tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71651859023688080362024-03-14T13:21:09.764-04:00la mia tavola (at my table)...there's always room for another coursela mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-44751020419929811802011-06-21T23:33:00.000-04:002011-06-21T23:33:31.096-04:00why a sink full of dishes is an absolute delight<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"> Change is in the air on this first official day of summer. Tonight in the kitchen where I spend this evening chopping just ripened tomatoes, I consider how of late, the only smell that's permeated from this little apartment has derived more so from takeout. Tonight however, my counter space is littered with cutting boards and leftover shreds of carrot. Tonight, a sink full of dishes is an absolute delight. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Acutely aware of my misshapen state, the state which has prevented me from basting, sautéing, grilling, and roasting lately, I welcome the feeling of drizzling olive oil in a sauce pan once again and of adjusting the burner heat so as not to sever the garlic before it can melt into the kale and celery. Tonight’s dinner is a labor of love. I have nowhere to be and plenty of time to feel under the weather but resilient, and so I return to the single recipe, which feels effortless and filling without prompting a wardrobe change brought on by the overindulgence of heavier ingredients. This lighter Tuscan bean soup (the recipe is included in a post I published back in March), while albeit strange to some who might question why anyone would crave a hotter item in hotter weather, satisfies my craving for something hearty and haphazard. This recipe boils down to a science of its own – asking only that enough attention is paid to cooking the cannellini separately before submerging it in a neighboring pot bubbling with chicken stock. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UJDSZaI63bWCwAZfGUOa6XVU3R24y_r3KwOF3sSqn1V9bP5gSpqLHp5mHCHvzwn0_ZYIcrJoWD_YBxSfJCOmpySF_RbxlFoMIfgHToMw09GWOBhrmcN63ogOO2tB91ut-rTTKC55C7c/s1600/CIMG0467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UJDSZaI63bWCwAZfGUOa6XVU3R24y_r3KwOF3sSqn1V9bP5gSpqLHp5mHCHvzwn0_ZYIcrJoWD_YBxSfJCOmpySF_RbxlFoMIfgHToMw09GWOBhrmcN63ogOO2tB91ut-rTTKC55C7c/s320/CIMG0467.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And so tonight’s soup is about recreating a favorite dish regardless of the temperature. It’s about setting time aside to cook and be content with your own company. It's about enjoying the simple pleasures of loading a dishwasher and ladling that second helping of sinless delight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaX4D6BJ3naFCBplQqfAarI0Y4MMJJTxIy72xwAsqXcPy7q9NXUlImBTHyWjeYrrVmVc9dXGoiIE5AmxatXnBFfNlpvhpw-vwQIdvNwaIUY3LvL9CQJ0buklBMEUwlu0GqDdFjCh6L2I/s1600/CIMG0469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaX4D6BJ3naFCBplQqfAarI0Y4MMJJTxIy72xwAsqXcPy7q9NXUlImBTHyWjeYrrVmVc9dXGoiIE5AmxatXnBFfNlpvhpw-vwQIdvNwaIUY3LvL9CQJ0buklBMEUwlu0GqDdFjCh6L2I/s320/CIMG0469.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment-->la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-31093132498960161622011-06-06T18:37:00.000-04:002011-06-06T18:37:34.152-04:00Cut the Cheese (out)<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> In light of my lactose intolerant stomach, I am cutting the cheese (out) of my diet. It does not stop there though, this endeavor suggested to me by a very dear friend of my families’ who also happens to be a physician, insists that this hiatus include all dairy, period. This means my breakfast can no longer consist of cereal and creamer crazed coffee with a side of Dannon, can no longer involve unflattering helpings of cheddar or gorgonzola atop my iceberg and radicchio respectively at the salad bar, but worse yet still is the parting from my mozzarella (such sweet sorrow).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> Its been three days and already I admit I’ve succumbed twice, well, there was that slice of Alpine Lace I stole from the cold cut spread Saturday night, so more than twice thanks to last night’s pepperoni pizza purchase I inhaled on the couch alongside my Entourage watching comrade. I did however manage to throw out the yogurt whose perforation I subconsciously peeled away at 7 a.m. on Sunday before quickly realizing I could not partake in my usual post run regiment. It hits me like a ton of bricks then that my morning routine clearly needs reevaluation. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> This gets me thinking – am I expected to eat croissants and pretzels and Panini bread for the next week or so while the doc and I test run his theory that dairy is complicating my already sensitive and predisposed enzyme inefficiencies? Surely this little experiment the doc has me committed to really is negotiable because even the doc knows that lettuce does not leap out of a plastic container if it’s not tossed with the right vinaigrette and mild Monterey <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Day three. The slip ups already amount to a full day’s worth of cheesy intake. We shall see but the future looks bleak for those whose diets center on things named Pecorino, Provolone, or Mascarpone. I am feeling Bleu just writing this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once again there will be no pictures because I cannot keep my craving in the house. Yes, it’s really come to this point. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-37819564172105720352011-05-25T18:00:00.000-04:002011-05-25T18:00:02.335-04:00Broccolo, my new best friend; sorry Pizza<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I personally think you need to know someone for a considerable amount of time before you’ll allow them to happen upon you and a dish of half eaten cavatelli and broccoli. Stay tuned for explanation. Perhaps your <i>cavatelli and broccoli </i>gentle reader involves a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a commitment to watch <i>Gone with the Wind </i>in one sitting, but regardless, this was one such time. I adore you Bill, but we’re just not quite there yet. Blame Vito’s. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last night while I trekked uptown enjoying this unbelievable weather which is unbelievably uncanny in light of the rain sodden afternoons we’ve been weathering lately, I sprinted into Vito’s deli conscious of the good fortune I have of living in a town where a place like Vito’s remains open well after 5 p.m. Inside, the “mutz” boys (much to my chagrin), let me down easy; no more rabe. I was too late. The early bird always gets the damn worm. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Technically it’s too hot to be craving a heavier pasta dish like cavatelli – with its flour pasta and not-so-subtle helping of garlic and oil, but when you have a hankering, you have a hankering and I was still making amends with myself for having passed on the homemade cavatelli I saw next to the sausage and peppers at the Italian Festival South Philly hosted two weeks ago. I’d been too busy stuffing my face with tomato pie to notice the rabe when it was right there for the taking, well for the purchasing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I made eyes with the container then though, and the rest is history as they say. Homemade cavatelli and broccoli sitting in the corner – don’t the boys at Vito’s know better than to put baby in the corner? Patrick Swayze did. I do too. I paid the “mutz” men in what remains to be seen as one of the single best investments I’ve made since my relocation to Hoboken, and walked out of the store beaming – I was going to eat this “too heavy” cavatelli and I was not leaving from the table until I’d finished every last branch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tonight in preparation of yet another Wednesday installment of <i>how to learn Italian with a bunch of English speaking New Yorkers, </i>I frantically rubbed soap and hot water on my crème colored skirt that now houses an unholy helping of leftover oil from the makeshift plate I made out of the container’s lid; a real triumph for the oil since I hardly came up for air in between bites. At this point my colleague and dear friend Bill emailed me to ask why I was still at my desk. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was stuffing my face so I did what any level-headed female would do who is in a relationship with food that she doesn’t want discovered – I told him in no uncertain terms was he to come down to the 4<sup>th</sup> floor, not now, not ever when there’s cavatelli present. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want him to see me this way. I could not let him see me drenched in olive oil with the stupidest grin on my face, sitting beside what once was an entire dish of homemade cavatelli. My hesitance rooted in the fact that I personally think you need to know someone for a good amount of time before you’ll allow them to find you curled up in your cubby, your skirt a mess, your dish completely empty, and you in a “please don’t resuscitate” me kind of food induced coma.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are no pictures to document this. Gentle reader you know why. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-2711696305009534872011-05-17T21:21:00.001-04:002011-05-17T21:29:37.558-04:00Pizza; a girl's best friend<div class="MsoNormal"> There are days I am hungrier than others. On those days in which I crave comfortable clothes and a day off from work, I am not necessarily looking to plunge fork first into a prime rib cooked to medium perfection. Instead, I want only to pick at fresh hummus and pita, or to do the socially unacceptable thing my mother cringes at the idea of and eat ice cream and only ice cream for dinner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> With these last few weeks for the most part behind me, I am regaining an appetite. Because of the past few weeks I understand that mealtimes can be extremely healing, especially when such weekends involve South Philly’s annual Italian Festival and overcast...</div><div class="MsoNormal"> On the crowded corner of 9<sup>th</sup> and Christian on Sunday, I shimmied to Dean Martin in between bites of my two-dollar slice from Lorenzo’s. A casual bystander might have encountered the two of us, my slice and I, and mistaken it for my last meal. This casual observer on Sunday beheld quite a scene; a day of misgivings and malnourishment swiftly revived with every bite of Lorenzo’s heartwarming and heartburn-inducing slice. Far be it from me to venture to the festival for helpings of homemade broccoli rabbe, sausage and peppers, and penne like everyone else, which sat idle in their trays while my foodie friends and I indulged what we perceived to be “human” bites of Lorenzo’s tomato pie because it was my first Sunday “back” from my freakish departure from my usual bouts with overindulgence and sheer foodie late-night dining in light of my recent personal and professional preoccupations. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> It hit me on Sunday also that pizza heals late-night stoopers, day old cramps, helps to overcome breakups, and most recently chronic anxiety. Never an expensive date, pizza blends with a bottle of wine or easily transitions amidst a six-pack of a local brew like none other because it’s a girl’s best friend. In South Philly this weekend my best friend and I shimmied down Christian street like two fools in love, and my faith in food is and was restored instantly. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Not to be outdone, I abandoned Lorenzo’s only momentarily to slip a five to a woman dressed like a baker who suggested I try the St. Joe’s cake; a delicate blend of ricotta cheese and zeppoli crust. Back at the corner closest to the DJ, I dug my plastic fork into the doily encasing my soft cheese sponge cake, smiling and singing Italian classics I remember fondly from my childhood, while all around me families sat eating, talking, laughing and ducking underneath awnings whenever the rain looked like it wanted to join in on the festivities for a bit. Luckily, we managed to have our cake and eat it without finding ourselves hovered underneath some unsuspecting neighbor’s front door, and luckily my love for food prevailed in spite of a string of former pizza-less evenings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-15302766227463891962011-05-02T19:19:00.004-04:002011-05-25T10:17:02.523-04:00hankering for a little piece of Southern comfort<div class="MsoNormal"> Fresh off the plane from Austin, tonight this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yankee</i> had a big ol’ hankering for a little piece of Southern comfort. For the last three nights, I’ve eaten what the likes of Paula Dean fans cook regularly – chicken fried steak, collard greens and Mexican that rivals what’s actually being served south of our border. Somehow waltzing down Washington toward 12<sup>th</sup>, I couldn’t bring myself to sauté a Purdue chicken breast. Tom Petty said it best when he acted as my su chef - <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you don’t know how it feels </i>to want to eat that which you can’t replicate. My remedy for tonight’s “homesickness” consisted of butter, bread, and Campbell’s. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> My best friend who less than a year ago moved to Rhode Island raved about the grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup her mom prepared for her when we were in high school. Admittedly, whenever Kate talked about these favorite lunches, the pairing seemed strange. Living in a house where olive oil was a staple, the heartwarming coziness of the cheesy bread was lost on my father’s birth certificate, and Nonna’s handmade gnocchi. Tonight though, armed with a box of cheez-it(s), I dipped, slurped, and savored. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> My playlist continued churning out feel good melodies, except that when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the boss </i>intoned about the streets of Philadelphia, I pictured “the legendary” Pappasito’s Cantina where only twenty-four hours ago, I satisfied my bottomless pit status with a platter of pork and cheese enchiladas. Suddenly my nostalgia for the city of brotherly love and what I thought had been my unparalleled relationship with Cuban food was compromised. Its nothing personal Bruce, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you just don’t know how it feels </i>to get introduced to a cuisine like Tex Mex only to return to chains like Qdoba on your quainter city’s corner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"> To go from eating chicken fried steak and homemade grits (even if the grits were a coronary waiting to happen), to entertaining the idea of settling for a fresh little tomato and mozzarella Panini felt absurd as I hauled my carry on up to my third floor digs. Tonight I spooned the Campbell’s soup into my hand painted soup bowls and toasted to Texas. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-5678228229262625462011-04-28T19:36:00.001-04:002011-05-02T19:13:19.819-04:00buonasaera bistecca<div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Buonasera bistecca. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You should’ve seen my face dear reader, as I submerged the $4 </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">King’s </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">sirloin into the Extra Virgin Oil drizzled across a heavy duty paper plate. </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Oglio </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I whispered to myself, practicing,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">enjoying the sound of Italian in my little 3</span></span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">rd</span></span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> floor kitchen. Reminiscing about the night before, where I’d attended my first round of Beginner’s Italian, my professor Sabina had silenced her “g” so that her “l” (s) rolled right off of her Italian-born tongue, prominent and perfect. </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Oglio, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I mouthed again, making eyes at the breadcrumbs in the cabinet left haphazardly open above the stove. Broken Italian was one thing but where would this steak dinner be tonight without its beloved friend breadcrumbs? </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I made one of my absolute all-time favorite dinners tonight, steak with oil, breadcrumbs, and beefsteak tomatoes. It’s semplice (simple) as the Italians say, but to-die for nevertheless, and what’s more, this semplice dinner requires very little preparation. As a kid, countless times I watched my dad whip it up on a whim, the aroma of the yellow onion sautéing in an itty bitty skillet made more alluring by the promise of whatever veggie might accompany it. Mushrooms in a Santa Margherita “sauce,” with a pinch of salt and pepper and generous oil base paired effortlessly with the bistecca. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
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</span></div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-52119262650405157902011-04-11T21:03:00.001-04:002011-04-11T21:05:16.058-04:00Short-grain vs. cereal grain and the quest for the perfect risotto<div class="MsoNormal"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I like rice. I like rice more than most, so much so that I once told someone during our first date when probed that my favorite food is rice. Admittedly not exactly your run of the mill answer, and yet in the rice’s defense, it’s not exactly your everyday starch either. I still taste the subtle hint of light cream and crisp, fruit-focused Château St. Michelle Sauvignon Blanc pairing from tonight’s risotto romance.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> In the living room of my aunt’s house not too long ago, TV’s Lidia Bastianich hosted an episode on her show </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Lidia’s Italy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> in which she substituted Arborio rice for barley. Food writer extraordinaire Tenaya Darlington and I discuss over cappuccino on a Saturday the difference in consistency Lidia’s dish proposes.</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Madame Fromage, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;">http://madamefromage.blogspot.com/ <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">suggests that barley possesses a flavorful characteristic worth advocating in favor of. After poking around certain websites, I find out that barley isn't all bad. For one, it containts eight essential amino acids, even if it does goes against a "foodie's" predisposed disposition to cook up a delicate risotto with minced onion prepared to an al dente perfection.</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp0Eqe8_svXoeGyrt0ZZwv4rrrjVDRmwUkk6Jj6aXlHsuyZgKytfo5GJthcwP4nGbefiaYW-Jw-5uYsnt29cYhLjp6lnxPwfrnQI9F_ykDzakCcxkHAGJODfJcj_KCXs0swNcUlQz06E/s1600/CIMG0199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp0Eqe8_svXoeGyrt0ZZwv4rrrjVDRmwUkk6Jj6aXlHsuyZgKytfo5GJthcwP4nGbefiaYW-Jw-5uYsnt29cYhLjp6lnxPwfrnQI9F_ykDzakCcxkHAGJODfJcj_KCXs0swNcUlQz06E/s320/CIMG0199.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tonight I chicken out of my willingness to substitute my beloved rice. With chicken broth and dry white wine, I execute a recipe I know all too well with a little help from my friends Judith Barrett and Norma Wasserman, whose cookbook </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Risotto: more than 120 recipes for the classic dish of northern italy, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">has become a staple in my Hoboken nook. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQZFESnTmVh-Z4cD5NFHJSmm5dpIh8GpfB0dxNNyhMpIxLuILjI2S8KatPuUex6zN367tYZJHCxD-NhKZyLs_GTgDrNl8urIhI-FVyXchv57Z52IxCkuQdEq-Mlqa7J3_-i99JKBvc6Y/s1600/CIMG0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQZFESnTmVh-Z4cD5NFHJSmm5dpIh8GpfB0dxNNyhMpIxLuILjI2S8KatPuUex6zN367tYZJHCxD-NhKZyLs_GTgDrNl8urIhI-FVyXchv57Z52IxCkuQdEq-Mlqa7J3_-i99JKBvc6Y/s320/CIMG0311.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The recipe Risotto con piselli, masterfully mingles sweet and dry so that your palette experiences a kind of comfort food conveyed through the creamy finish - compliments of the recipe’s inclusion of light cream. Tonight my fork nestles in my bowl, just as eager as I to put away this rice’s, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">irm, creamy, and chewy texture due to the higher </span></span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amylopectin"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">amylopectin</span></span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> starch content.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uQW8i-8AwD3fib66Q4lJqpz1rw-PjMqjYXmr6pxYdPMYOyhR_AQ6c5Lg1fSqNzlR6kJYiul8UlIUeD8nNj0qQID5fj76Cp3u8PLwPzvn28nAk8PfUahBzjqeJG9TiLApus1PrDviTmw/s1600/CIMG0314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uQW8i-8AwD3fib66Q4lJqpz1rw-PjMqjYXmr6pxYdPMYOyhR_AQ6c5Lg1fSqNzlR6kJYiul8UlIUeD8nNj0qQID5fj76Cp3u8PLwPzvn28nAk8PfUahBzjqeJG9TiLApus1PrDviTmw/s320/CIMG0314.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Perhaps in the near future I will abandon my apprehension for barley and give it a go Tenaya!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Risotto con piselli</span></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">condimenti: 1 tbsp unsalted butter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1 cup of defrosted peas, not cooked</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1/4 cup of light cream</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1/3 cup of grated parmesan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">brodo: 5 cups basic broth</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1/2 cup of dry white wine</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">soffritto: 2 tbsp unsalted butter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1 tbsp oil</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1/3 cup of minced onion</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> 1 celery rib, finely minced</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">riso: 1 1/2 cups of arborio rice</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- heat the butter in a small skillet over moderate heat. when it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">begins to foam, add the peas and cook for 3 to 5 minutes, stirring</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">occasionally. turn off heath and set aside.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- bring the broth to a steady boil.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- heat the butter and oil in a heavy 4-quart casserole dish over</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">moderate heat. add the onion and celery and saute for 1 to 2min, until</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">the onion begins to soften, being careful not to brown it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- add the rice to the soffritto; using a wooden spoon, stir for 1min.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">add the wine and stir until completely absorbed. begin to add the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">simmering broth, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring frequently. wait until</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">each addition is completely absorbed before adding the next 1/2 cup,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">reserving about 1/4 cup to add at the end. ***</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">stir frequently to prevent sticking ***.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- after approx. 15min, when the rice is tender but still firm, add the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">reserved broth and condimenti - peas, cream, and parmesan, and stir</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">vigorously to combine with the rice.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">- serve immediately* serves 4.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-6339592118421979322011-04-04T21:26:00.002-04:002011-04-04T21:32:22.039-04:00Parc Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am channeling my inner Parisian on Sunday morning while sitting in Rittenhouse Square’s beautiful new addition to its square, Parc restaurant - </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">http://www.parc-restaurant.com. Even the menu looks to be a work of art, offering savory <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">HORS DíOEUVRES</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">like oatmeal Brule and what quickly becomes my personal favorite, </span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Breakfast Pastries.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. 10 </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Croissant, pain au chocolat, apple turnover, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Blueberry muffin, pumpkin spiced bread</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> that I swoon over while the waiter gingerly approaches with my morning mimosa</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Soon he will not be the only one smiling. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; 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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rVx1ZB1t-JefKAwZTAvQBU2JG3UGiNfLuyTk3EjLdnZkNvZo6e7Z-NRK8lD6pl6nMWZwPY8-RwrPW38ZaO9XSRDPhgUNXZeoUKxFUqEMRz5AnxqTYQeMoR6pkXr8mQwtipghTG6xSYw/s1600/CIMG0248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rVx1ZB1t-JefKAwZTAvQBU2JG3UGiNfLuyTk3EjLdnZkNvZo6e7Z-NRK8lD6pl6nMWZwPY8-RwrPW38ZaO9XSRDPhgUNXZeoUKxFUqEMRz5AnxqTYQeMoR6pkXr8mQwtipghTG6xSYw/s320/CIMG0248.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My family obliges my insistence that every good pastry is only as good as the cappuccino it’s submerged in. Saturated and unable to protest the coffee’s unadultering heat, the pain au chocolat scorns my simultaneous sip of mimosa. It thinks me gluttonous. More likely than not I look gluttonous while I shovel the croissant’s crusty exterior in what might as well be considered a trough of serendipitously scooped foam wonderland. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimosMPUqwcx6OwuhAKICPCg1PFX-c3vq_fGRG9_dNjsr_GuRRT-RArb98cof4QhAaA-DD-dH4QTdSjp8AI6rfSKcdOyT54DM-JTlLxYjPew_SeDjYXA6sQDO3voDngztQJut8yrhyphenhyphen5WeM/s1600/CIMG0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimosMPUqwcx6OwuhAKICPCg1PFX-c3vq_fGRG9_dNjsr_GuRRT-RArb98cof4QhAaA-DD-dH4QTdSjp8AI6rfSKcdOyT54DM-JTlLxYjPew_SeDjYXA6sQDO3voDngztQJut8yrhyphenhyphen5WeM/s320/CIMG0242.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Soon after the pastries disappear, the waiter returns. This time he presents a piping </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">onion soup gratinee .</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">.</span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. 10</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> My eyes light up. The cheese oozes like a science fair project and my spoon returns with only layers of Swiss – somewhere below, the small brown cauldron taunts me with its promise of beef bouillon and bay leaf. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my brother, mom and best friend practically arm wrestle for final spoonfuls of the </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">quiche Lorraine</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">which they swear is just to-die-for but elsewhere from across the table, I make eyes at the lone apple turnover which sits beside a trio of jams and butters eager to be spread and dipped into my very patient cappuccino which sits atop its china doll white saucer. The Lorraine would have to wait. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Earlier in the morning my mother and I stand barefoot in the kitchen trading cautionary tales about what constitutes "creamer" in coffee. Mom suggests that since there is no milk, we should just bite the bullet and add good ol' Reddi Whip to the mix. My hesitance wins me an extra dollop of mom's makeshift remedy. Admittedly the whip tastes delicious, not out of place like I originally feared it would. Creamy and dissolvent, the Whip lulls me into a cup of joe rivaled only by Parc's customary sugar bowl and creamer with a side of mimosa - to wash it down. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-79487128406877347312011-04-03T17:57:00.000-04:002011-04-03T17:57:11.502-04:00Fat and Happy in Philly<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"> When I walked through the door of South Street’s little gem Supper on Saturday, I didn’t know what to expect. Wendy Kirby hosted a handful of us food writers upstairs for the first ever Philly Food & Drink Blogger Meet up, and I knew I was in good company when the hostess handed me a drink ticket and instructed me to order my complimentary mimosa after simply saying, “hello.” As Natalie Merchant said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">these are the days. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJ8RLWIn3oDjeLmYxNBxr-t83zJtQtLOFXoCVSpnDk69KKvdukqD-Imj3hiroyY6_DqgahGr5vETQuzs5Ec-VNRdUUahkd0mQXuz16No5ECiBWQbBuvtbE0S19DSxKDCNDCa8Ug1icRs/s1600/CIMG0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJ8RLWIn3oDjeLmYxNBxr-t83zJtQtLOFXoCVSpnDk69KKvdukqD-Imj3hiroyY6_DqgahGr5vETQuzs5Ec-VNRdUUahkd0mQXuz16No5ECiBWQbBuvtbE0S19DSxKDCNDCa8Ug1icRs/s320/CIMG0209.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Natural light trickled in the windows of Supper as those of us assembled got to work meeting and greeting with mouths full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life imitated art while relative strangers became new acquaintances among company like Chef Mitch Presnky’s sinful red velvet waffles finished with prune and cream cheese.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Mj9eYtODHBrf732Nv7EUpO3SHuoZU8Q5yOzdMxQHsWGNBFabpwrn3K26XNPVnKBUUCfkH1VB335nDhUzbrW2rSHq12mhD7G4gX1enCwVFJa29x5xAjmDspXiBS4MMIxrMRv7FacCOYA/s1600/CIMG0216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Mj9eYtODHBrf732Nv7EUpO3SHuoZU8Q5yOzdMxQHsWGNBFabpwrn3K26XNPVnKBUUCfkH1VB335nDhUzbrW2rSHq12mhD7G4gX1enCwVFJa29x5xAjmDspXiBS4MMIxrMRv7FacCOYA/s320/CIMG0216.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I chatted with host Wendy Kirby about the importance of food photography where blog writing is concerned – here is another candid, and if I’m being candid, there is nothing quite like fresh sauerkraut atop a deep fried pork shoulder with beer mustard to tickle the palette:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWDP7jXt37Qe5DUnJooIPBg5xW0Hf7OPXk7nflY_1_p-3rC7J7tSaBJe8XoreU_oVdoLT1aEWgE7Qk-7O0ANufQyaZCMA9N4AvLnXkR3J6gWyBJ59Wh2Ab_aM2TbAZ_gZCCEOm6SPGjw/s1600/CIMG0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWDP7jXt37Qe5DUnJooIPBg5xW0Hf7OPXk7nflY_1_p-3rC7J7tSaBJe8XoreU_oVdoLT1aEWgE7Qk-7O0ANufQyaZCMA9N4AvLnXkR3J6gWyBJ59Wh2Ab_aM2TbAZ_gZCCEOm6SPGjw/s320/CIMG0217.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The afternoon was a success. In between bites of crispy apple beignets with cinnamon and sugar, my new friends and I mulled over our next outing. Would we tour the bakeries or crash another 2<sup>nd</sup> floor establishment, bloody Mary’s in hand? Skies the limit we decided but for now, I’m still digesting the lovely company and cream cheese. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JNrnxto_1Yarswe272UUnC1BHu_jexNFeDY9XkQMvXnnZNWcnlzD4iqbQtXrj7DerGjqB0RPh0M63sXWRhQN0xpETHuC9o7xTgmkee_3NVI6Og66vcVKsdBG1pH6yCn7Y-O3qLMPHG0/s1600/CIMG0205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JNrnxto_1Yarswe272UUnC1BHu_jexNFeDY9XkQMvXnnZNWcnlzD4iqbQtXrj7DerGjqB0RPh0M63sXWRhQN0xpETHuC9o7xTgmkee_3NVI6Og66vcVKsdBG1pH6yCn7Y-O3qLMPHG0/s320/CIMG0205.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment-->la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-72610406080530987642011-03-27T21:29:00.001-04:002011-04-11T20:22:35.830-04:00"a happy meal"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj5bKN2hxVaoAOArGQM0cscncUFpPXbzWw9KB6vkfRT-kNxvjUuqh2EaGtKEWSy5W9LSsTFBU2pWfC01LparObcW08jZdvqLoeMam4cajRgoW3WZDxs7j3HV3cjjLdx895GbMwhqHk4k/s1600/CIMG0263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj5bKN2hxVaoAOArGQM0cscncUFpPXbzWw9KB6vkfRT-kNxvjUuqh2EaGtKEWSy5W9LSsTFBU2pWfC01LparObcW08jZdvqLoeMam4cajRgoW3WZDxs7j3HV3cjjLdx895GbMwhqHk4k/s320/CIMG0263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> At the corner table in the front of Hoboken’s Hummus Bar, a little boy foregoes his fork. It looks like he is finger painting with his falafel. I am on my lunch break watching curly haired and cranky Drew whine while his patient saint of a mother insists he take </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">just one more bite.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my cabbage and red beet salad pita has me salivating. I dote on the savory sweet yet tart treat while Drew protests finishing his chickpeas. In Drew’s defense I find myself questioning ordering</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> falafel for a four year old. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s not exactly a happy meal. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0rHOKBRGQIntZF_KXfsqSup4OnCkZ10dI_Xlsaf9MS-4GPxSW8YsBMPnxN-TrvttT11kdlepMxD8OxKfBW5-zix6DCysU_6o4bOQvYSvFLbsMauR1DIpl5Y52nAN8ci172Wn5kY29uc/s1600/CIMG0266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0rHOKBRGQIntZF_KXfsqSup4OnCkZ10dI_Xlsaf9MS-4GPxSW8YsBMPnxN-TrvttT11kdlepMxD8OxKfBW5-zix6DCysU_6o4bOQvYSvFLbsMauR1DIpl5Y52nAN8ci172Wn5kY29uc/s320/CIMG0266.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">To be fair though, I start thinking back to my own childhood, wondering what I liked when I was Drew’s age. Pastina. A simple bowl of just boiled orzo looking pasta made of wheat flour and egg doused in butter and my mother’s love. That is and was my comfort food at four and fifteen on a colder night before dance classes. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Pastina unlike its irregularly shaped counterparts tastes delicious sprinkled with butter and butter only. It absorbs broth like none other and I associate it most closely with my Nona who eats it nightly because she cannot chew most other things.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Back in the front of the restaurant from his booster seat, Drew begrudgingly opens his mouth. Mom knows best. She knows better than to allow Drew to shovel the food into his mouth. She also knows that she can seal this deal with promise of another sip of freshly squeezed lemonade, well played Drew’s mom. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">***</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My own lunch box never hosted lemonade or soda when I was a kid.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It boasted farina looking polenta (last night’s leftovers) or semolina bread sodden mortadella with Extra Virgin and Arnie the Butcher’s roasted red peppers. My mom picked up cold pilaf special and would serve it as a “side” with our Osso Bucco or Scaloppini on Tuesday nights. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My lunch box did not know what a chickpea or ham sandwich was. It still cringes when it smells Annabelle’s bologna and cheese concoction or Jimmy’s mom’s leftover meatloaf. My brother and I just weren’t raised to look forward to mom’s grilled cheese and Campbell’s reheated condensed tomato. We never ate the “hot lunch” cheeseburger with a side of fries unless mom ran out of fresh Italian bread and the bus came on time, leaving us no choice. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Even now, when I pack my lunch for work – it hosts Watercress with its peppery propensity to pair well with things like candied pecans and dried cranberries or peeled Granny Smith’s. I bring to work a last night’s cutlet or Pete’s “mutz” with its buffalo finish. I dip crackers in just sliced cheese and drizzle it with apricot. I munch on tomatoes on the vine like the fruit that they are, thrilled about their juice on my jaw. When I pack lunch, I do not think of afternoons past when Drew’s mom cut my lunch, but I do remember eating Mediterranean faire and I look at Drew an</span></span>d I wink.<br />
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</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-62740881311843201582011-03-14T19:17:00.001-04:002011-03-14T19:22:27.455-04:00Measuring Cups for good Measure<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Everyone copes differently. After her father passed, Orangette write Molly Wizenberg writes in her</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Homemade Life</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> memoir that she swam in croissants and potato salad; the food she associated most with her father. I too am swimming in chocolate and heavy cream but luckily Vittorio is still alive and well. My emotional baggage comes in the form of a breakup. Some women buy shoes, I splurge on $6 tomatoes on the vine and take up baking. Yes, baking.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Let me just say that I did not stumble upon this desire single-handedly. I did not wake up today and decide that it is time to take up the one form of culinary art I have notoriously written off as box fair or worse, have reserved for companies like Bindi to graciously supply my tiramisu. Quite frankly, the prospect of composing a cake without a box and premade mix is terrifying but all the more reason to endeavor to do away with store bought dessert in one form or another</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I want to go by Nicolette after my recent introduction to the fabulous Eric Ripert and the dinner I ate at Boston’s beautiful Mistral Bistro. I admit that my newfound obsession with everything David Lebovitz leads me to this evening’s Orange and Rum Chocolate Mousse Cake complements of his </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Great Book of Chocolate. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I rationalize that any dessert that calls for dark spice rum cannot prove haphazard even if its creator is slightly tipsy hovering over her apartment’s not-so easy bake oven; the oven typically a makeshift pantry for baking dishes on any given night I customarily abandon in favor of casserole dishes and roasting pans; but I am suffering a breakup here. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Call it caviar wishes or temporary insanity but I have to do something to keep my mind off of the “thing” we’re not talking about and since David and Molly are on my bookshelf, and I cannot consume a vat of potato salad for fear of my Italian roots uprooting, I opt for the measuring cups, for good measure. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The verdict’s still out. If it smells like a cake and it looks like a cake, you need to still take a taste; believe you me. I really should give myself more credit but when you are raised in a household where the closest thing to homemade dessert includes a box of J-E-L-L-O pudding mix, you’re not exactly conditioned to turn your nose up to a red Duncan Hines box if it means dessert is served. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I still remember classmates’ parents preparing baked goods to drop off for the holiday parties and begging my mom to assemble a cake like the cake Katie Miller’s mom whipped up for the third grade Halloween party. Ever the negotiator, my mom tells me that Katie Miller’s mom is a “stay at home mom” and that if Little Debbie’s are not good enough for the third grade Halloween party, I can always go empty-handed or worse, not at all. All these years later, still not above Little Debbie’s, I cannot justify unwrapping those prepackaged pastries in my apartment where I readily compose fresh sauces and chicken marsala late night with hardly any effort. At some point, we all graduate, with a little luck I can finally separate myself from boxed mixes. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Currently, the mousse cake sits in the middle of the bottom oven rack surrounded by a bath of warm water beneath it; David takes his cake making seriously, I will give him that. I yearn to churn out a flawless tart as effortlessly as his memoir eludes a tart can be prepared. Regardless of whether or not the chocolate mixes with the butter mixes with the sugar and eggs, I must say this endeavor proved as therapeutic as any other cannellini recipe I’ve shared; even if hovering over measuring cups is not as natural to me as it is to others.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-48054856083875773492011-03-06T20:57:00.002-05:002011-04-11T20:18:29.671-04:00A Sauce by any other Name would be Blasphemous, would be Gravy<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am consistently floored by the amount of ingredients and sheer preparation cookbooks tout when including a recipe for marinara. Made from fresh essentials like garlic and basil, marinara does not require the same kind of attention needed in piecing together gravy used in Shepherd’s pie or smothers a turkey dinner. Marinara is after all, a sauce.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know Italians who take their marinara very seriously. They swoon and they fill their gravy bowls with well, gravy – real Bolognese Ragu chock full of stock and one to two glasses of wine and/or milk. The very essence of this gravy suggests that it lingers happily between the fibers of tagliatelle or pappardelle, which is usually layered in pieces of lamb. Gravy in and of itself serves a purpose only if paired with something equally hearty.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Marinara though, glides across a dish of spaghettini like none other, soaks up a ziti likening it to it a penne on a good night and festoons ravioli with a kind of reprieve. Marinara does a dance all of its own. It sits atop a cutlet without overpowering the cutlet’s breadcrumbs, without diminishing its taste. Marinara would never be caught dead on top of a biscuit. Marinara does not play well with other cuisines. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In my apartment, marinara starts with a cutting board, a knife and ideally, a generous eyeballing of garlic. If you’re anything like me though, you do not garnish your marinara liberally otherwise you will be in serious need of an anti acid like the Pink Stuff; not quite a Limón cello finish to a beautifully rendered dinner.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Indigestion aside, the bear minimum is needed to craft an ambrosial array of tangy and sweet red syrup. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTeK01w0xdoLV-qlN_PLGBZHOboYxjl29kMtYgk7MOF1ph-Ekrkwo__jDVqNaWbjZqaEhBtJiLT8d3a66yHUqtKE8C8btuPAFBD1kjbWnM_M-iUcEpDeXTO2Gq_UQ9L-6anMqldlpjt0/s1600/CIMG0304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTeK01w0xdoLV-qlN_PLGBZHOboYxjl29kMtYgk7MOF1ph-Ekrkwo__jDVqNaWbjZqaEhBtJiLT8d3a66yHUqtKE8C8btuPAFBD1kjbWnM_M-iUcEpDeXTO2Gq_UQ9L-6anMqldlpjt0/s320/CIMG0304.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In my humble opinion, marinara should taste like beloved Nona’s famed recipe – it should surprise your palette with the subtle hints of balsamic vinegar and the prevalent presence of delicious tomatoes. It should never be jarred or reheated in a microwave. It should compel you to double dip and find yourself fighting the urge to sip it as though it were a soup. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My love affair with marinara comes full circle once I introduce the sauce to my friend Parmesan. Though somewhat of a gastronomical nightmare amidst my mozzarella and tomato side salad, I suffer in ravenous radiance at my countertop with stools for two every time I serendipitously prepare myself a marinara. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sauce (the way it was intended)</span></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Olive Oil – personally I recommend investing in a bottle of</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Have Morton Salt nearby and black pepper to spare</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Fresh garlic (eyeball it, you typically need less than you think unless you enjoy tasting it the next morning)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Fresh Basil<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Tomato paste – any type will do</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Crushed tomatoes – San Marzano aren’t half bad and sometimes the grocery store carries them. If you live near a specialty food store, stock up on whichever can your pork store manager carries. His suggestions are always welcome.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Parmesan cheese – steer clear of Kraft's container. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Balsamic Vinegar – only to be added after the crushed tomatoes and only pour about a tbsp into your sauce</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Optional: diced yellow onion – again, not to be overdone otherwise it will drastically change the taste of your marinara</span></li>
</ul><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oil needs time to heat the pot before it can marinate the garlic and basil. Do not add the Parmesan or the vinegar without first cooking the paste and tomatoes together for several minutes. The sauce should only be set on medium heat and should be stirred often. Ideally, give the sauce anywhere from half an hour to an hour to blend nicely enough to serve. Bon appétit. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-42751198256829423362011-03-06T20:57:00.000-05:002011-03-06T20:57:05.032-05:00From the Beginning...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Buonasera.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope you won’t mind one more hungry stomach eager to sit beside you at your dinner table and relish in your blogosphere. I do not come empty handed though. I bring with me a couple of anecdotes and some recipes that I hope will keep you coming back for more </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Zucchero. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Given that Christmas Eve is now a thing of the past, I decide tonight to relish in my craving for fish. On colder winter evenings such as this, when I am feeling slightly homesick, I remember watching my mother and grandmother effortlessly pouring over dishes like Zuppa di Pesce throughout my childhood and suddenly, wafts of freshly peeled garlic tickle my taste buds. Soon, I find myself scouring the grocery store for whole grain linguine to help recreate this family favorite. Scampi. Although it can be prepared a multitude of ways, scampi has always been reserved for those special occasions where company was expected or an entire evening could be devoted to the preparation involved in concocting such a gratuitous dish. At home in my kitchen, Rock N’ Roll High School blares through the nearby stereo and I remember my mother and grandmother and I remember…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the smell of sautéing shrimp and garlic the way my mother remembers seeing Joey Ramone for the first time in a rundown bar in Manhattan at age fifteen. The picturesque staple of rock n roll’s riches for an impressionable New Yorker, I admire the sight of a dishrag strewn on a flour covered kitchen counter. At fifteen, Joey Ramone lulls my mother’s teenage inhibitions. At sixteen, I whisk an egg and ask my Joey Ramone of a grandmother how to prevent the breadcrumbs from escaping the uncooked cutlets we prepare at sunset. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her fingers enchant a skillet the way Joey’s stroke a mic. She too is a crowd pleaser, preparing potatoes in a pool of extra virgin olive oil. Peeled and poised for garnishing with pepper, my Nonna’s hands which age with each knead and stoke, proudly display the remnants of a once live chicken beside a bowl filled with beautifully browned carbohydrates. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No longer sixteen and able to take cues from a woman well versed in peeling garlic, it is my turn to finesse an ordinary package of pasta into a masterful mantra of flavor and forgotten pastimes. I mosey around my third floor kitchen in knitted socks not unlike my Nonna who swore by isotones slippers in the winter, hunger propelling my menacing attention to detail. Even the paprika is measured. The salt tossed in sparingly, it represents the faith all Italian cooks have in boiling water. The pot a host for transformation from otherwise inedible grains to serendipitous scampi. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tonight is a resurrection. I unscrew the top to the sherry, squeeze the lemon and welcome the aromas of familiar dry and sweet components coming alive in an iron caste skillet. I bite my lip in anticipation and almost reading my uneasiness, the shrimp winks at me. She stands in the kitchen, hovering over the cutting board and later scrubs each dish by hand. And later I wink at my isotones slippers, the shoes I feebly fill on Monday nights while Maxwell’s around the corner hosts the next Levi wearing Johnny. It is lonely in my kitchen while Dee Dee Ramone is off banging on his drums but somewhere, Nonna stirs up appetites with her wooden spoon in a frying pan in someone else’s domain, acting as the model hostess. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> … Like the Sunday dinners I learned to appreciate at an early age, this blog is represents my hosting a myopic array of flavors and fiction – memory and memoir. I hope you’ll digest and return for more Zucchero very so</span></span>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-2250772723728130792011-03-05T17:52:00.001-05:002011-03-05T17:54:31.677-05:00Beans, it's what's for Dinner<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When I was younger, I thought I had the strangest palette of any fourteen years old I knew. While friends my age sat down to dinner tables littered with hamburger helper or homemade meatloaf, I was served escarole and cannellini. It was embarrassing especially since looking back – I had carnivores for friends who swore that the absence of meat in any dish prevented the dish itself from standing as a meal. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Years later I realize how unfortunate it was that I didn’t appreciate the finer things in life when they were served me to me atop a silver platter – literally; to this day my mother still decorates the kitchen and dining room tables with silver colored chargers.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In the spirit of reconnecting with my younger self and my love of all things green, I decided to cook up a special recommendation from Eric Ripert’s, </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Avec Eric: A Culinary Journey, </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">a deliciously narrated collection of recipes and stories stemming from all part of the world’s finest gardens. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here is Eric's Tuscan Bean Soup Recipe</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">:</span></span></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1 can of cannellini beans</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">salt & pepper</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">40z. prosciutto </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">4 cups of chicken stock </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1 small onion diced</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1 cup of peeled and diced carrots/ celery</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">2 garlic cloves thinly sliced (omit for those with easily aggravated tummies)</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1 small bunch of kale</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">3 plum tomatoes, cored, seeded and roughly chopped</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">2 thyme springs</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">3 tbsp. Italian parsley</span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Place the beans in a cold pot and add enough water so that the beans are covered. Season with salt. Bring the water to a boil and lower the heat to simmer (for about 20 min). </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Heat oil and add prosciutto, onion, celery, carrot and garlic. Cook 6 to 8 min. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Add the chicken stock, kale, tomatoes, thyme, parsley, and Parmesan cheese to the pot. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Add 2 cups of water additionally. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bring the soup to a summer - cooking for about 30 min. </span></span></span></li>
</ul>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-90169436407230073212011-02-23T22:38:00.001-05:002011-03-22T14:22:25.117-04:00You Break the Mold Blue Cheese<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I get the blues like every other foodie, it comes in waves; sometimes I crave a just warmed mozzarella sprinkled with some roasted red peppers, oil and tomato. Sometimes I want to dig my fork into a beautifully prepared beet salad garnished with pecans and warm goat cheese – perhaps a garlic toast poking out. It is a mood and a consistency thing really. I never feel this way about blue cheese though. When it comes to blue cheese, I have yet to encounter Roquefort I did not want to devour.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Admittedly, my first encounter with the potent stank of this blue-gray mold involves blue cheese as a kind of sidekick, served with an order of wings. Funny that Sundays still revolve around football and good eats in my house but when I was sixteen and my best friends were teenage boys, we weren’t scooping servings of my Nona’s meatballs and marina onto fine china, the cheese a centerpiece of Italian cuisine, instead we were sinking our teeth into a heaping Styrofoam container of honey BBQ wings and blue cheese dressing to complement those delicious celery sticks. It is and was love at first crunch. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Even now after my aunt serves a beautiful dish of home style chicken noodle soup, whipped up with tri color tortellini and a side of broccoli rabbe and cannellini beans my Uncle insists on putting the baby blue mold on a plate surrounding an array of oranges, pears, and plums – a dreamboat Italian dessert for a man who passes regularly on the tiramisu. Needless to say, I eat well when I visit my father’s family. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">That’s what blue cheese embodies for me – a favorite pastime I remember of bodies hovering over freshly laid plates and too warm to touch dishes in dining rooms and kitchens on weekends when my family came together before adolescence and aging crept up on all of us. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I remember blue cheese the topping, the stuffing, feeling stuffed because this “stinky cheese” had done it again – had taunted my eyes until they were bigger than my belly and I could only surrender to the Maytag’s saltier serendipity. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This is sounding more and more like an ode to blue cheese or it may resemble more of a celebration of Madame Fromage’s forget-me-not friend, Mr. Blue. In honor of March’s own cheese madness, I am preparing two ground (but lean) beef patties to be stuffed with none other than the man of the hour, gorgonzola blue – a nifty little combo I stumbled across in Hoboken’s own </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Garden of Eden </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">produce haven. Smooth and inviting, the consistency calls for a cracker or a bed of spinach leaves, a perfect pairing to dress up or dress down a meal. Personally, I like to stuff my burgers with cheese as opposed to caustically dropping the cheese atop and hoping for the best (albeit sloppy) melted results. Cannot say enough about drizzling the finished product with some honey Dijon and mushrooms, terrible cinematography listed below. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Grazie Madame Fromage for including Tavola in this worthwhile project.</span></span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div style="font: 12px Helvetica; margin: 0px;"><img alt="mail.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://6951803B-BC2F-49A0-9212-6CA709C2B477/mail.jpg" /></div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-21919361659182478402011-02-16T21:36:00.001-05:002011-03-06T21:00:30.437-05:00Brunch<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Funny since I cannot recall mornings spent hovering over a countertop clanking around a bowl of milk sodden Rice Krispies. I do however remember Sunday mornings waking up from a slumber party and trudging down a friend’s stairs, the scent of homemade pancakes or eggs wafting; a real treat. My family does not brunch on weekends. Some of us sleep in and others catch a morning run and devour a yogurt chock full of fruit on the bottom – not too intense a meal for a lactose laden lass like myself. My parents do not believe in brunch.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Bobby Flay does though. He even hosted a French toast throw down with restaurateur Omar Giner of La Isla not too long ago. The topic? Omar’s sinful cereal and almond battered stuffed French toast. Allegedly, folks skip Church just for a bite of his cream cheese and guava imbued creation. I salivate just thinking about freshly diced strawberries finding a home on the same plate as butter soaked bread. And then I flashback to weekend mornings in forgotten middle school kitchens eating perfectly poached eggs and left too long bacon and I crave a leather booth at the local diner because I cannot even begin to imagine how to recreate a brunch masterpiece when I was never raised to prepare it myself. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, almost never…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There is the time my dad made eggs, a basic enough meal. While meeting in the kitchen to pour our coffee and plan our day, my dad suggested he cook breakfast. I looked at him with this surly grin. Dad wanted to forego the diner, our little tradition and whip something up. I was admittedly reluctant. The man wasn’t exactly known for his waffle making skills. Truthfully I’d only ever really seen him toast an English muffin come breakfast time. Nevertheless, he made for the pantry and I the stool to watch. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He stood cracking eggs carefully over a broken-in skillet in plaid pajamas. He used a wooden spoon and asked me to cut tomatoes while he rummaged in the fridge, the eggs cooking on a mild flame. I chopped. He scoured, eventually returning to the stove with a small Tupperware containing just made spaghetti sauce.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Without explanation, my father began to pour the fresh tomatoes and sauce into the pan. I was dumbfounded. The man had managed to find a way to convert eggs into Italian-American yolks. Unbelievable. They tasted unbelievable. It was absurd that what had started out as a dollop of Extra Virgin Oil could see a metamorphosis into a culinary creation. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When Bobby Flay visited Hoboken, he transformed mascarpone cheese and pumpkin into a Challah Bread concoction of epic proportion, all the while the crowd hooted and high fived him. When my dad tossed some red stuff into a black pot with a handle, he became my hero all over again. It dawned on me while writing this that it doesn’t matter that I do not have a special relationship with brunch the way my friends do and did when we were younger. I have my dad and a special family recipe that only we can find truly rewarding while the neighbors slap some Aunt Jemima on their Pillsbury crescent rolls. I say Mangia! </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-21018693795064179012011-02-13T18:18:00.000-05:002011-02-13T18:18:12.821-05:00There is more than One Way to Stack an Eggplant<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The weekend I moved to Hoboken, I had no food in the refrigerator and only condiments in the cabinet. My mom and I had spent the better part of the day concerned with finding the right angle to complement the picture of poppies I wanted centered over my bed, rearranging furniture; hell bent on squeezing my couch through the narrow third floor landing. By dinnertime, we had certainly worked up an appetite. It occurred to us while standing barefoot in my apartment on the Saturday night of Labor Day weekend with a shower rod in our hands that we’d worried over the wrong things – what would we eat?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We agreed on one thing – neither of us was volunteering to sort through the ten or so odd unopened bins that were scattered throughout the living room. Neither of us could be bothered with washing dishes. We simply wanted something savory and something fast and we didn’t want to have to go looking for a parking spot to bring it home. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After drawing straws, I reached for my shoes and turned left at the corner of 11</span></span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">th</span></span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. There was a plan. Walk one block in either direction and pick something. I chose an Italian Pizzeria whose menu boasted delicious Eggplant Parmesan and crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t disappoint. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Eggplant never disappointed in the hands of my grandmother and aunt – it never tasted soggy or saturated or overcooked. This eggplant from Napoli’s was a Russian roulette. Craving something hearty and familiar, mom and I took our chances. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This weekend while visiting Pine Bush NY, I found myself in familiar territory. Once again I’d stumbled upon a smaller town with no real sense of the local eateries before my arrival. A true foodie, I knew better than to eat in the town’s famous Japanese restaurant that Zagat gave a fabulous rating. I could have Hibachi on any given night. I was in rural New York surrounded by snow covered winding roads and general store like establishments – the locals definitely got their eat on, I simply needed to take a chance again and turn left. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Like Napoli’s in Hoboken, Culinary Creations brought eggplant to life. An extraordinary little eatery off of Pine Bush’s </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Main Street,</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Creations prepared eggplant that was to-die for. A stacked Napoleon as opposed to more traditional square-like lasagna, Culinary Creation’s eggplant sat atop a bed of artichokes and fennel ragout. Lighter than chicken but more so on the heavier side with its mangled forest of mozzarella cheese, eggplant generally tastes like a vegetable floating in a sea of sauce and cheese. This eggplant however reminded me of a perfectly erected hamburger with all the fixings. Spinach leaves and red peppers coated the balsamic drizzled delight. It dawned on me in the dining room of the tiny café that I’d never even considered that eggplant could be prepared anyway but the way I knew – the way my grandmother and aunt and chef around the corner prepared it; that it could have an identity separate from the life of a plateful of skinny eggplant cut like cucumbers fried and garnished across a white dish. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I returned to Culinary Creations the next night too. It wasn’t because I didn’t think the Japanese was really as good as the reviewers said or because I didn’t think there wasn’t a better eggplant, I didn’t order the Napoleon the second time around. I went back because I’d dined in a restaurant that challenged the way I thought about food pairings. Chicken didn’t have to be breaded or baked only, it could be pan seared before popping it in the oven. Similarly, vegetables needn’t be doused in extra virgin olive oil before lightly salted and stirred onto a plate. They could be seasoned or nuked in the microwave and eaten bland or drizzled with soy sauce. I’d gone to a café and ordered what I conceived formerly to be an Italian dish and yet, I’d never tasted a better version of eggplant to-date before I’d visited Pine Bush. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I’d gone to a rural part of New York expecting to find the town itself charming but the food mediocre at best. Instead, Pine Bush served me one hell of an eggplant and a dose of humility. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish I could say that I managed to steal the recipe during my visit but I didn't, so get creative!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">http://www.culinarycreationscafe.com/</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><!--EndFragment-->la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-89844858052722609872011-01-26T19:15:00.001-05:002011-03-06T20:58:18.271-05:00A Casual Affair with Spinach<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I am having an affair with spinach. It started off casually like most vegetable run ins. It would spot me in aisle two of kings; catch me staring and then looking away at the fresh Brussels sprout, sensing my uneasiness. Although I play it off and gravitate toward cans of carrots, I cannot stray for too long. I inevitably find myself returning to spinach and its elegant leaves and palatable texture. I am not picky when we break bread together. Swooning over thawed spinach or spinach that’s been boiled, spinach I can bake or pan fry, I like my spinach tossed with balsamic or teeming with oil and garlic. A good green tastes neither soggy nor stale.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tonight’s topic is born of my recent resurrection of one recipe in particular involving of all things, Pillsbury crescent rolls, pepperoni, a host of cheese. This tiny delight has no formal name.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It is a hand-me-down of dinner sorts and I whip it up whenever my apartment feels oversized or like me, famished. Rich in antioxidants and iron, this leafy lettuce head fills me without leaving me stuffed and I truly cannot say enough about the warmth of this dish. Like a good bowl of soup, my little “spinach things” serve as a starter or a worthy main squeeze. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Spinach things”</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">§</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Boil Fresh Spinach, or thaw frozen spinach</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(If boiled, sauté spinach in oil and garlic) and dry thoroughly</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Note: If the spinach is left too soggy, it will leave the dough soggy and undesirable.</span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">§</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Add salt, pepper to taste. </span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">§</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mix the spinach with Ricotta and graded mozzarella (to your liking) and (shredded) pepperoni. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Note: amount of pepperoni should be relative to intended amount of “spinach things” desired. </span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">§</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Bake at 400 at most for ten minutes OR until “golden brown’ after rolling in Pillsbury crescent rolls.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-81741211242715217982011-01-17T15:59:00.001-05:002011-03-06T20:57:55.503-05:00Surf's Up, Crab<div class="MsoNormal"> I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">n apartment ten, dinner for one is served. I need the night off from cutlets and marinara so I settle on a Rachael Ray adaptation of Surf and Turf. Sadly, I serve this dish with steak and a token green but no crab to greet the turf. I have not exactly made amends with crab in apartment ten in my grey and metallic blue backsplash kitchen; not since last summer, when I encountered a brave crustacean ensconced in his ethereal exoskeleton behind an icebox at Di Bruno Bros. in Philly.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am not a vegetarian or a vegan or an animal rights activist. Surely, I disagree with animal cruelty, but I am the first person to crave a pan-seared tilapia or to marinate and grill up a petite filet mignon. I did however lock eyes with a little crab and my sympathies went to him; particularly because of a scene in the Little Mermaid in which Arielle’s pal, Sebastian, managed to circumvent a crazed French chef. Fortunately, dinner was salvaged in the film because Arielle brought a fork to dinner to comb her hair with. I digress. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I still make fish for dinner weekly. Seldom will I compromise the possibility of whipping up a fresh salsa to garnish a tuna steak with because of my crab blues, but these days after reaching for a package of prepared shrimp or a nice cut of Salmon, I’ll saunter to the check out counter feeling horribly guilty for leaving behind Sebastian to fend for himself in the glass-enclosed case resembling a cold-cut counter with the man wearing a butcher smock. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Regardless, I successfully adapted Rachael Ray’s surf and turf suggestion from her Big Orange Cookbook for my own enjoyment just the other night. Being an Italian, a recipe that calls for ¼ cup of red wine means very little. The kind of wine included in the sauce will dramatically alter the sauce’s taste. I went with a Cabernet. Its mint and eucalyptus undertones offset the sweet finish of the flour and scallions, which create a savory paste to couple with the steak. I imbued the spinach leaves with the leftover garlic and butter I cook the shrimp with, adding nutmeg and a pinch of cinnamon as dictated by the recipe. High five Rachael. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For a night off from Ditalini, this DIY dinner comes together nicely, requiring minimal preparation and clean up. I also slept better because I made it with shrimp. Your call, though. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Tenderloin with Red Wine Gravy and Cracked Garlic Shrimp</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 in. thick tenderloin</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">2 tbsp butter</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 shallot, finely chopped</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">¼ tbsp flour</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 tsp Worcestershire sauce</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">¼ cup dry wine</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">¼ cup of beef stock</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">2 garlic cloves</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Shrimp (amount is to your liking)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Fresh thyme </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 tsp hot sauce (I skipped this ingredient)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">½ lemon</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Nutmeg</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">·</span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Spinach leaves</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> When you remove the meat from its package, sprinkle it with salt and pepper and begin heating a skillet with olive oil Transfer the meat to the pan and let it cook for two min on each side before placing it on a baking sheet and letting it cook in the oven for 5min at 400F for medium rare. Add a bit more oil and butter and cook the shallots for 1 to 2 min. Add flour and allow it to melt before including the Worcestershire sauce and red wine. Whisk in the stock and season with salt and pepper. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">While the meat cooks in the oven, add oil and butter to a skillet to melt. Add garlic and soon after the shrimp and thyme for 3min. Douse the shrimp with lemon and remove from the pan. Heat the spinach leaves in the leftover juice from the shrimp. Allow the spinach leaves to wilt slightly.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Dinner is served. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPxW7T8Ao_6TpfqyTtEJ0lytrX274MRdFAbLCY3U0F_AJtMCw6KhTnHTVtCgR1RDcXCk01MHtHVbY04v-a4LTxsfkv7t1Ls563l8cDiDf0nPfe0T_aEMLttqrX1HVdvqpKCHTFyOHkHI/s1600/CIMG0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPxW7T8Ao_6TpfqyTtEJ0lytrX274MRdFAbLCY3U0F_AJtMCw6KhTnHTVtCgR1RDcXCk01MHtHVbY04v-a4LTxsfkv7t1Ls563l8cDiDf0nPfe0T_aEMLttqrX1HVdvqpKCHTFyOHkHI/s320/CIMG0035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
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</div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-64110942424194940002011-01-12T19:21:00.000-05:002011-01-12T20:07:52.908-05:00A Sauce by any other Name would be Blasphemous, would be Gravy<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am consistently floored by the amount of ingredients and sheer preparation cookbooks tout when including a recipe for marinara. Made from fresh essentials like garlic and basil, marinara does not require the same kind of attention needed in piecing together gravy used in Shepherd’s pie or smothers a turkey dinner. Marinara is after all, a sauce.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I know Italians who take their marinara very seriously. They swoon and they fill their gravy bowls with well, gravy – real Bolognese Ragu chock full of stock and one to two glasses of wine and/or milk. The very essence of this gravy suggests that it lingers happily between the fibers of tagliatelle or pappardelle, which is usually layered in pieces of lamb. Gravy in and of itself serves a purpose only if paired with something equally hearty.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Marinara though, glides across a dish of spaghettini like none other, soaks up a ziti likening it to it a penne on a good night and festoons ravioli with a kind of reprieve. Marinara does a dance all of its own. It sits atop a cutlet without overpowering the cutlet’s breadcrumbs, without diminishing its taste. Marinara would never be caught dead on top of a biscuit. Marinara does not play well with other cuisines. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In my apartment, marinara starts with a cutting board, a knife and ideally, a generous eyeballing of garlic. If you’re anything like me though, you do not garnish your marinara liberally otherwise you will be in serious need of an anti acid like the Pink Stuff; not quite a Limón cello finish to a beautifully rendered dinner.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Indigestion aside, the bear minimum is needed to craft an ambrosial array of tangy and sweet red syrup. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In my humble opinion, marinara should taste like beloved Nona’s famed recipe – it should surprise your palette with the subtle hints of balsamic vinegar and the prevalent presence of delicious tomatoes. It should never be jarred or reheated in a microwave. It should compel you to double dip and find yourself fighting the urge to sip it as though it were a soup. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My love affair with marinara comes full circle once I introduce the sauce to my friend Parmesan. Though somewhat of a gastronomical nightmare amidst my mozzarella and tomato side salad, I suffer in ravenous radiance at my countertop with stools for two every time I serendipitously prepare myself a marinara. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">S</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">auce (the way it was intended)</span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"></div><ul><li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Olive Oil – personally I recommend investing in a bottle of Colavita</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Have Morton Salt nearby and black pepper to spare</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fresh garlic (eyeball it, you typically need less than you think unless you enjoy tasting it the next morning)</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fresh Basil</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tomato paste – any type will do</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Crushed tomatoes – San Morino aren’t half bad and sometimes the grocery store carries them. If you live near a specialty food store, stock up on</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Parmesan cheese – steer clear of Kraft, it’s imposter</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"></span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Balsamic Vinegar – only to be added after the crushed tomatoes and only pour about a tbsp into your sauce</span></li>
<li><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Optional: diced yellow onion – again, not to be overdone otherwise it will drastically change the taste of your marinara</span></li>
</ul><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Oil needs time to heat the pot before it can marinate the garlic and basil. Do not add the Parmesan or the vinegar without first cooking the paste and tomatoes together for several minutes. The sauce should only be set on medium heat and should be stirred often. Ideally, give the sauce anywhere from half an hour to an hour to blend nicely enough to serve. Bon appétit</span></span>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeXS8yThPXuXyLCDqA-BXHUicGp08rKASheKFAx35z0WvfbHe2Q-gJK38OSzkuJobdADBiZ3NxMO6QsSqh4ws34hjAuYzgEXxuvmJWQ0TXZrVA8idHUlIriKHuFoQNhMlgEVw5Fd4ldI/s1600/CIMG0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeXS8yThPXuXyLCDqA-BXHUicGp08rKASheKFAx35z0WvfbHe2Q-gJK38OSzkuJobdADBiZ3NxMO6QsSqh4ws34hjAuYzgEXxuvmJWQ0TXZrVA8idHUlIriKHuFoQNhMlgEVw5Fd4ldI/s320/CIMG0033.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7165185902368808036.post-30157721418627234302011-01-05T21:57:00.000-05:002011-01-05T21:57:35.118-05:00The First Spoonful...<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://beaut.ie/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/sugar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://beaut.ie/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/sugar.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 12px;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Buonasera.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I hope you won’t mind one more hungry stomach eager to sit beside you at your dinner table and relish in your blogosphere. I do not come empty handed though. I bring with me a couple of anecdotes and some recipes that I hope will keep you coming back for more </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Zucchero. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Given that Christmas Eve is now a thing of the past, I decide tonight to relish in my craving for fish. On colder winter evenings such as this, when I am feeling slightly homesick, I remember watching my mother and grandmother effortlessly pouring over dishes like Zuppa di Pesce throughout my childhood and suddenly, wafts of freshly peeled garlic tickle my taste buds. Soon, I find myself scouring the grocery store for whole grain linguine to help recreate this family favorite. Scampi. Although it can be prepared a multitude of ways, scampi has always been reserved for those special occasions where company was expected or an entire evening could be devoted to the preparation involved in concocting such a gratuitous dish. At home in my kitchen, Rock N’ Roll High School blares through the nearby stereo and I remember my mother and grandmother and I remember…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> ...the smell of sautéing shrimp and garlic the way my mother remembers seeing Joey Ramone for the first time in a rundown bar in Manhattan at age fifteen. The picturesque staple of rock n roll’s riches for an impressionable New Yorker, I admire the sight of a dishrag strewn on a flour covered kitchen counter. At fifteen, Joey Ramone lulls my mother’s teenage inhibitions. At sixteen, I whisk an egg and ask my Joey Ramone of a grandmother how to prevent the breadcrumbs from escaping the uncooked cutlets we prepare at sunset. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Her fingers enchant a skillet the way Joey’s stroke a mic. She too is a crowd pleaser, preparing potatoes in a pool of extra virgin olive oil. Peeled and poised for garnishing with pepper, my Nonna’s hands which age with each knead and stoke, proudly display the remnants of a once live chicken beside a bowl filled with beautifully browned carbohydrates. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">No longer sixteen and able to take cues from a woman well versed in peeling garlic, it is my turn to finesse an ordinary package of pasta into a masterful mantra of flavor and forgotten pastimes. I mosey around my third floor kitchen in knitted socks not unlike my Nonna who swore by isotones slippers in the winter, hunger propelling my menacing attention to detail. Even the paprika is measured. The salt tossed in sparingly, it represents the faith all Italian cooks have in boiling water. The pot a host for transformation from otherwise inedible grains to serendipitous scampi. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tonight represents a resurrection. I unscrew the top to the sherry, squeeze the lemon and welcome the aromas of familiar dry and sweet components coming alive in an iron caste skillet. I bite my lip in anticipation and almost reading my uneasiness, the shrimp winks at me. She stands in the kitchen, hovering over the cutting board and later scrubs each dish by hand. And later I wink at my isotones slippers, the shoes I feebly fill on Monday nights while Maxwell’s around the corner hosts the next Levi wearing Johnny. It is lonely in my kitchen while Dee Dee Ramone is off banging on his drums but somewhere, Nonna stirs up appetites with her wooden spoon in a frying pan in someone else’s domain, acting as the model hostess. </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> … Like the Sunday dinners I learned to appreciate at an early age, this blog is represents my hosting a myopic array of flavors and fiction – memory and memoir. I hope you’ll digest and return for more Zucchero very soon.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></span></span></div><!--EndFragment-->la mia tavolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02129943645632157762noreply@blogger.com2