It's Braised and You'll Like It

I had a busy week, how about you? I wish that I could tell you that I was MIA due to the fact that I had tickets to the Inauguration, but that is not the case. Sadly. I listened to the Inauguration on NPR in my car as I tried to prepare for a 3:00 o'clock meeting.

In addition to some work-related time constraints, I had a tough time devising recipes this week. Maybe that's because it is late January and the seasonal pickings are slim right now. How many root vegetable dishes can one girl make?

Anyway, I'm back from a brief hiatus in posting, but I have a nice pasta dish for you to make up for it. It even features a root vegetable, but in a good way.

Braised Fennel Pasta
A Fritter Original

1 large fennel bulb
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 teaspoon of olive oil
1/2 pound of whole wheat rotini, essentially two handfuls of dry pasta
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar (or any other vinegar that has a touch of underlying sweetness)
3/4 cup of chicken stock
1 cup of loosely-packed fresh spinach leaves
1 cup of fresh green beans (not canned or frozen), sliced on the diagonal into bite-sized pieces
Salt and pepper to taste
4 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
4 tablespoons freshly-grated fontina

Take the fennel bulb and remove any fronds still attached. Core the bulb and chop the fennel into 1/2-inch pieces. Heat a medium-sized saucepan over medium-low heat and add the butter and olive oil. When the butter has melted and is beginning to foam, add the fennel and toss well to coat. Braise the fennel in the butter until it is soft and golden-brown, about 20-25 minutes.

While the fennel is braising, bring a separate medium-sized saucepan of water to a boil. Add the rotini and boil until al dente, 10 - 12 minutes. Drain and set aside.

When the fennel has caramelized to a golden-brown color, add the apple cider vinegar and mix in well. Once the vinegar has evaporated, add the chicken stock and bring to a gentle simmer. Add the spinach leaves and green beans and salt and pepper to taste. Reduce the heat to low and cover for 3 minutes, until the spinach has wilted.

Divide the pasta between two shallow bowls. Spoon the fennel sauce over the pasta, then add 2 tablespoons of toasted pine nuts and 2 tablespoons of fontina cheese to each bowl. Serve immediately.

Serves: 2

Because It's Not Winter Yet

Your plate has been pretty full lately. All of these pumpkin tarts, acorn squash risottos, and fried apples must be elbowing each other for more room.

Autumn is terrific, it really is. After the fresh corn and tomatoes of late summer disappear, I love scooping mouthfuls of pie and whipped heavy cream from a bowl. I love the richness of toasted pecans and roasted hard squashes. And nothing beats fresh cranberry sauce.

Love the puckery taste of cranberries. Love it.

However, I find that I tend to overindulge in these offerings during the month of October. After several weeks of filling my shopping cart with cello-shaped squashes and bright apples, I need a breather.

Perhaps you feel the same way. How about something on the lighter side for lunch today? Let's make soup.

I found this version of stracciatella in last year's December issue of Food and Wine Magazine. Have some; you'll find that you have enough room for a few bites of sweet dessert later on.

Spinach and Egg-Drop Pasta Soup
Adapted from this Tom Valenti recipe in Food and Wine Magazine

1/2 pound tubetti, ditali or other small pasta
2 quarts chicken stock
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
5 ounces baby spinach
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
4 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving
Extra-virgin olive oil and lemon wedges, for drizzling

Cook the pasta in a pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain well.

In a saucepan, bring the stock to a simmer with the garlic; simmer for 3 minutes. Add the pasta and spinach and cook over moderate heat until the spinach wilts. Season with salt and pepper. Gently stir in the eggs, breaking them into long strands. Gently simmer the soup until the eggs are just firm, about 1 minute. Stir in the 1/2 cup of cheese. Ladle the soup into bowls, drizzle with olive oil and serve, passing lemon wedges and more cheese on the side.

Studies Abroad

What's the first dinner dish that you learned to prepare? I mean, the first one that was not the result of a can in one hand and a can opener in the other.

Maybe it was grilled cheese, maybe it was a salad of some kind.

For me, it may have been baked pasta. (I say may have been because I recall making 3-Alarm Chili from a packet around the age of twelve. However, sticking to my own rules, that chili technically came from a packet, so it does not count.)

This is baked pasta, as prepared by a twenty-year-old with a small dorm kitchen: you boil some penne or rigatoni, smother it in a sludgy sauce, spoon some ricotta over it all (okay, okay, the ricotta came from a container), then top it with shredded mozzarella. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes and devour like a starving wolf with your closest friends.

Even though I'm a bit older and own better appliances, I still enjoy baked pasta in all its carby forms. I just prefer some nuance with my meals now, so when I came across this version of Catalan fideua, it clicked in my mind as something worth learning.

Catalan fideua is, essentially, a Spanish baked pasta dish. Unlike my dorm room version, fideua has dazzle. The chorizo gives it a mighty kick of spice, while the paprika mellows the whole plate with sultry, smoky undertones. When you take the pasta out of the oven, you will find a lovely crust of pasta covering a steamy, tomatoey mound of pasta, sausage and vegetables.

This is the baked pasta of your college years, after spending a semester abroad in Barcelona.

Catalan Fideua
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
1/2 pound crimini mushrooms, quartered
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
Pinch of cayenne pepper
1 medium tomato, peeled, seeded, chopped
1/2 of a green bell pepper, cored and diced
1 1/2 cup of chicken stock
1/3 cup dry white wine (I used a pinot grigio with good results)
2 links of Spanish chorizo, cut into 1/2 slices on the diagonal
1/2 pound fideo or angel hair pasta
1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Heat the olive oil over medium-high heat in a heavy, deep skillet, such as a paella pan.

Add the onion and garlic and cook until tender, stirring frequently, about 8 minutes. Add the mushrooms and sauté for about 4 minutes. Add the smoked paprika and cayenne and stir just until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the tomato and green pepper and sauté another 2 minutes. Finally, add the chicken stock, wine, and chorizo.

Bring the mixture to a simmer. Break the pasta in half and nestle it into the liquid in the pan. Cook until pasta is tender, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Set the skillet in the oven and bake until all liquid is absorbed and pasta is crusty, about 25 minutes.

Sprinkle with the parsley and serve.

Serves: 2

Takes Me Back

Oh, my.

What a nice moment. I had to run out to the parking garage today around lunchtime to retrieve a file that I'd forgotten in my car. This trivial errand turned into an unexpected blast from the past when I stepped on the empty elevator.

Warm, nutty basil pesto. Mozzarella and artichoke hearts. Halved grape tomatoes.

The aroma of some unknown person's lunch had filled the elevator. In seconds, I was lost in a memory. It was the special dish that I asked my mother to serve at my graduation luncheon, right before I received my high school diploma. The first dish in which I experienced real mozzarella and fresh basil pesto. The feeling of sophistication, the idea that I was turning into an adult. The pretty iced tea glasses next to my mom's china and silver on the table. The white linen napkins.

For a few moments, I was no longer a worker bee in my office building; I was a teenager in flip flops. I leaned against the wall of the elevator, remembering the meal, remembering being a lot younger.

I've written once before about scent and its link to memory. Having been transported for those few seconds, I simply had to recreate the recipe for a dish that I had not eaten in ten years.


The results take me back. The taste of fresh basil pesto, paired with soft mozzarella and crisp grape tomatoes may not stand for sophistication in your mind, but for me, tasting this dish as a teenager was special. I learned something about food by eating this. And by recreating it so many years later, I was able to taste a little bit of my own personal history and once again appreciate what I'd loved about the dish from the beginning: the beauty of simple, fresh flavors.

What special meal takes you back? Don't be shy, tell me!


Summer Basil Pesto Pasta

1/2 pound rotini pasta
1/2 pound ball of mozzarella packed in water
16-20 asparagus spears, the tips only plus one inch of the stalk
1/2 pint of grape tomatoes
1 14-oz can of artichoke hearts packed in water, rinsed)
2 packs cups of basil leaves, plus 1/2 cup of basil leaves, cut chiffonade
1/2 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/8 cup Parmigiano Reggiano

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, then add the pasta. Cook until al dente, then drain and rinse the pasta with cold water. In another pot, steam the asparagus tips over an inch of boiling water for 2 minutes, then drain and rinse the asparagus with cool water to stop the cooking process.

When the pasta and asparagus are well-drained, add them to a large serving bowl. Cube the mozzarella roughly into bite-sized pieces, and add to the bowl. Rinse the grape tomatoes and cut them in half, adding the halves to the serving bowl as you go. Add the artichoke hearts.

In a food processor, blend the 2 cups of basil leaves, the pine nuts, and the Parmigiano Reggiano until they form a coarse paste. With the machine still on, slowly drizzle in the olive oil. The pesto should still be a thick paste, unless you prefer yours to have more oil and be looser.

Toss the contents of the serving bowl with the pesto until well-coated. Sprinkle the basil chiffonade over the top. Serve the dish at room temperature, with iced tea.

Serves: 2.

My Ego Hurts. So Does My Left Elbow.

Do you have days when nothing seems to go right?

Please understand that I am not talking about the kind of day when your best friend is diagnosed with cancer. Those are awful, soul-crushingly bad days. Those are healing-is-going-take-awhile, we'll-get-through-this, let's-all-pray kinds of days that no food will fix.

No, in this post, I'm talking about the absurdly trivial bad days. The kind of day that is an index of minor irritations. The one-hour-wait-at-the-doctor's-office day, the I-banged-my-funny-bone-blue day, the where-in-creation-are-my-car-keys day, the ma'am-I-have-no-cash-to-pay-this-toll day.


You know what I mean. We all have them, and the fact that the aggravations are piddly-small doesn't help. I'm not zen about the small things. I get cranky when the lunch that I schlepped two sweltering blocks back to my office has mayo instead of mustard, and I stub my toe, and no one holds the elevator for me. I sulk.

Petty annoyance is a character flaw, I'm sure. You have a character flaw too, right?

Sometimes, I have enough poise to take a deep, calming breath and achieve some perspective. There is meaning in each of these hapless little moments, I just know it. If the cashier at the grocery store had not been so bloody slow I might have missed the rainbow arching over that funny little church on my way home. If I'd had just a tiny amount of change--50 cents!--in my wallet, I would not have a funny story about how a sour-faced toll worker made me write a 50-cent check to the Florida Department of Transportation Turnpike Authority before letting me through (she was so mean about it, too).


And, when I discovered that I did not have the right ingredients for a recipe that I wanted to try out (ricotta, how did you elude me?), I created this new recipe.

It's a brothy, aromatic bowl of shittake mushrooms sauteed in caramel-y Amontillado sherry and butter then heaped with Swiss chard over fresh fettuccine. Thyme and grated Pecorino bring it all home. Hello, gorgeous.


That's the thing about perspective: "what we see depends mainly on what we look for." (attributed to John Lubbock, English banker, politician, naturalist and archaeologist, 1834-1913)

Shittake Fettuccine with Amontillado Sauce

10-12 large shittake mushrooms, sliced
1 1/2 cups vegetable stock
1 teaspoon fresh thyme
2 tablespoons Amontillado sherry (alternatively, you can use tawny port. The point is to use something with caramel notes)
1 shallot, chopped
1 large garlic clove, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons grated Pecorino
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large leaf of Swiss chard, chopped into long ribbons
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
1/2 pound of fresh fettuccine, recipe following (alternatively, you can use pre-packaged pasta)

To Make the Fettuccine
Adapted from James McNair's Favorites

2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
3 eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon of salt

Combine the eggs, oil, and salt in a mixer and blend well. Add 2 cups of the flour in 1/2 cup amounts and knead the dough in the mixer using a dough hook for about 3 minutes. Check the dough for stickiness. If the dough is very sticky, add more flour until it is no longer sticky. Form into a ball. Allow the dough to rest for 30 minutes, covered with a dish towel.

Divide the dough into 4 pieces. Run each piece through a pasta machine to flatten the dough into sheets, then, using a fettuccine slicing attachment, cut the dough into fettuccine strips.

Heat a pot of salted water to a boil. Add the fettuccine and boil for 3-5 minutes, until al dente. Drain and set aside.

For the Shittake-Amontillado Sauce
Heat the olive oil in a broad skillet over medium heat. Add the chopped shallot and stir to coat in the olive oil. Saute until translucent, stirring to prevent browning. Add the garlic and stir for 1-2 minutes. Do not allow it to brown.

Add the Amontillado and reduce for 1 minute. Add the vegetable stock and heat to a boil, then reduce to low heat. Add the thyme, mushrooms, and Swiss chard, as well as the salt and pepper to taste. Simmer for 3-5 minutes.

Serve the mushrooms over the fettuccine. Grate 1 tablespoon of Pecorino over each dish and serve.

Serves 2

Payday Gnocchi

Now here is something I did not know.

Gnocchi, one of my favorite meals, has its own day of the month in Argentina. Ñoquis del 29 is what it's called.

The day is so-named because traditionally, the 29th day of each month was the day before payday for most people, which meant that it was a day on which people had little money in their pockets. Gnocchi was celebrated as an inexpensive way to have a hearty meal on a day that had nothing else going for it.

A hot bowl of gnocchi is my favorite meal-on-the-go; the gourmand's version of fast food. It's my go-to on the nights when I have an evening event or meeting. This is because I rarely make gnocchi from scratch.

Buying it pre-packaged and vacuum-sealed, I'll rip open that plastic pouch, dump the lot into a pot of boiling water, and let it go for 3 minutes. I'll chop an onion, smash a clove of garlic, and dump a 15-ounce can of fire-roasted tomatoes and a handful of dried herbs into a second pot, heating the whole thing to a simmer. Once the gnocchi float to the top of the boiling water in pan #1, I'll drain them, then add them to the sauce in pan #2 for another 2-4 minutes. Into a plate it goes, and ta-da: fast food. Off to my meeting.

My experiences making gnocchi from scratch have been crummy. I end up with potato crusting my counter-tops, flour smeared on the floor and--the worst--lumpy gnocchi.

I'm sure this is a sign that I need to keep working at it. I will muster the energy to try again soon, but until then, I'm sticking with the pre-packaged stuff.

Today's gnocchi recipe is a good summer feast and is nearly as fast as my tomato-based fast food sauce. In spite of the fact that the sauce is built upon a smooth foundation of heavy cream (a very little heavy cream, folks), it is a light, citrus-y dish with bright green spinach and sweet peas at the forefront of the palate.

Speaking of palates, Steve and I drank a $7.00 Domaine Du Pouy with this dish and it paired beautifully with the citrus and cream. Economical and tasty, it's an appropriate way to toast an upcoming payday.

I have adjusted the proportions a bit to suit my own taste, and reduced the amount so that it serves two people. If you would like the original recipe, which is portioned for four people, it is available at Epicurious.


Lemon Gnocchi with Spinach and Peas
Adapted from Gourmet, December 2007

1/2 cup frozen baby peas (not thawed)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes
1 garlic clove, smashed
3 cups packed baby spinach (3 ounces)
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice (I love Meyer lemons, but regular lemons will do the job, too)
1/2 pound dried gnocchi (I use whole wheat)
2 tablespoons grated parmesan

Simmer peas with cream, red-pepper flakes, garlic, and 1/4 teaspoon salt in a 12-inch heavy skillet, covered, until tender, about 5 minutes.

Add spinach and cook over medium-low heat, uncovered, stirring, until wilted. Remove from heat and stir in lemon zest and juice.

Meanwhile, cook gnocchi in a pasta pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta-cooking water, then drain gnocchi.

Add gnocchi to sauce with cheese and some of reserved cooking water and stir to coat. Thin with additional cooking water if necessary.

Serves: 2 people on ñoquis del 29