The title above should remind you that, at one time, Annalena studied literary criticism. I will explain what it means to those not in the know, and that means everyone but moi.
I am extremely interested in foods that "transcend their signifiers," while also maintaining them. What does this academic bs mean? Well, let me give you an example.
The famous television chef, Marianne Esposito gives a recipe in one of her books for dried cherry sweet rolls. At the end of her exposition, she says "I serve these on Christmas morning." Now, that makes sense to me in a very real way: sweet, rich and the touches of bright red throughout them. Of course they would signify Christmas. But what I want to know is: does she serve them ONLY on Christmas, or does she also serve them at other times. And, going a bit deeper, if she does serve them at other times, did they start as non-Christmas items that became holiday food, or vice versa? It is the second group that interests me.
We can think of many examples of foods that fall into the first group: everyone has a specialty dish, that people ask for on the holidays. At New Years, our guests always want my artichoke cheese dip. It did not start as New Years' food, but it has acquired a patina of "New Years" I'm sure you all can think of others, for any holiday. Then there are foods that, really have become "locked" in certain traditions. For example, egg nog: if you can find eggnog other than the period between Thanksgiving and New Years, you are lucky. Those disgusting candies, Cadbury Creme Eggs. Look for them (if you dare), at times other than Easter. Panettone? I see it sold all year, but does anyone buy it or eat it? Fruitcake???? Cranberries????
See what I mean? Now, let's look at foods that HAVE made that jump, for whatever reason.
Oranges were always associated with the Yule season. I believe that is because they were ridiculously expensive, and intended only as a special treat. As they became more widely available, and cheaper, they became everyday food. Can you think of others?
So, that's what I mean about transcending the signifier: for these foods, they , at one time "signified" Xmas or some o ther holiday. If you were dropped into a living room, from outer space, and had no sense of what time of year it was, if you saw certain foods on the table, you knew that there was a holiday.
One of the classes of foods that has tried to make this jump, is stuffing, or more correctly, (at least to me), dressing. We all have favorite turkey stuffing recipes. (Now, let me clarify a term here, before we go on. I use "stuffing" to refer to foods that are actually used to fill the bird, and cook inside of it. "Dressing" is of the form of stuffing, but is cooked separately. The terms are used very loosely. For example, the recipe I present here was described as a stuffing. It never went into the bird). You can buy this hideous product "stove top stuffing," that I guess is supposed to replace potatoes or rice or whatever else you would be serving with your protein at dinner.
Does anyone actually buy that stuff? Does anyone eat it? EWWWWWW.
Well, dressings are very big "transgressors" to me. If I find one that I truly like, it becomes a part of my repertoire, and shows up at other times of year. This is one of those - a new one. It's custardy, which is a plus in my book. It's easy, which is also good. It's rich, even better, and it makes a lot. And you can do any kind of variations on it. Again, there is a method here, that you should study, learn and adapt.
The good cooks will see it right away. I would bet you that, having finished reading this, my freind Franklin has five or six variations of it in mind right away (incidentally, Franklin, based on your mac and cheese I made one this weekend. MMMMM GOOD).
Here we go. First, let's get our meat mixture done. You need a pound of sausage meat - spicy is good, fennel is good, sweet is good, whatever you like. When I say sausage meat, many butchers and farmers markets will sell you their sausage meat in bulk, i.e, without casings. But if you can only get sausages in their casings, just cut through the tube and pull out the meat . You all know how to pull out meat, don' t you? Put that aside, and dice up a cup each of celery, onion, and your favorite apple type, which should be peeled and cored. You also want to dice a few cloves of garlic, and get some fresh herbs ready. If it's pork, think sage. If you are already thinking variations and thinking merguez sausage (were you thinking that Franklin? I bet you were thinking of something else...), think rosemary. If you were thinking chicken or turkey sausage (getting warm, Franklin?), think another complementary herb, based on what the sausage already has in it . (Incidentally, I bet Franklin is thinking of smoked turkey meat that he's gonna grind like sausage, cause he's like that...).
Put some oil in a pan, and add the meat. Saute' it unitl it browns. You'll need to break it up as you go along, because these sausage meats are dense and they clump. Then take out the sausage, put it aside, and cook everything else in the drippings. It will take you less than ten minutes to do the sausage, and about 5 to do everything else. Mix it together.
Next, you need a bread base. I would stay away from the truly rich breads, and anything with fruit in it. Go for European style, bland breads. The recipe I used called for baguette. I used ciabatta, and I was perfectly happy with it. Rye bread would be nice. So would sourdough, I think. In any event, you need about a pound of it, that you cube in about one inch cubes. Keep the crust on those cubes. Add the bread to the sausage mix
Mix together a cup of whole milk, a cup of chicken stock and then a couple of tablespoons of melted butter. Whisk in three large eggs. Now pour all of that into the bread/sausage mix. Pour all of it into a 9x13 inch, buttered baking dish, get it in the oven, and bake for about 45-50 minutes, at 350.
Your home is going to smell positively wondeful as this cooks. You will be tempted to go in and eat three pieces before you serve it. Personally, I see nothing wrong with that, but you and your guests might consider it rude.
Now, I hope you see that this certainly does serves as a side to a turkey. But can you see it as breakfast or lunch? It is , essentially, a big ole' savory bread pudding, and who doesn't like that?
Change things. For example, if you want to go vegetarian, switch out the sausage for a pound of sauteed mushrooms (Jeremy? You listening, bud?). Maybe work some hot sauce into it, and put a second cup of milk in instead of the chicken stock. Got any other ideas?
Franklin, this one is for you. I KNOW you're gonna make a variation on it, I'm gonna copy it, "and the beat goes on."
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The hit of thanksgiving dinner: chestnut soup
Ok, so the season is upon us, and Annalena is up to her you know what in cooking. A dinner for 13 on Sunday (recently dubbed "the All Star dinner" by one friend), then Thanksgiving dinner for a gathering of 9.5 of us (someone showed up for dessert), and now, the holiday baking begins. Today is candy day: grapefruit peel (which means Kevin gets grapefruit sorbet), and quince paste. Cookies up and coming. And coming. And coming. Then the Christmas dinner, then the feast of a thousand dishes at New Year's. Good thing my feet don't hurt much this year.
But as usual, I digress. The Thanksgiving dinner this year was quite a wonderful affair. Smartest thing I ever did was insist on NOT sitting at the head of the table. I have such a ball now. And for those of you who "spiked" my party - and you know who you are (that means you, Brad), thanks so much.
And I digressed again. There ya go. Life in the stream of unconsciousness. Oi. Anyway, the hit of the meal , I think, was the chestnut soup.
I love chestnuts. When I was last in Europe, 12 years ago, it seemed that there was a chestnut vendor on every corner of Zurich. And these were GOOD chestnuts, not the kind we get at the hot dog vendors in NYC this time of year. Does anybody buy them? Does anybody like them? How many chestnuts die in the name of "tis the season," and then get tossed in trash cans because they taste nasty (Trust Annalena here. They do). But chestnuts ARE wonderful. Trust Europeans. They know about this type of thing. "Castagne," in Italian, we make them into candies, into breads, into custards, so many things. I don't really know of Italian chestnut soup, but wherever this one came from, it is quite wonderful. You should make it. Really, you should.
First, let's talk about sourcing the chestnuts (NOT "saucing" the chestnuts you twits). You can, if you feel ambitious, buy fresh chestnuts, score them, roast them, peel off the skins and hurt your fingers a whole lot along the way. Annalena has done that. She is over it. Truly and unconditionally. Now, she looks toward the "preprepared" route. You can get them, peeled , in jars. Some are packed in water (which is your least favored option), some are vacuum packed (better). Best of all, in my opinion, are the little vacuum packed pouches. The quality is much higher. The downside here is that the packets are very small. For this recipe, needing about a pound of chestnuts, you need 3-4 packs. The jars have more in them. Use what ya got.
Let's start with the base. It's a classic soup base: a half cup each of chopped carrot, celery, and onion. You 'll also need 3 tablespoons of butter. When I saw the original recipe, it called for a bouquet garni of parsley leaves, cloves and bay leaf. Sounds good, but chestnuts have a delicate flavor. Cloves, do not. It's sort of like the difference between a Schubert art song, and a Wagnerian opera. Those of you with some musical background will get what I mean, and those of you who don't, ask someone who does. I will digress no longer. In any event, I leave out the garni. You will also need that pound of chestnuts, and about six cups of chicken stock. Finally, you need a quarter cup of some strong tasting liquor in the sherry family: dry sherry, madeira, marsala (the dry variety), even vermouth, would do. Stay away from wine, port, or anything with a sweet edge. Chestnuts have a slightly sweet flavor, and that sweetness will take over the dish if you give it a chance to. Sweet liquors give it that chance. Optionally, you may want some heavy cream.
Now, let's cook. Melt the three tablespoons of butter in a big pot, and then add the carrot/celery/onion and cook at a medium heat (QUICK REVIEW: what do we call that combination of carrot/celery/onion, in French cooking? In Creole cooking? Have you been paying attention?????).
While the holy trinity is cooking, drain your chestnuts, and crumble them up in your fingers. It won't be difficult, they're fairly friable (look it up). Add them to the vegetables and butter, and cook for a minute or two. Add the liquor, and keep your face back when you do. If the pot is big enough, since you aren't using a lot of the hooch, the chance of a flame up is minimal, but do be careful. You worked hard to grow that moustache, and it really does suit you.
Now add the stock. Lower the heat, cover the pot, and go away for about twenty minutes. When you come back, the chestnuts will be very soft. This is a good thing. Turn off the heat, leave the cover off, and let the stuff cool down. When it is just warm, start pureeing it in a blender, in small batches. Use more time than you think you will need, else you will have little chunks of chestnuts. Not necessarily a bad thing, but if you want a smooth as silk soup, you have to take the time to do this.
Taste the soup after you've pureed it all, and then add the salt it needs. Think a minute as to whether you want cream or not. If you think the soup is slightly sweet, and you'd rather it wouldn't be, add the cream. Anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 a cup. Stir it, and you are done. Maybe....
A wonderful garnish for this, is more chestnuts, crumbled, cooked in more butter, and with some more of that liquor added to the frying pan (NOW, you DO have to be careful with your moustache), and added to the soup right before you serve it.
If you analyze this soup, even at a base level, it is essentially the same soup we've been making for years in this blog, only with chestnuts as the main vegetable. Today, for example, I made carrot soup, and as I think about it, the recipe is the same, save for the substitution of carrots for chestnuts.
Learn the basic recipe for making soup: the base, the fat, the stock, and the key vegetable. You're on your way to a whole lot of pots, of really good eating.
If you feel "oh, chestnuts are holiday food," well.. Feliz Navidad...
But as usual, I digress. The Thanksgiving dinner this year was quite a wonderful affair. Smartest thing I ever did was insist on NOT sitting at the head of the table. I have such a ball now. And for those of you who "spiked" my party - and you know who you are (that means you, Brad), thanks so much.
And I digressed again. There ya go. Life in the stream of unconsciousness. Oi. Anyway, the hit of the meal , I think, was the chestnut soup.
I love chestnuts. When I was last in Europe, 12 years ago, it seemed that there was a chestnut vendor on every corner of Zurich. And these were GOOD chestnuts, not the kind we get at the hot dog vendors in NYC this time of year. Does anybody buy them? Does anybody like them? How many chestnuts die in the name of "tis the season," and then get tossed in trash cans because they taste nasty (Trust Annalena here. They do). But chestnuts ARE wonderful. Trust Europeans. They know about this type of thing. "Castagne," in Italian, we make them into candies, into breads, into custards, so many things. I don't really know of Italian chestnut soup, but wherever this one came from, it is quite wonderful. You should make it. Really, you should.
First, let's talk about sourcing the chestnuts (NOT "saucing" the chestnuts you twits). You can, if you feel ambitious, buy fresh chestnuts, score them, roast them, peel off the skins and hurt your fingers a whole lot along the way. Annalena has done that. She is over it. Truly and unconditionally. Now, she looks toward the "preprepared" route. You can get them, peeled , in jars. Some are packed in water (which is your least favored option), some are vacuum packed (better). Best of all, in my opinion, are the little vacuum packed pouches. The quality is much higher. The downside here is that the packets are very small. For this recipe, needing about a pound of chestnuts, you need 3-4 packs. The jars have more in them. Use what ya got.
Let's start with the base. It's a classic soup base: a half cup each of chopped carrot, celery, and onion. You 'll also need 3 tablespoons of butter. When I saw the original recipe, it called for a bouquet garni of parsley leaves, cloves and bay leaf. Sounds good, but chestnuts have a delicate flavor. Cloves, do not. It's sort of like the difference between a Schubert art song, and a Wagnerian opera. Those of you with some musical background will get what I mean, and those of you who don't, ask someone who does. I will digress no longer. In any event, I leave out the garni. You will also need that pound of chestnuts, and about six cups of chicken stock. Finally, you need a quarter cup of some strong tasting liquor in the sherry family: dry sherry, madeira, marsala (the dry variety), even vermouth, would do. Stay away from wine, port, or anything with a sweet edge. Chestnuts have a slightly sweet flavor, and that sweetness will take over the dish if you give it a chance to. Sweet liquors give it that chance. Optionally, you may want some heavy cream.
Now, let's cook. Melt the three tablespoons of butter in a big pot, and then add the carrot/celery/onion and cook at a medium heat (QUICK REVIEW: what do we call that combination of carrot/celery/onion, in French cooking? In Creole cooking? Have you been paying attention?????).
While the holy trinity is cooking, drain your chestnuts, and crumble them up in your fingers. It won't be difficult, they're fairly friable (look it up). Add them to the vegetables and butter, and cook for a minute or two. Add the liquor, and keep your face back when you do. If the pot is big enough, since you aren't using a lot of the hooch, the chance of a flame up is minimal, but do be careful. You worked hard to grow that moustache, and it really does suit you.
Now add the stock. Lower the heat, cover the pot, and go away for about twenty minutes. When you come back, the chestnuts will be very soft. This is a good thing. Turn off the heat, leave the cover off, and let the stuff cool down. When it is just warm, start pureeing it in a blender, in small batches. Use more time than you think you will need, else you will have little chunks of chestnuts. Not necessarily a bad thing, but if you want a smooth as silk soup, you have to take the time to do this.
Taste the soup after you've pureed it all, and then add the salt it needs. Think a minute as to whether you want cream or not. If you think the soup is slightly sweet, and you'd rather it wouldn't be, add the cream. Anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 a cup. Stir it, and you are done. Maybe....
A wonderful garnish for this, is more chestnuts, crumbled, cooked in more butter, and with some more of that liquor added to the frying pan (NOW, you DO have to be careful with your moustache), and added to the soup right before you serve it.
If you analyze this soup, even at a base level, it is essentially the same soup we've been making for years in this blog, only with chestnuts as the main vegetable. Today, for example, I made carrot soup, and as I think about it, the recipe is the same, save for the substitution of carrots for chestnuts.
Learn the basic recipe for making soup: the base, the fat, the stock, and the key vegetable. You're on your way to a whole lot of pots, of really good eating.
If you feel "oh, chestnuts are holiday food," well.. Feliz Navidad...
Saturday, November 21, 2009
TRUFFLES!
Well, it is indeed that time of year, when the minds of folks who cook focus on the following thought; "OH SHIT HOW AM I GOING TO GET IT ALL DONE?"
You know who you are, and you know what I'm talking about. If there are those of you out there who have everything planned out, down to the last bread crumb, I hate you . So does everyone else. Trust me, they do. The rest of us are somewhere in between a state of shock as to not having planned the things we said we'd plan, and in a state of total panic. And it all comes back to 'HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GET IT ALL DONE?"
Well, this recipe MAY help. It's a godsend for those of us who like to make things for people. It is also a perfect thing to have on hand in case you just can't get to dessert and need "something." It is absurdly easy to do: let's say ten minutes of work here. It makes a lot of goodies: let's say 100. And frankly, when I made them, I thought "The hell with the Xmas cookies, I'm just going to do this."
Well, that's not going to happen, but the reaction to these big boys has been so uniformly positive. People have stopped talking - people who haven't stopped talking since they were born. People who don't like chocolate are eating them. World peace has been achieved.
OK, the last one isn't true. But just maybe, if instead people gave each other chocolate truffles.
I know, I know, I know. Don't say it. Instead, buy some chocolate and condensed milk and make these. Seriously, do. You will be so glad you did.
Here's what you need: two pounds of extremely good quality bittersweet chocolate. I recently stumbled onto little disks of Callebaut chocolate, which saves the problem of chopping the chocolate, reducing the time of preparation to about 7 minutes if you have them. You also need two cans of condensed milk. If you happen to have access to condensed goat's milk, by all means use it, and you'll be making a Latino version. Finally, you need a stick of unsalted butter, and if you want a flavoring ingredient, a tablespoon of that.
Here's how you do it. Put the chocolate, the condensed milk, and the butter, into a pot. Bring it to a simmer, stirring, and let it all melt together . Take it off the heat.
Get a baking sheet with parchment paper on it, and pour it out. Smooth it with a spatula.
You're done. Almost. But the hard stuff IS done. I SWEAR, it is. Now you let this sit at room temperature for at least 8 hours, to firm up.
After that, get another sheet of parchment, and turn over the baking sheet, so that the chocolate block falls on it. Start cutting, or spooning it, into hefty teaspoon size pieces. Have a bowl with cocoa powder, and another tray handy. Cover your hands with cocoa. Roll the bits of chocolate to balls - don't worry about geometric perfection - and dip them in cocoa. Then put them aside on the clean tray. Keep on keepin' on, until the chocolate is done.
NOW you truly are done. Taste one. See what I mean? These will keep in a dry tin, separated by sheets of paper, for an eternity, but they won't last that long. Even if you only eat one a night, they'll be gone in 3 months, and you'll have to make them again.
SUE - stop asking your mom to make the sweets. Come on , girlfriend, YOU can make this one. Stop making fun of my nasty looking leeks and make some truffles. The holidays are here remember...
You know who you are, and you know what I'm talking about. If there are those of you out there who have everything planned out, down to the last bread crumb, I hate you . So does everyone else. Trust me, they do. The rest of us are somewhere in between a state of shock as to not having planned the things we said we'd plan, and in a state of total panic. And it all comes back to 'HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GET IT ALL DONE?"
Well, this recipe MAY help. It's a godsend for those of us who like to make things for people. It is also a perfect thing to have on hand in case you just can't get to dessert and need "something." It is absurdly easy to do: let's say ten minutes of work here. It makes a lot of goodies: let's say 100. And frankly, when I made them, I thought "The hell with the Xmas cookies, I'm just going to do this."
Well, that's not going to happen, but the reaction to these big boys has been so uniformly positive. People have stopped talking - people who haven't stopped talking since they were born. People who don't like chocolate are eating them. World peace has been achieved.
OK, the last one isn't true. But just maybe, if instead people gave each other chocolate truffles.
I know, I know, I know. Don't say it. Instead, buy some chocolate and condensed milk and make these. Seriously, do. You will be so glad you did.
Here's what you need: two pounds of extremely good quality bittersweet chocolate. I recently stumbled onto little disks of Callebaut chocolate, which saves the problem of chopping the chocolate, reducing the time of preparation to about 7 minutes if you have them. You also need two cans of condensed milk. If you happen to have access to condensed goat's milk, by all means use it, and you'll be making a Latino version. Finally, you need a stick of unsalted butter, and if you want a flavoring ingredient, a tablespoon of that.
Here's how you do it. Put the chocolate, the condensed milk, and the butter, into a pot. Bring it to a simmer, stirring, and let it all melt together . Take it off the heat.
Get a baking sheet with parchment paper on it, and pour it out. Smooth it with a spatula.
You're done. Almost. But the hard stuff IS done. I SWEAR, it is. Now you let this sit at room temperature for at least 8 hours, to firm up.
After that, get another sheet of parchment, and turn over the baking sheet, so that the chocolate block falls on it. Start cutting, or spooning it, into hefty teaspoon size pieces. Have a bowl with cocoa powder, and another tray handy. Cover your hands with cocoa. Roll the bits of chocolate to balls - don't worry about geometric perfection - and dip them in cocoa. Then put them aside on the clean tray. Keep on keepin' on, until the chocolate is done.
NOW you truly are done. Taste one. See what I mean? These will keep in a dry tin, separated by sheets of paper, for an eternity, but they won't last that long. Even if you only eat one a night, they'll be gone in 3 months, and you'll have to make them again.
SUE - stop asking your mom to make the sweets. Come on , girlfriend, YOU can make this one. Stop making fun of my nasty looking leeks and make some truffles. The holidays are here remember...
Thursday, November 19, 2009
"And Eye Hayulpped"
Now, most of you are going to figure that out and know PRECISELY to what the title refers. You get brownie points and an extra brownie from Annalena, as soon as she learns how to make them well. For now, you'll have to wait or settle for a cookie. For the rest of you: I believe the product is still available, something wretched called "Shake N Bake." During the 60s, and on through Buddha only knows when, there was a huge ad campaign for this stuff: it came in a box, a mix of powders, the identities of which took up so much space on the label one would think it was the Declaration of Independence. You would put chicken, or fish, or pork in a bag with it, shake it to coat, then put it on a baking sheet and bake. It was supposed to ensure that the meat or fish came out "moist and tender" and delicious.
One of the campaigns, the one that most people remember the most, had a southern family - mother and daughters (of course: this was the 60s , remember, and only women cooked....) bemoaning how their fried chicken just wasn't very good, so they tried shake and bake. The little girls got to put the stuff in the bag. That night, when dad came home and said "great fried chicken honey" the girls could smile and say "It ain't fried, it's shake and bake. And EYE HAYUPLED."
Oh dear. I will say that the product was a hit. I do recall a time, in my church going days (yes, Annalena was a church going woman once, but without a mantilla or anything like that), when I was on a not so religious retreat with a group of 70 men or so. (Yes, yes, yes. I know that, for some of you I just described saturday night. ). I was sharing kitchen duties with a friend who was making baked chicken for dinner. His grocery list included "40 boxes of shake and bake."
Shaking my head in sadness as I was trying to make fresh bread for 70, I shook it even harder when it turned out that his chicken was the hit of the dinner.
That was the early 80s, and whilst yours truly would like to think that our tastes have evolved, I remain skeptical.
Be this as it may, the idea of coating chicken and baking it to make a crispy crust, rather than deep frying it, is more than a bit appealing. Indeed, as my amazing trainer does her job, deep frying may be the next thing to go . I don't deep fry often, but I do do it. Never chicken though. My fried chicken is worse than my brownies.
So, a week and a half ago, I read a recipe in a spices catalogue for something very reminiscient of shake and bake. And I decided to give it a try. It's a hit. And it's open to tons of variation. I will give it to you here, modified from the source (of course), to make it a bit easier.
You of course need, chicken. You should start with 4 pounds. As a general rule, for chicken on the bone, you need a pound per person. A pound of bone in chicken does not produce all that much meat. If you have big eaters, get more. And when you are going to cook chicken parts, Annalena strongly suggests that you use either all legs, or all breasts. They cook differently, and if you try to mix them, one or the other will not be good. Trust me.
If at all possible, put the chicken into some kind of dairy, overnight. Buttermilk is ideal, you could also use yogurt, or milk. If you are going to use plain milk, "clabber" it by adding a tablespoon of vinegar to it before you put in the chicken. You should plan on a cup of dairy for every four pounds. If you can't marinate overnight, then put the chicken parts in the dairy while you prepare the rest of the stuff.
Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. W hile this is happening, get a big bag and combine flour and corn meal. How much? I used two cups of flour and a cup of corn meal for eight pounds of legs. Keep the 2:1 proportion. And don't change those components. The flour will stick to the chicken and carry the cornmeal, which gives the crunch. Then add your seasonings. Salt is a must: for every cup of flour mix, a teaspoon, please (so for the above, a tablespoon). Then whatever seasonings you like: spicy seasonings if you like spicy, etc. Measure spicy stuff by teaspoons. I did use a big tablespoon of Italian seasonings, and some cayenne pepper, and that was it. I bet curry would be good. The thing you MUST use is a quarter cup of grated parmesan cheese, for every four pounds of chicken. Just mix it in with the powder.
OK, after, or while you're doing that, take a half stick of butter for every four pounds of chicken, put it on a baking sheet, and let it melt in the preheated oven. It won't take long, and don't go away. When it's melted, carefully take the tray out, and then get to work on your chicken. Your hands are going to get messy. Pull each piece out of the dairy and put it in the bag... and shake to coat. (don't do more than one piece at a time and as you need to clean your hands, go ahead). Put each piece on the butter laden tray. When you're done, turn the pieces to cover them in butter. Don't worry if it's not too coated. Then, make sure all of the chicken is skin side up, and put the tray in the oven. If you're baking breasts, after 25 minutes, turn them so the skin is down. If legs, don't worry about it. Bake for a total of about 50 minutes for chicken breasts, an hour for the legs.
If you peak while this is cooking, you will wonder if you're doing it right. After fifteen minutes, it looks like a mess. After thirty minutes , however, it takes on some color and the smell of chicken begins to mingle in the air. And after 50, you have chicken that is browned unevenly, so that you have some crispy bits, some browned bits, some burned bits, all the things you like. And I guarantee you that the people you serve will like it too.
So make up a big mess of it. Maybe even get someone to hayulp you.
One of the campaigns, the one that most people remember the most, had a southern family - mother and daughters (of course: this was the 60s , remember, and only women cooked....) bemoaning how their fried chicken just wasn't very good, so they tried shake and bake. The little girls got to put the stuff in the bag. That night, when dad came home and said "great fried chicken honey" the girls could smile and say "It ain't fried, it's shake and bake. And EYE HAYUPLED."
Oh dear. I will say that the product was a hit. I do recall a time, in my church going days (yes, Annalena was a church going woman once, but without a mantilla or anything like that), when I was on a not so religious retreat with a group of 70 men or so. (Yes, yes, yes. I know that, for some of you I just described saturday night. ). I was sharing kitchen duties with a friend who was making baked chicken for dinner. His grocery list included "40 boxes of shake and bake."
Shaking my head in sadness as I was trying to make fresh bread for 70, I shook it even harder when it turned out that his chicken was the hit of the dinner.
That was the early 80s, and whilst yours truly would like to think that our tastes have evolved, I remain skeptical.
Be this as it may, the idea of coating chicken and baking it to make a crispy crust, rather than deep frying it, is more than a bit appealing. Indeed, as my amazing trainer does her job, deep frying may be the next thing to go . I don't deep fry often, but I do do it. Never chicken though. My fried chicken is worse than my brownies.
So, a week and a half ago, I read a recipe in a spices catalogue for something very reminiscient of shake and bake. And I decided to give it a try. It's a hit. And it's open to tons of variation. I will give it to you here, modified from the source (of course), to make it a bit easier.
You of course need, chicken. You should start with 4 pounds. As a general rule, for chicken on the bone, you need a pound per person. A pound of bone in chicken does not produce all that much meat. If you have big eaters, get more. And when you are going to cook chicken parts, Annalena strongly suggests that you use either all legs, or all breasts. They cook differently, and if you try to mix them, one or the other will not be good. Trust me.
If at all possible, put the chicken into some kind of dairy, overnight. Buttermilk is ideal, you could also use yogurt, or milk. If you are going to use plain milk, "clabber" it by adding a tablespoon of vinegar to it before you put in the chicken. You should plan on a cup of dairy for every four pounds. If you can't marinate overnight, then put the chicken parts in the dairy while you prepare the rest of the stuff.
Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. W hile this is happening, get a big bag and combine flour and corn meal. How much? I used two cups of flour and a cup of corn meal for eight pounds of legs. Keep the 2:1 proportion. And don't change those components. The flour will stick to the chicken and carry the cornmeal, which gives the crunch. Then add your seasonings. Salt is a must: for every cup of flour mix, a teaspoon, please (so for the above, a tablespoon). Then whatever seasonings you like: spicy seasonings if you like spicy, etc. Measure spicy stuff by teaspoons. I did use a big tablespoon of Italian seasonings, and some cayenne pepper, and that was it. I bet curry would be good. The thing you MUST use is a quarter cup of grated parmesan cheese, for every four pounds of chicken. Just mix it in with the powder.
OK, after, or while you're doing that, take a half stick of butter for every four pounds of chicken, put it on a baking sheet, and let it melt in the preheated oven. It won't take long, and don't go away. When it's melted, carefully take the tray out, and then get to work on your chicken. Your hands are going to get messy. Pull each piece out of the dairy and put it in the bag... and shake to coat. (don't do more than one piece at a time and as you need to clean your hands, go ahead). Put each piece on the butter laden tray. When you're done, turn the pieces to cover them in butter. Don't worry if it's not too coated. Then, make sure all of the chicken is skin side up, and put the tray in the oven. If you're baking breasts, after 25 minutes, turn them so the skin is down. If legs, don't worry about it. Bake for a total of about 50 minutes for chicken breasts, an hour for the legs.
If you peak while this is cooking, you will wonder if you're doing it right. After fifteen minutes, it looks like a mess. After thirty minutes , however, it takes on some color and the smell of chicken begins to mingle in the air. And after 50, you have chicken that is browned unevenly, so that you have some crispy bits, some browned bits, some burned bits, all the things you like. And I guarantee you that the people you serve will like it too.
So make up a big mess of it. Maybe even get someone to hayulp you.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Vegan vegetable bean soup - sort of
Ok, this is VERY close to being a vegan soup, and it's the easiest thing in the world to making it pristinely vegan ("pristinely vegan?" What in the world has gotten into Annalena?). Hang in there with me. It's better with the non vegan trick, but if you don't want to use it, Annalena has a trick up her sleeve (rather than up her dress, but we won't go there).
When it gets late in the year - like now - regardless of how warm a particular day MAY be, there have been many cold ones before that, and as a result, it may be difficult to find the vegetables you found two weeks ago. And when the day is warm, you tend to forget that you had that cold weather, and getting a grip on the fact that they ain't there no mo' is frustrating. So, for when that happens, Annalena has an old reliable terrific bean soup recipe that she will share with you, because she loves you all so much.
She really does. Truly. It's her alter egos that sometimes have problems with people. But Annalena? Truly one of the world's saints if she says so herself.
Ok, so here's how you do it. It does take some planning, because Annalena does not use canned beans. Like Amy Winehouse said about rehab "no, no no." So the day before you want to make your soup, measure out 2 cups of dried beans, and put them in a pot and cover them with a ridiculously large amount of water. Cover them if your kitchen is subject to falling debris, kamikaze roaches, or other assaults on your work. Don't cook them. what you're cooking to do is rehydrate them, and it takes a while. I prefer using the white beans like cannelinis, or flageolets, for this soup, so that the color is nice, but use what you like. Black beans are good, but I am not a fan of kidney beans, (quote Amy Winehouse again).
Now, the day you plan to make the soup, drain those beans. Then, put them back in the pot, and cover them with yet another ridiculously large amount of water (don't use the old water: it's got nasties in it from the beans, and it will stink up your kitchen and force you to find out who your real friends are when you eat this. If you are going completely vegan , add a chipotle chili, or a sprig of rosemary to this. Then bring the pot to a low boil, and cook the beans until they are al dente. This could take anywhere from 20 minutes, to an hour. If you are using frozen, or fresh shell beans that have not been dried, it will take precious little time. If you're using the beans your mom gave you when you moved into your apartment fifteen years ago, it's going to take a while.
While they are cooking, slice up a cup of carrots. If the carrots are small, coins are good. If the carrots look like you could beat someone to death with them, use half moons. And also cut up a cup of some member of the onion family: leeks, onions, scallions, something like that. Two cups of potatoes, please, and this time, use the pink or red boiling ones. Peel them if you like, don't if you don't. If you want to, you can add a cup or so of a chopped green vegetable, preferably something somewhat sturdy, like green beans.
When your shell or dried beans are done, drain them and put them to the side. Dry out that pot, coat the bottom with olive oil, and add all those sliced vegetables. Turn them in the oil, add a few teaspoons of salt and then cover the whole mess with about 2 quarts of water and let it cook away for about fifteen minutes. Then, add 2/3 of the beans, and - now here's where we spoil the vegan quality - a three inch piece of the rind from parmesan cheese.
This is the dirty little secret of Italian vegetable soup making. That rind is going to add so much more flavor, you are going to thank Annalena forever for this little trick.
Anyway, let the whole pot of soup cook for another fifteen minutes or so. Take the remaining beans, put them in a blender, and add a generous cup of that soup liquid to the blender. Puree the beans, and then dump everything back into the soup pot. Stir it, and then taste the seasonings. I bet you'll need more salt. Black pepper is also good. When you serve it, you may also want to float some olive oil on it. You could, if you like, toss some pesto or some tomato sauce in here as well. It will change the overall ambience of the soup, but that's ok. It's your soup, not mine, remember?
This is one of those soups that I URGE you to try. It's inexpensive, it's tasty, it's healthy, and you can adapt it, all year long. Ain't nothing wrong with a low fat, high fiber bean soup.
When it gets late in the year - like now - regardless of how warm a particular day MAY be, there have been many cold ones before that, and as a result, it may be difficult to find the vegetables you found two weeks ago. And when the day is warm, you tend to forget that you had that cold weather, and getting a grip on the fact that they ain't there no mo' is frustrating. So, for when that happens, Annalena has an old reliable terrific bean soup recipe that she will share with you, because she loves you all so much.
She really does. Truly. It's her alter egos that sometimes have problems with people. But Annalena? Truly one of the world's saints if she says so herself.
Ok, so here's how you do it. It does take some planning, because Annalena does not use canned beans. Like Amy Winehouse said about rehab "no, no no." So the day before you want to make your soup, measure out 2 cups of dried beans, and put them in a pot and cover them with a ridiculously large amount of water. Cover them if your kitchen is subject to falling debris, kamikaze roaches, or other assaults on your work. Don't cook them. what you're cooking to do is rehydrate them, and it takes a while. I prefer using the white beans like cannelinis, or flageolets, for this soup, so that the color is nice, but use what you like. Black beans are good, but I am not a fan of kidney beans, (quote Amy Winehouse again).
Now, the day you plan to make the soup, drain those beans. Then, put them back in the pot, and cover them with yet another ridiculously large amount of water (don't use the old water: it's got nasties in it from the beans, and it will stink up your kitchen and force you to find out who your real friends are when you eat this. If you are going completely vegan , add a chipotle chili, or a sprig of rosemary to this. Then bring the pot to a low boil, and cook the beans until they are al dente. This could take anywhere from 20 minutes, to an hour. If you are using frozen, or fresh shell beans that have not been dried, it will take precious little time. If you're using the beans your mom gave you when you moved into your apartment fifteen years ago, it's going to take a while.
While they are cooking, slice up a cup of carrots. If the carrots are small, coins are good. If the carrots look like you could beat someone to death with them, use half moons. And also cut up a cup of some member of the onion family: leeks, onions, scallions, something like that. Two cups of potatoes, please, and this time, use the pink or red boiling ones. Peel them if you like, don't if you don't. If you want to, you can add a cup or so of a chopped green vegetable, preferably something somewhat sturdy, like green beans.
When your shell or dried beans are done, drain them and put them to the side. Dry out that pot, coat the bottom with olive oil, and add all those sliced vegetables. Turn them in the oil, add a few teaspoons of salt and then cover the whole mess with about 2 quarts of water and let it cook away for about fifteen minutes. Then, add 2/3 of the beans, and - now here's where we spoil the vegan quality - a three inch piece of the rind from parmesan cheese.
This is the dirty little secret of Italian vegetable soup making. That rind is going to add so much more flavor, you are going to thank Annalena forever for this little trick.
Anyway, let the whole pot of soup cook for another fifteen minutes or so. Take the remaining beans, put them in a blender, and add a generous cup of that soup liquid to the blender. Puree the beans, and then dump everything back into the soup pot. Stir it, and then taste the seasonings. I bet you'll need more salt. Black pepper is also good. When you serve it, you may also want to float some olive oil on it. You could, if you like, toss some pesto or some tomato sauce in here as well. It will change the overall ambience of the soup, but that's ok. It's your soup, not mine, remember?
This is one of those soups that I URGE you to try. It's inexpensive, it's tasty, it's healthy, and you can adapt it, all year long. Ain't nothing wrong with a low fat, high fiber bean soup.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
"Sort of Sicilian" Pasta with cauliflower, and....
This is another one of those recipes that has an origin, and has a classic formula. And I have made it that way, and it's terrific. Much to my surprise, people loved it and ask for it. And, like many great recipes, it stands up to playing around with, as you'll find out.
One of the things I learned, in the last ten years, is that Southern Italians eat a lot of cauliflower "cavolo fiori," or "cabbage flowers." Cabbage and cauliflower fall into the same category of vegetables, but ask yourself if you think of cauliflower as an Italian vegetable? I certainly didn't.
My theory about why that is, is that we Americans simply do not much like it. And my theory about that, is that it's because it is not cooked properly, sort of like most of the cruciferous vegetables like cabbage, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and so forth. Too little water, and cooking for too long, produces that incredibly strong, sulfur smell that turns people off - with good reason. And let's not mention, the, ahem, flatulence problem.
I will confess that for years I was not too fond of it myself. My turnaround seems to have come when the new strains of cauliflower, with their golden color, became available. They taste the same - they really do. Somehow, however, the golden colored cauliflower seems to be richer, and more buttery. Don't they say we eat with our eyes? Well, more people have told me that the cauliflower purees I make with the golden ones are "SO SO RICH. How much butter and cream did you use?" Uh, none. Just water, and salt. No one believes me. Fine. It's all good.
Anyway, moving on. One of the classic recipes in Sicilian cooking is pasta with cauliflower, bread crumbs, currants, and onions. The vegetables are cooked to the point where they carmelize, the bread crumbs are toasted, the currants are tossed in, and at the end, you dress it with olive oil.
This preparation is, without question, one of the most popular dishes I make. If you wanted an explanation why, I couldn't tell you. So I won't make up stories.
Now, one of the other vegetables that you will always find associated with Sicily, is fennel "finocchio." You've seen it, the thing that looks like celery with asparagus fronds, and tastes a bit like licorice? It's quite a dandy l ooking vegetable, which is perhaps why "finocchio" was Italian slang for "faggot." My teacher tells me that today, using it is very old fashioned, and folks just say "gay" instead. Somehow, that makes me feel like the language is getting impoverished. A bit sad.
Ok, I should stick to cooking. Anyway, one night, I had a bunch of fennel that was threatening to go bad, a head of cauliflower, and of course, bread crumbs and currants. It was cold, it was rainy, it felt like WINTER, and away we went.
This is another dish that calls for a shaped pasta. I think penne is traditional, but shells will work, so will orecchiete, anything that is sort of the size of a cauliflower floret. Here we go.
Cut up a small head of cauliflower, or half of a large head. Take the florets, and save the stems to make a soup or something like that, or puree. Also take a medium sized bulb of fennel. Cut away the fronds and the tough stems, and dice that.
Mix those together, and put them into a large frying pan, to which you have added a nice amount of olive oil: more than enough to cover the pan, but not enough to float the vegetables. Let the vegetables sit. Try not to stir them for a bit. Let them darken, and carmelize. Both will get sweeter from this process. When they darken, then you can turn them and cook them a little more. Add some salt as you go along.
After they're cooked, put them in a bowl, to the side, and add a bit more olive oil - say three tablespoons - and add half a cup or so of flavored bread crumbs. Saute' these just until they brown. Get them out of the pan, in a separate bowl. Now, get your currants ready - no more than about a quarter cup - and put them aside as well. You can mix them with either of the two things you've prepared.
Boil up a pound of pasta in the usual, rapidly boiling salted water, and as it's going along, scoop out about 3/4 of a cup of the cooking water. Keep it at the ready, after you drain the pasta. Get it back in the pot, and add everything except the bread crumbs (if you've mixed the currants with the crumbs, no problem. Save them back too). Add the water, if you need it, to create a sort of little sauce, or if the veggies still seem to hard. Let this cook for 2-3 minutes and then off the heat, stir in the crumbs. When you portion it out, pour some peppery olive oil over it.
NO CHEESE in this dish. The crumbs are supposed to approximate the cheese. And you've got a winter dinner in a plate.
This is fairly substantial for a vegetarian dish. Serve less than you think you'll need. And save the leftovers. They are terrific cold.
Ho fame. I think I need this, NOW
One of the things I learned, in the last ten years, is that Southern Italians eat a lot of cauliflower "cavolo fiori," or "cabbage flowers." Cabbage and cauliflower fall into the same category of vegetables, but ask yourself if you think of cauliflower as an Italian vegetable? I certainly didn't.
My theory about why that is, is that we Americans simply do not much like it. And my theory about that, is that it's because it is not cooked properly, sort of like most of the cruciferous vegetables like cabbage, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and so forth. Too little water, and cooking for too long, produces that incredibly strong, sulfur smell that turns people off - with good reason. And let's not mention, the, ahem, flatulence problem.
I will confess that for years I was not too fond of it myself. My turnaround seems to have come when the new strains of cauliflower, with their golden color, became available. They taste the same - they really do. Somehow, however, the golden colored cauliflower seems to be richer, and more buttery. Don't they say we eat with our eyes? Well, more people have told me that the cauliflower purees I make with the golden ones are "SO SO RICH. How much butter and cream did you use?" Uh, none. Just water, and salt. No one believes me. Fine. It's all good.
Anyway, moving on. One of the classic recipes in Sicilian cooking is pasta with cauliflower, bread crumbs, currants, and onions. The vegetables are cooked to the point where they carmelize, the bread crumbs are toasted, the currants are tossed in, and at the end, you dress it with olive oil.
This preparation is, without question, one of the most popular dishes I make. If you wanted an explanation why, I couldn't tell you. So I won't make up stories.
Now, one of the other vegetables that you will always find associated with Sicily, is fennel "finocchio." You've seen it, the thing that looks like celery with asparagus fronds, and tastes a bit like licorice? It's quite a dandy l ooking vegetable, which is perhaps why "finocchio" was Italian slang for "faggot." My teacher tells me that today, using it is very old fashioned, and folks just say "gay" instead. Somehow, that makes me feel like the language is getting impoverished. A bit sad.
Ok, I should stick to cooking. Anyway, one night, I had a bunch of fennel that was threatening to go bad, a head of cauliflower, and of course, bread crumbs and currants. It was cold, it was rainy, it felt like WINTER, and away we went.
This is another dish that calls for a shaped pasta. I think penne is traditional, but shells will work, so will orecchiete, anything that is sort of the size of a cauliflower floret. Here we go.
Cut up a small head of cauliflower, or half of a large head. Take the florets, and save the stems to make a soup or something like that, or puree. Also take a medium sized bulb of fennel. Cut away the fronds and the tough stems, and dice that.
Mix those together, and put them into a large frying pan, to which you have added a nice amount of olive oil: more than enough to cover the pan, but not enough to float the vegetables. Let the vegetables sit. Try not to stir them for a bit. Let them darken, and carmelize. Both will get sweeter from this process. When they darken, then you can turn them and cook them a little more. Add some salt as you go along.
After they're cooked, put them in a bowl, to the side, and add a bit more olive oil - say three tablespoons - and add half a cup or so of flavored bread crumbs. Saute' these just until they brown. Get them out of the pan, in a separate bowl. Now, get your currants ready - no more than about a quarter cup - and put them aside as well. You can mix them with either of the two things you've prepared.
Boil up a pound of pasta in the usual, rapidly boiling salted water, and as it's going along, scoop out about 3/4 of a cup of the cooking water. Keep it at the ready, after you drain the pasta. Get it back in the pot, and add everything except the bread crumbs (if you've mixed the currants with the crumbs, no problem. Save them back too). Add the water, if you need it, to create a sort of little sauce, or if the veggies still seem to hard. Let this cook for 2-3 minutes and then off the heat, stir in the crumbs. When you portion it out, pour some peppery olive oil over it.
NO CHEESE in this dish. The crumbs are supposed to approximate the cheese. And you've got a winter dinner in a plate.
This is fairly substantial for a vegetarian dish. Serve less than you think you'll need. And save the leftovers. They are terrific cold.
Ho fame. I think I need this, NOW
Friday, November 13, 2009
"Sort of Pugliese" Pasta with broccoli rabb and ricotta
Now, you may be wondering "what in the name of the gods happened to that woman? Has she gone off to join the circus as she's been threatening for all these years?"
Ah, ragazzi, nothing that dramatic. Just the usual busynesses , if you know what I mean - and a decision at work to block this site from access, so now Annalena has to push blogging into her incredibly busy at home schedule. But, fear not, Annalena will be sitting down and writing y'all a letter from time to time, as she has for so long (some would say, WAY TOO long, but they can get over themselves).
So, what's with the title? Well, we're going to be exploring a bit of variations on classic pasta dishes in the next few blogs, sort of a case of "use what you got on hand" to make something that is "sort of " like a classic, but not really.
There are certain dishes that are emblematic of different regions of Italy, especially in the Pasta area. For example, pasta stuffed with pumpkin is a classic of Mantua. It is made elsewhere, but this is where it's from. So, too, is a dish we will look at in days to come a classic of Sicily: pasta with cauliflower, bread crumbs and currants.
One of the characteristics of cooking from Apulia is the use of broccoli rabb. There are some Pugliese who will tell you that they eat this wonderful vegetable every night. And it is wonderful, but let Annalena clarify some things for you.
Broccoli rabb, is NOT broccoli. No ragazzi, in Italian, it is called "cima," and that is turnip greens.
Betcha you didn't know that, did ya? Nope, the classic "broccoli rabb" is the top of a root v egetable, and those turnips are not fit to eat. But the greens? Strong, forceful and bitter. Sort of like many men. (Well, the bitter part is true). They can be tamed, however, by dropping them into boiling water. Sort of like most men. And in this dish, you do just that, and you create a very economical, easy, nourishing dish.
The classic pasta used with it is orecchiete, the "little ears," also a classic of Apulia. But if you don't have them, use any pasta shape you have as long as it is on the short and stubby side of things. (Again, sort of like most men). In my version, I used penne.
When you buy broccoli rabb, you will notice very thick, tough stems. ABANDON THEM. Make a cut across the bunch of vegetable where the stem begins to get tender. Toss the tough stuff, and then cut the rest of it into bite size pieces. You can be rough with it (like with most men), and push it to the side (you know what's coming).
At its simplest form, what you do next is add your pasta to rapidly boiling, salted water, and let it cook for about five minutes. Then you add the greens, and cook them together. The pasta becomes al dente at the same time the greens cook. You drain them, together, add a lashing of good quality olive oil, some black and/or hot pepper, and perhaps some grated romano cheese, and dinner is served.
If there happens to be some left over sausage in the house, slice it up (if it's cooked), and add it as well, and cut back the olive oil. Cook it first if it ain't. You have a classic.
I did not have any left over sausage when I made my pasta. I did, however, have half a container of a very good quality rich tasting ricotta. Ricotta makes a wonderful sauce for pasta, if you thin it with some of the pasta water. And that is just what I did. I took that ricotta - about two cups of it, and added grated black pepper, and the cup of pasta water, stirring it to just dissolve the cheese. When the pasta was done, I dumped it out, just like in the classic version, and after it was drained, I stirred the cheese in, and put some more black pepper on it. DINNER.
Is it Pugliese? Oh, heavens no. Is it good? You betcha. Is it easy? Yup.
So call it what you want, but don't call it Pugliese, and make it for yourself. You'll have a quick easy dinner without a lot to clean up, it will be a complete meal, and you will be thanking me endlessly.
Ah, ragazzi, nothing that dramatic. Just the usual busynesses , if you know what I mean - and a decision at work to block this site from access, so now Annalena has to push blogging into her incredibly busy at home schedule. But, fear not, Annalena will be sitting down and writing y'all a letter from time to time, as she has for so long (some would say, WAY TOO long, but they can get over themselves).
So, what's with the title? Well, we're going to be exploring a bit of variations on classic pasta dishes in the next few blogs, sort of a case of "use what you got on hand" to make something that is "sort of " like a classic, but not really.
There are certain dishes that are emblematic of different regions of Italy, especially in the Pasta area. For example, pasta stuffed with pumpkin is a classic of Mantua. It is made elsewhere, but this is where it's from. So, too, is a dish we will look at in days to come a classic of Sicily: pasta with cauliflower, bread crumbs and currants.
One of the characteristics of cooking from Apulia is the use of broccoli rabb. There are some Pugliese who will tell you that they eat this wonderful vegetable every night. And it is wonderful, but let Annalena clarify some things for you.
Broccoli rabb, is NOT broccoli. No ragazzi, in Italian, it is called "cima," and that is turnip greens.
Betcha you didn't know that, did ya? Nope, the classic "broccoli rabb" is the top of a root v egetable, and those turnips are not fit to eat. But the greens? Strong, forceful and bitter. Sort of like many men. (Well, the bitter part is true). They can be tamed, however, by dropping them into boiling water. Sort of like most men. And in this dish, you do just that, and you create a very economical, easy, nourishing dish.
The classic pasta used with it is orecchiete, the "little ears," also a classic of Apulia. But if you don't have them, use any pasta shape you have as long as it is on the short and stubby side of things. (Again, sort of like most men). In my version, I used penne.
When you buy broccoli rabb, you will notice very thick, tough stems. ABANDON THEM. Make a cut across the bunch of vegetable where the stem begins to get tender. Toss the tough stuff, and then cut the rest of it into bite size pieces. You can be rough with it (like with most men), and push it to the side (you know what's coming).
At its simplest form, what you do next is add your pasta to rapidly boiling, salted water, and let it cook for about five minutes. Then you add the greens, and cook them together. The pasta becomes al dente at the same time the greens cook. You drain them, together, add a lashing of good quality olive oil, some black and/or hot pepper, and perhaps some grated romano cheese, and dinner is served.
If there happens to be some left over sausage in the house, slice it up (if it's cooked), and add it as well, and cut back the olive oil. Cook it first if it ain't. You have a classic.
I did not have any left over sausage when I made my pasta. I did, however, have half a container of a very good quality rich tasting ricotta. Ricotta makes a wonderful sauce for pasta, if you thin it with some of the pasta water. And that is just what I did. I took that ricotta - about two cups of it, and added grated black pepper, and the cup of pasta water, stirring it to just dissolve the cheese. When the pasta was done, I dumped it out, just like in the classic version, and after it was drained, I stirred the cheese in, and put some more black pepper on it. DINNER.
Is it Pugliese? Oh, heavens no. Is it good? You betcha. Is it easy? Yup.
So call it what you want, but don't call it Pugliese, and make it for yourself. You'll have a quick easy dinner without a lot to clean up, it will be a complete meal, and you will be thanking me endlessly.
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