water.
Add the bacon back into the pan along with the leeks and a little pasta water and stir until the sauce looks thicker and slightly emulsified. Add the pasta to the skillet and toss with tongs.
Serve with the grated Parmesan cheese and pepper.
Todd’s Minty Pea Dip
Todd whipped up this dip for us during peak produce months, and I was shocked to discover that it was made from frozen peas. Served with some crusty bread slices, this humble little dip can easily hold its own alongside summer produce behemoths like corn and tomatoes. It also happens to be versatile (we’ve had it as a dip, spread on a sandwich for dinner, mixed with ricotta and sealed inside ravioli) and, unlike corn and tomatoes, can be enjoyed year-round. Total time: 10 minutes
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
2/3 cup loosely packed fresh mint leaves, washed
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for garnishing
Juice from ½ lemon (about 1 tablespoon)
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt to taste
In a food processor, whirl all the ingredients until it is the consistency of chunky guacamole. (You can play around with the consistency. If you l
ike it creamier, add more oil. Chunkier? Add more peas.)
Garnish with some more shredded Parmesan cheese and serve with baguette slices or spread across a piece of crusty bread.
Note: Don’t make this dip ahead of time if you are serving to guests. The mint will turn black if it sits around too long.
Beluga Lentil Soup with Anchovies
Don’t be turned off by the anchovies. You won’t notice any fishy flavor in this soup. The anchovies just add a beautiful salty dimension that I promise you will miss if you omit. And no one’s going to arrest you if you add cooked crumbled sausages here, either. Total time: 45 minutes
½ large onion, chopped
1 large carrot, peeled and chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 to 3 flat-fillet anchovies, such as Cento, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
1 garlic clove, minced
1 cup beluga lentils
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
In a large saucepan over medium heat, sauté the onion, carrot, celery, and anchovies in 1 tablespoon of the oil until slightly softened. Add the salt and pepper. (Remember, anchovies are salty, so don’t go crazy.) Add the garlic and stir for about 30 seconds.
Add the lentils and stir them until they look like shiny beautiful caviar and are coated in oil. Add the broth, bring to a boil, and then lower the heat to a simmer. Keep an eye on the lentils, making sure you always have enough liquid in the pot. You want them to be covered by about 1 inch of liquid. Add more stock or water as necessary.
Test for doneness starting at 20 minutes. Lentils should be able to hold their shape but still be tender. Cook them for another 5 to 10 minutes if necessary. Spoon the soup into bowls and top each bowl with Parmesan cheese and a generous drizzle of oil.
July 2009
Vacation Cooking:
My Drill Sergeant of Leisure
When I was growing up, we never took typical family vacations. We never booked a house on the Cape for a week or went to Fort Myers in February; we never sat at the kitchen table with a map of the country circling national parks we wanted to visit like I imagined most families doing. The exception was Bermuda. For a few years in a row, when we were little, we’d stay at the Princess Hotel, a dreamy resort overlooking the ocean where the waiters held silver domed trays and wore white tuxes and where I’d return from dinner to a chocolate mint on my pillow. But even for these trips, we never stayed longer than a few days, a Thursday to a Sunday. Part of the reason for this was that my mother, once she found her calling as an attorney, turned into a workaholic— today, at seventy-five, as partner in her own law firm, she still works harder than all of her children combined—and, like all workaholics, she derives pleasure from work, thereby rendering the need to get pleasure elsewhere useless. (I’ve always gotten the feeling that she finds vacation from reading ninety-five-page contracts a whole lot more stressful than reading those ninety-five-page contracts.)
Another reason we never went on typical vacations was that my sister, Lynn, was a nationally ranked tennis player who competed in tournaments all over the country. Naturally, the whole family would tag along with her on these trips no matter where they were—Charlestown, West Virginia, Raleigh, North Carolina, Indianapolis. They were always during July and August, and the organizers seemed to find some sick pleasure in selecting venues where the average temperature was a hundred degrees in the shade and never ever near a water park with one of those long, twisty mountain slides. But the truth was, I didn’t mind. I was ten, eleven, twelve years old. All I needed was a hotel pool to be happy.
But now that I am not a kid—now that I am a grown-up and I have kids of my own—vacation is a different story altogether. I need the pool, yes, but I also need a whole lot more. Most of the time I need a kitchen. I need a grill. I need to go to a place with lots to do. In fact, from the moment we arrive at wherever we happen to be vacationing, Andy and I are crafting ways to make sure we are squeezing the maximum amount of pleasure out of every moment of our waking hours. We take our vacations seriously. Before we have finished our morning coffee we have a plan for the day, one that usually includes exercise for the grown-ups (we usually tag-team our workouts while the kids watch their morning TV), a large chunk of time in or near a pool or beach, some sort of afternoon adventure that involves exploring the local terrain (like a road trip or a hike or a bike ride), and of course, shopping for dinner that we will make in our own kitchen while drinking gin and tonics.
One morning when we were on vacation in South Carolina (where Andy’s parents have a house near the beach), the girls were finishing up watching an episode of The Backyardigans, and Andy looked at the clock.
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning and we still don’t have a plan,” he said.
“It’s only ten in the morning,” I said, taking a sip of my iced coffee that Andy had prepared the night before so it would be ready for us when we woke up.
My Drill Sergeant of Leisure (aka Andy) takes on a salmon.
“Yes, but we have a lot to do today.”
“We do?” I asked. The way he said it made it sound as if we were on deadline for something serious. “Like what?”
He started ticking things off on his fingers. “We have to go to the pool, we have to go to the beach, we have to try out that new kite that my dad bought for the kids. I want to go for a run and I assume you do, too. We have to decide whether we want to go to that dock you just read about to pick up some shrimp, and if we don’t, we have to figure out what to make for dinner sooner rather than later because at six o’clock I need to be right there on that deck drinking my gin and tonic.”
Now there was a deadline I could get excited about! Because of behavior like this, I nicknamed Andy “My Drill Sergeant of Leisure.” My Drill Sergeant of Leisure shows up the second the plane’s wheels touch down. My Drill Sergeant of Leisure shows up first thing in the morning, turns to me in bed, and says with a straight face, “You have some serious decisions to make” (usually something like: Pool or beach? Grouper or mahimahi?) He can’t help himself. It’s not that he can’t relax—it’s the opposite of that actually. For both of us, taking a few minutes in the morning to think about the day’s structure ensures that we’ll get to do all the things that help relax us the most. (Stay with me, here.) That means we know what we’re having for dinner before we’ve finished the morning paper. And if we haven’t already shopped for all the ingredients we need to make that dinner happen (almost always the freshest piece of fish we can find, grilled, plus a medley of colorful, easy, barely cooked or no-cook salads) we will refer to our Drill Sergeant’s schedule to figure out the best time to hit the market without interrupting the natural flow of the day.
While most people can’t think of anything more stressful than coming up with an hour-by-hour plan to chill out on vacation, I can’t think of anything more stressful than being unprepared for our favorite time of day. Because to deprive ourselves of even one spectacular vacation dinner is, for us, no vacation at all.
Vacation Meal Planning Made Easy!
In case you aren’t “lucky” enough to have a Drill Sergeant of Leisure in your own home, I’ve made vacation meal planning simple. Pick one meal from the Mains section and two or three from the Salads and Starch sections and then you can go about your day doing whatever you please. Recipes are on the following pages, unless otherwise indicated.
Grilled Fish Tacos + Spicy Grilled Pineapple Salsa + Mexi-Slaw = Perfect Vacation Dinner.
BBQ Chicken
Drizzle chicken pieces (drumsticks and thighs) with canola oil, salt, and pepper. When the grill is hot, grill the chicken (no sauce yet) for a total of 8 to 10 minutes, turning all the while. Brush the chicken with the barbecue sauce (see below) and cook for another 4 minutes, basting with the sauce the entire time and turning pieces frequently so they don’t burn.
Ba
rbecue Sauce
If you make extra sauce, it keeps in the fridge for up to 2 weeks and works well with ribs and pork tenderloin, too. Total time: 15 minutes
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 shot bourbon
1 teaspoon hot sauce
1/3 cup cider vinegar
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 garlic clove, minced
½ cup ketchup
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
½ cup brown sugar
1/4 cup molasses
Salt and pepper
1 dried chile pepper
Combine all ingredients in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cook for 7 to 8 minutes, until thickened. Remove from the heat and let cool.
Grilled Fish Tacos
Prepare your grill. Marinate a 1-pound piece of firm whitefish (such as swordfish or mahimahi) in a little olive oil, salt, and pepper. About 5 minutes before you grill, add a squeeze of lime. Once grill is hot, grill the fish 4 to 5 minutes on each side, depending on thickness. The fish is done when it’s firm to the touch without being rock hard. Remove the fish from the grill and break it apart into chunks. Meanwhile, place as many tortillas (corn or flour, whatever you prefer) as can fit on the grill. Flip over after 30 seconds, grill a little longer, and then transfer to a platter. Assemble the tacos with tortillas, fish, and one of the sides.
BBQ Ribs
Smear rib rub (see below) on the meaty side of 2 rib racks until coated. (You’ll have some rub left over; store and save it for next time.) Place the ribs on a cookie sheet, cover with foil, and bake at 300°F for 3 hours. Remove and set aside. When your fire’s ready (you don’t want to put the ribs over a raging fire, so let it die down a little until it’s about medium heat), grill the ribs for 2 minutes on each side to get a little char going. Then brush the meaty side generously with Barbecue Sauce (or you can use your favorite store-bought brand). Keep flipping, a minute or so on each side, being careful not to burn but getting the sauce nice and caramelized. Cover and cook for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat, and slice the ribs along the bones on a cutting board.
Dinner: A Love Story Page 18
