tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22714039546518934912024-03-18T22:48:07.033-04:00Recipes from da casa miaRecipes and the stories around them: some are family generated and modified throughout the generations, others are taken and modified from recipe books, magazines and cooking classes I have taken. All of them come with a related story and user friendly instruction. Most of all, they all come from a passion for great food that uses fresh, mostly healthy ingredients, and a love for the people that they serve.Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-92006072104934451292012-07-06T12:19:00.001-04:002012-07-07T13:23:18.899-04:00Noelle's Summer Bridal Shower<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAF6MuXwju6Mh_s3RUIkL_SCEhK1-GEzyH6tnoBk4kcf6QrpIFUoIJNGZaAws9NUhhWnQlwpxEFQwacAmV0hH-mWuV8y4DZa7pK1Hms348NOMd5xQHcE621mxWqzMRnMa36JnqObawxtfq/s1600/Tables.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAF6MuXwju6Mh_s3RUIkL_SCEhK1-GEzyH6tnoBk4kcf6QrpIFUoIJNGZaAws9NUhhWnQlwpxEFQwacAmV0hH-mWuV8y4DZa7pK1Hms348NOMd5xQHcE621mxWqzMRnMa36JnqObawxtfq/s320/Tables.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Tables</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago at this time, my family and I were busily preparing
for my youngest daughter’s upcoming marriage and well, you know how much
preparation, anxiety and true happiness a wedding can bring. Since I am a DIY Event
Planner, Interior Decorator and Chef, I of course hosted and catered <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the bridal shower for some 50 women in my
yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I happen to have a large patio
which I had tented to protect our guests from the elements and on that day, it
was simply to protect us from the oppressive heat. (You may recall that last
year’s blizzards spawned last spring’s torrential rain fall which bloomed into
a full fledge summer heat wave, particularly the week in July that Noelle and
Rick got married.) Paper laterns hung <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from
the tent and paper umbrellas decorated the floor, rented tables were covered in
pink clothes, table floral arrangements were pink, rose and white, and the party
favors were personalized hand painted wine glasses and assorted cocktail mixes
which, I have to say, were fun, cute and a great table decoration. Only one
thing could have made the set up better: a big fan!</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQj7s0qy8uCYjmcfs0m_p9wHLgo9MJhG15AALp2MSUB5DuispIpRIRKkSAxWM0Kzi0p0ggffWXfmEIX-bBo9Nhvy5gHeW5lk3gSqA_kQ2IwuCko20nW7hE4k4fdXN4AC7K706ebgGWsx4/s1600/Noelle+and+bloody+mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQj7s0qy8uCYjmcfs0m_p9wHLgo9MJhG15AALp2MSUB5DuispIpRIRKkSAxWM0Kzi0p0ggffWXfmEIX-bBo9Nhvy5gHeW5lk3gSqA_kQ2IwuCko20nW7hE4k4fdXN4AC7K706ebgGWsx4/s320/Noelle+and+bloody+mary.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Noelle & her signature Bloody Mary</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Noelle loves brunch and so her shower was just that: as the
guests arrived, my wait staff offered them either her signature cocktail,
bloody mary, or mimosa. (There was also non-alcoholic iced tea and pink
lemonade.) Favorite brunch items substituting as passed hors d’oevres were mini
potato latkes, mini quiches and black bread with cream cheese, smoked salmon
and dill. And then came the smorgasbord table of entrées and side dishes: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Gazpacho<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Asparagus, Mushroom,
MozzarellaFrittata <o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Bacon and Tomato Strata <o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Cream Cheese and Pesto Spread<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Lobster Roll <o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Chicken<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Salad on croissant<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Prosciutto, Mozzarella
and Roasted, Peppers on baguette<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Lemon, Tomato and
Artichoke Pasta Salad<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Strawberry Crepes<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></div>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 16pt; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Tossed Salad With French
Dressing & Pecans<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWr4tXc1uVqcF_blUycWaUIooMm6_feaWY42I27176UOc4pHTHZ2TQ4Pw55ch07Ovzjp6Jfb1l9YF0xw1hKycDJ9gvxoJnI82t2_ytVDFcYCY145Lsw32pqYhNYaHUoAj7R1KbO1vk8hgi/s1600/Cake+and+Tiramisu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWr4tXc1uVqcF_blUycWaUIooMm6_feaWY42I27176UOc4pHTHZ2TQ4Pw55ch07Ovzjp6Jfb1l9YF0xw1hKycDJ9gvxoJnI82t2_ytVDFcYCY145Lsw32pqYhNYaHUoAj7R1KbO1vk8hgi/s320/Cake+and+Tiramisu.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Cake and Tiramisu</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For dessert, there was of course the classic bridal shower
cake which was overloaded with buttercream flowers and lemon filling and
homemade tiramisu, several of them, and another Noelle favorite. Every single
specialty on that menu was made with my loving hands for my beautiful bride except
the latkes which I just did not feel like frying in the heat. I even made the French
dressing! And I have to admit and thank some of my other family members including
my husband, other married daughter, Jessica, and my sister Mindy who shelled
lobsters, chopped and chopped and chopped parsley, grated lemons, hulled
strawberries, deboned chickens, assembled sandwiches, concocted the drinks, moved
furniture, stood on ladders and sweated it out with me every step of the way. I
know Noelle loved her shower and they are living happily ever after so it was
all worth it. I just wish I had another unmarried daughter left so I could do
it all again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The pasta salad was a huge hit that day and friends have
been asking me for the recipe ever since so here it is to enjoy.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3oRw9SdC2XrBMdL0R2kGVNDCJ0Q9_V-pgikcHnsKmW_cZOYkjtnqspQF_EYimEai7OS7zn873wMCIKLM3e9ehs1My4w11ULFqcaaHr9Wb3IZYc5qx7a7iFD1TRg_jw1ZrDC0g8wTbxFv/s1600/Lemony+Farfalle,+Tomato+and+Artichoke+Salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3oRw9SdC2XrBMdL0R2kGVNDCJ0Q9_V-pgikcHnsKmW_cZOYkjtnqspQF_EYimEai7OS7zn873wMCIKLM3e9ehs1My4w11ULFqcaaHr9Wb3IZYc5qx7a7iFD1TRg_jw1ZrDC0g8wTbxFv/s320/Lemony+Farfalle,+Tomato+and+Artichoke+Salad.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Lemony Farfalle, Tomato and Artichoke Salad<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>4 medium
tomatoes diced</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>½ c. coarsely chopped
parsley</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>4 T. lemon zest grated</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>1 T. olive oil</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>2 ½ tsp. salt</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>Fresh ground pepper</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>½ lb. cooked farfalle
pasta</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>Raw artichoke hearts
shaved in thin slices with mandolin</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>¼ c. shaved parmiggiano</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">2 T. chopped mint<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></span></div>
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</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">In a large bowl, combine
tomatoes, parsley, lemon zest, ½ T. olive oil, 2 tsp. salt and fresh ground
pepper. Marinate for 30 minutes and toss with cooked farfalle.</span></em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">In another bowl, toss
together shaved artichoke, 1 T. lemon juice, ½ T. olive oil, ½ tsp. salt and
fresh pepper. Note that I used frozen artichokes and sliced them with a knife. </span></em></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>To serve, top pasta salad
mixture with artichoke mixture and shaved parmiggiano. Sprinkle with mint.</em></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*** For Noelle’s shower, I
made at least 6 times the amounts in this recipe. Whew!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-92130512672489580902012-03-24T10:22:00.000-04:002012-03-24T10:22:26.179-04:00More Easter Traditions<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Let's talk Palm Sunday. Does anyone celebrate or even acknowledge the day? Like everything, in my family, it was also a big one - the launch of spring, the kick off of the Easter festivities, and "bulking up" for the week of fasting ahead. Of course there was food and that was usually homemade ravioli with pork gravy. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Mom has always made homemade pasta for the ravioli, protesting that store bought dough was always too thick, too hard and there was never enough ricotta stuffing, much to the dismay of my brother who prefered that variety. However, since the dough was thinner and the stuffing thicker, mom's raviolis usually broke in the boiling water and the ravioli were cooked in a ricotta, cheese, fennel-infused water. Nevertheless, once you added that sausage and sparerib gravy, the taste didn't compare to anything you could buy even on Arthur Ave., especially if you got the occasional intact ravioli! Add some antipasto, the meat from the gravy and a vinegary salad and Palm Sunday dinner is a memory and tradition that I continue to try to duplicate every year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And so my husband and I are on our trek today to purchase the ricotta, mozzarella and (sorry mom) pasta sheets from Arthur Ave. We will use a form to make the ravioli instead of the machine that flattens the dough and a fork to seal them but we will still celebrate next week's occasion in traditional style, sort of. </span><br />
<br />
<h2>Ravioli</h2><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">For the filling:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2 3lb containers of whole milk ricotta</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2 eggs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Grated parmiggiano cheese</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2 tsps imported fennel seeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">grated mozzarella</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Salt and pepper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Chopped spinach (optional)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl and keep refrigerated until ready to stuff the ravioli. Press the pasta sheet into the form and place a teaspoonful into each ravioli section. Top with another pasta sheet and top of form to cut each ravioli. Press around the ravioli to seal. </span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-33988281452551805082011-10-27T12:18:00.001-04:002011-10-27T12:23:16.976-04:00How about polenta or soup to warm up the kids this Halloween night?<span style="color: orange; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Fall is here - the official kick-off of long sleeved shirts, apple pies, fires in the fireplace, pumpkin spice lattes, afghans, stews and soups. As kids, mom insisted that our Halloween night meal be something to keep us warm on our trick or treating trek so the menu usually consisted of a dish meant to stick to our ribs like polenta with a pork tomato sauce or a hearty beef soup. Even my sister who was not a polenta fan managed to fill herself up enough to brace the cold and satisfy mom enough to permit her to celebrate with the donuts and cider that became an after trick or treating tradition. (Not to mention the loot she collected!)</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Anyone who is reading this and knows me, will of course assume that I repeated the Halloween tradition with my own kids. I too have one child who loves polenta and another who does not so I've switched it up between polenta and beef soup every year, even as my kids became adults. With an almost 2 year old grandson preparing for his first trick or treat adventure, Halloween festivities will begin early at my house on Monday and this year, I'll introduce him to polenta. I'm not sure if any of you will be interested in trying this one out yourselves, but I'm providing the details anyway plus the recipe for beef soup, which just may go over a bit better. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><strong>Happy Halloween!</strong></span><br />
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<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Polenta</strong></span></em><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">1 lb. sweet Italian sausage</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1 lb. hot Italian sausage (optional) </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Rack of pork spareribs, cut </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2 34oz cans of Italian peeled tomatoes</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">olive oil</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1 clove garlic</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">oregano & basil</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1 container of Quaker yellow corn meal</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">To make the sauce:</span></strong><br />
<ol><li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In a large dutch oven, brown garlic in 2T. olive oil. Add the sausage and spareribs in batches to fill the bottom of the pot but do not overlap. Sprinkle with oregano and brown meat on all sides; remove from the pot and reserve. Drain excess fat from the pot.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Puree the tomatoes in a food mill. Add the meat to the pot, the pureed tomatoes, basil and pinch of salt. Bring to a boil on medium-high heat, reduce heat and simmer until thickened and meat is tender, stirring frequently.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Sauce can be made in advance and reheated when making the polenta. Remove meat from the sauce using a slotted spoon, shaking off excess. Serve the meat with the polenta.</span></strong></li>
</ol><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">To make the polenta:</span></strong><br />
<ol><li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Bring a large stockpot filled with cold water to a rolling boil. Add salt to taste.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Using a wooden spoon to stir, slowly sprinkle in some of the polenta. Stop and stir to remove lumps. Repeat the procedure until all the corn meal is used noting that the more corn meal that is added, the thicker it becomes and the harder it is to stir. Alternate between a spoon and whisk to work the corn meal into the appropriate consistency.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Tip: It is advantageous to use 2 people to make polenta as it thickens. One person can sprinkle in the corn meal while the other stirs.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When all corn meal has been added, the polenta should be cooked uncovered for 5-10 minutes, using a whisk to smooth out the consistency. The polenta should resemble a thick porridge.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">To serve, ladle the polenta into a flat dish and top with sauce and grated locatelli (or parmiggiano) cheese. Eat from around the edges of the plate into the middle. </span></strong></li>
</ol><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>Beef Soup</em></span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>6 beef short ribs</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">3 carrots sliced on an angle</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2 ribs of celery sliced on an angle</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1 yellow onion</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">bay leaf</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">salt & pepper</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">water</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1 large can Delmonte tomato sauce</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">acini de pepe pastina</span></strong><br />
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<ol><li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In a large stockpot, add short ribs, whole onion, sliced carrots and celery, bay leaf, salt and pepper. Fill the pot with water about 3/4 full.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Bring to boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low, stir in Delmonte sauce and cover. Cook for 3-4 hours. Taste for seasonings and add more salt if desired.</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Remove onion and beef. (Remove the beef from the bone, shred and add to the soup or reserve for other use. My husband makes a beef salad with vinegar and oil to serve as a second course.)</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In a separate pot of salted water, cook the acini de pepe. If the stockpot is large, cook 1 lb. of pasta; for smaller stockpots, use 1/2 lb. (I cook the pasta in the soup.)</span></strong></li>
<li><strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Add the acini de pepe to the soup and serve. Top with parmiggiano cheese. </span></strong></li>
</ol>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-2405354383850205252011-04-22T14:26:00.000-04:002011-04-22T14:26:17.932-04:00It's that time of the year again!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In spite of the fact that I am completely overwhelmed, I did manage to make my Easter bread and pizza rustica again this year. As it is Good Friday, I can't vouch for the pizza but the bread is better than ever, and prettier! See for yourself...</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7ZlyhrrTZKLr112mtSFuyuhdxVo4G8KQbiJp9JD94q5EMB0LwHC_6prSnGludo420-_1_bNKCMBsMWbAI1CGRbZOX5Ni4cwKEFyQfP7-RTZu4uwjBGw5Pz55bFEKQ0JLg_tHg2169BQX/s1600/IMG_1566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7ZlyhrrTZKLr112mtSFuyuhdxVo4G8KQbiJp9JD94q5EMB0LwHC_6prSnGludo420-_1_bNKCMBsMWbAI1CGRbZOX5Ni4cwKEFyQfP7-RTZu4uwjBGw5Pz55bFEKQ0JLg_tHg2169BQX/s320/IMG_1566.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ITQWlzPMdp0eD-ohIDoKIu7CUjK1_f-0Th7jTLRLWrAHgdUAnD7fzR4YsZvkILmfF2DAwfTLeS2TKbiQfOA0yfo6hCN59sso2Qr4aoG0xInWxDvreixu78p96Zrb-43IIC-E63XgpDW0/s1600/IMG_1569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ITQWlzPMdp0eD-ohIDoKIu7CUjK1_f-0Th7jTLRLWrAHgdUAnD7fzR4YsZvkILmfF2DAwfTLeS2TKbiQfOA0yfo6hCN59sso2Qr4aoG0xInWxDvreixu78p96Zrb-43IIC-E63XgpDW0/s200/IMG_1569.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Even the Easter babies have improved. Granted, they are not the cute babies with handkerchiefs that Gram made each year, but they are getting better with age. The only story I have about them can be found in the archive from last year - 3/16/2010. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">It's really not worthwhile for me to provide you with this recipe as mastering the Easter bread is not an easy task. It literally takes years not only to perfect the intricacies of the two designs, but its taste as well as it's meant to be on the drier side and a bit denser than most breads. Balancing the right amount of anise seeds and sugar with the flour and salt is another technique that needs to be cultivated over the years. All in all, I don't know why anyone would make these breads, even I, except that traditions die hard in this family!</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Happy Easter All!</span></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-71632202783747998332011-03-07T00:20:00.001-05:002011-03-26T12:43:01.939-04:00The Real Thing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To all my faithful followers:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">Several months ago, my father was diagnosed with cancer and life as I had known it was drastically changed. Memorial Sloan Kettering has saved his life and, thankfully, we just celebrated his 80th birthday.The pain and desparation of the experience prevented me from cooking and celebrating or giving any of you a laugh with the anecdotes of my life and the recipes that made those occasions infamous in this blog. It's been a tough struggle and an extremely difficult few months but I am happy to say that I'm back! </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">So here's what's been going on:</span></div><ul><li><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">My youngest daughter, Noelle, got engaged in November and I threw the newly betrothed couple a party in January with all homemade hors d'oevres. Dad was on the mend at that time so the bash was a perfect way to purge. My next blog is dedicated to that joyous event so stay tuned.</span></div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifW_AtlBe-TW3zpuWdnOaF_5XTG_EMRejV8BWfdevlQJRe-U3B52HZWunl3f9Adq_THyqSSQXuYNhFlfgewu4H1Tnmxdx09z7Q82Yki_ygqqIWWL2TkJ1TWQXLOGt8O30MHwGzvRHviSRX/s1600/IMG_1368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifW_AtlBe-TW3zpuWdnOaF_5XTG_EMRejV8BWfdevlQJRe-U3B52HZWunl3f9Adq_THyqSSQXuYNhFlfgewu4H1Tnmxdx09z7Q82Yki_ygqqIWWL2TkJ1TWQXLOGt8O30MHwGzvRHviSRX/s200/IMG_1368.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">Ryan turned 1 and though I didn't cook anything exotic for that celebration, Noelle made Elmo and Cookie Monster cupcakes and it was a memorable day. Check this out! </span></div></li>
<li><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">I decided it is time to pursue the direction in my life that I have always loved: catering. I'm starting off small with my sauces, my brother's stromboli's and Noelle's cupcakes and I've got a name - <em>da casa mia - </em>from my house, or "homemade" in other words. What my brand has that others don't is purity in the ingredients I use, the individual touch put into each item and the sincere dedication to the providing foodies and busy working folks alike with the best tasting foods they will spend their hard earned money on. The website is currently under construction, the packaging is at the printer's and the tastings will hopefully be on the horizon at local delicatessans and specialty food stores. </span></div></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZMQZqtzQIV_R_qmy9_zgXc6lP6l35mXAVcIVkHzsOcRbxv4OsUci0am-jWEIOs7bpKXr1oxXTuDvsvIw59fwoYGbig1bwj_xgK2yTryfPkpzxE7MrPqeyyBFTVYrF28ad5hpCL1h83Bc/s1600/IMG_1479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZMQZqtzQIV_R_qmy9_zgXc6lP6l35mXAVcIVkHzsOcRbxv4OsUci0am-jWEIOs7bpKXr1oxXTuDvsvIw59fwoYGbig1bwj_xgK2yTryfPkpzxE7MrPqeyyBFTVYrF28ad5hpCL1h83Bc/s200/IMG_1479.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">Dedication to high quality is probably the most important ingredient so to prove to myself that my sauce would be considered as such so I could prove it to you, I purchased a jar of Bolognese Sauce, one of 6 that I will be marketing, from the culinary mecca, Williams Sonoma. The packaging was great and the label boasted of the high quality of the beef used, the nutritional facts, and the methods for refrigerating or freezing the unused portions. Everything about the product seemed pretty authentic so I paid my $16.95 (wow!) with the intention of buying and sampling the other "authentic" sauces like alfredo, all'amatriciana, tomato basil and carbonara and cracked open the jar last week. The smell alone belied the purity and authenticity of its label - the taste pretty much like what I expected a jarred sauce to taste like, although I am a virgin bottled sauce eater: chemicalily, acidy, metallic. Not a taste I am used to, not one I would attach my name to, and certainly not one I would expect my friends to buy. Dedication to high quality from a high end shop like Sonoma's isn't pure folks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">Save your money for the <em>da casa mia</em> sauces! Oh hell, make them yourself - you have the recipes!</span></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-1757955852177051882010-07-18T22:12:00.000-04:002010-07-18T22:12:47.443-04:00Italian Summer Barbecues<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">When you’re Italian, even summer barbecues take on different meaning: it’s never just hamburgers, hotdogs, potato and macaroni salad from the local deli for us. Aside from the fact that the salads are homemade and we use the recipes with real mayonnaise that my grandmother somehow learned 75 years ago, burgers and dogs are evening snacks after the grilled steak, ribs, chicken and sausage. And of course, and there’s always something Italian on the menu, and I don’t necessarily mean pasta.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So you probably wonder about the barbecue story behind this because, after all, my recipes always come with that! The barbecues I remember years ago took place at my grandparents’ house and though my grandparents were Italian, they were both born in the US and behaved more like Americans in so many ways, except of course when it came to food… oh, and the backyard: between my grandfather’s handmade cement-based clothes line where my grandmother dried zucchini strips in curls for an antique Calabrese recipe and his imported marble statues and hand-built fountains spraying water, you would think you were vacationing in Rome’s Tivoli Gardens! On those occasions when we went to Grandma and Grandad’s house for 4th of July or Labor Day, the Iannuzzi Gardens were in full display: red, hot (and mean looking) pepper plants were growing in cement pots on the outer terrace, Italian music was piped outside and playing loudly, littleneck clams were chilling on ice in the outdoor kitchen sink, the watermelon laced with anisette was brewing in one of the fountains and my grandfather could be found tinkering in the basement with the water pumps or on his originally designed spit for the charcoal barbecue grill that they would use to roast beef. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">If I haven’t already told you, Grandad was a mechanic and an inventor and with just an 8th grade education, a self-made businessman who manufactured steel parts used by the US Navy, Westinghouse and the Verrazano Bridge. His eccentric genius afforded him a fairly luxurious lifestyle in a very prestigious neighborhood where clothes lines and fountains were not indigenous. Grandma was a beautiful, sweet, dignified lady who grew into her role of the successful businessman’s wife intelligently and gracefully, socializing with women from all backgrounds. With her innate interest and talent for Italian homestyle cooking, came the natural ability for cooking authentic, delicious recipes of different ethnicities supplied by these women she met, hence the origin of our American potato salad, stuffed cabbage, icebox cake and a variety of other delicacies. So while Grandad was tinkering, Grandma was putting the finishing touches on the barbecue’s menu and as we arrived, I would find her preparing the Bermuda onion salad that would accompany the thin sliced boneless club (ribeye) steaks that were waiting to be grilled, still wrapped in the brown butcher paper. Only one small part of our menu, these steaks were served on a sandwich with a seeded Kaiser roll and the Bermuda onion salad which has now become my family’s staple at every barbecue. Even when the steaks weren’t there, the onions were and they have become the perfect accompaniment for hamburgers and hotdogs too. This is one of our heirloom recipes I am providing below so I ask that you treasure it. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e06666;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD2cRXVN3fwR69bAQw0tulTqOXNOLAbrCMAWC73W0KLZc5bZwCBnnehOBYuYxY5xFMxHEGNbvXQjE_cNnjjY-cy8XztPSXoL0ap-e-QtTaotaw0ZZX-Bi1HK7_MzHin2IT1-z0SIWpObF/s1600/IMG_1004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD2cRXVN3fwR69bAQw0tulTqOXNOLAbrCMAWC73W0KLZc5bZwCBnnehOBYuYxY5xFMxHEGNbvXQjE_cNnjjY-cy8XztPSXoL0ap-e-QtTaotaw0ZZX-Bi1HK7_MzHin2IT1-z0SIWpObF/s320/IMG_1004.JPG" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In those days, the pre-dinner partying was never as important as the actual meal itself, especially for my grandparents, so as soon as the entire family arrived, the eating would begin. My father and uncle, usually accompanied with a martini or two, would shuck the clams in the outdoor kitchen while my grandfather readied the barbecue coals, my mother and aunts brought the foods outside, and the kids romped in the “pools” in their underwear to cool off. The sausage was barbecued first, as it took the longest to cook, and was served with fried green sweet Italian peppers that we called “dalianeed” (Calabrese slang for who knows what) and are today referred to as cubanelle peppers. Inevitably there were also very hot and spicy red fried peppers to accompany any and everything for my grandfather. Iannuzzi folktale dictates that Grandad “snacked” on them since he was a young boy - taking a pepper from one back pocket and dipping it into salt from his other back pocket and then crunching on it, no bread or water to cut the burning sensation they invariably caused - and so they were a constant presence at every meal. Although the rest of the family couldn’t match up to him, we all loved the hot and spicy, but I didn’t learn until later in life that we Calabrese Italians were known for spicy dishes seasoned with those mean red things growing in my grandparents yard. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Once the steaks were grilled, everything for the time being, was ready to go. The adults sat at the concrete table and benches while the kids sat at a nearby folding table on the patio that had its very own double fountain with a bridge between. During this session, before the hotdogs and hamburgers, we laughed and talked and drank while eating the sausage and peppers, steak sandwiches with Grandma’s Bermuda Onion salad, the homemade potato and macaroni salad, corn on the cob with butter and salt, tossed salad made with iceberg lettuce, red wine vinegar and more salt, and another Italian summer barbecue specialty that lives on in my family: tomato salad. As a kid, I ate very few tomatoes out of that salad in favor of the crusty Italian bread dunked into the indescribably delicious juices that the tomatoes made when mixed with the fresh basil, garlic and “dalianeed” peppers. Old habits die hard!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And then there was dessert, the best part for any kid though our dessert did not follow the path of tradition. The spiked watermelon is something I will never ever forget, or duplicate. My grandfather would drill a small hole into the watermelon manually with a drill crank and drizzle anisette into it first thing in the morning, then leave it in the cold fountain water all day until it was time for dessert, which, due to the thin fleshiness of the fruit, enabled the liquor to completely permeate it. As the women brewed the espresso, Grandad sliced and plated the watermelon so that when it was joined at the table with the freshly brewed black coffee, kid or no kid, you wanted both. The smell completely surrounded us and one slice of watermelon was never enough for anyone. Ironically Grandad was never really sitting there enjoying this with the rest of the family because he was on to his next mechanical exercise, making the homemade strawberry ice cream. With fresh strawberries, cream and lots of ice on hand, he and my father took turns cranking the old wooden “machine” with the stainless steel top until we had the perfect dessert. Although I am a chocolate lover, I have to say that there was no ice cream that ever tasted so good. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Fully satisfied, the kids would spend the rest of the day into evening running around the yard, taking another dip in the fountains and catching lightening bugs; I liked to lay down on the chaise lounge in the screen porch and listen to the sounds that, I have to admit, would sometimes lull me to sleep. Grandad could be found sitting in a lawn chair in the midst of his Roman empire, toothpick hanging out of his mouth, with his head falling to the side as he nodded on and off. My uncles and father would be rehashing funny stories about the factory that granddad owned and where they worked while Grandma and the ladies did a lot of clean up. When dusk set in, the grill would go back on, the hotdogs, hamburgers, Bermuda onion and tomato salads making a final appearance before the party came to a close.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Bermuda Onion Salad</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1 large Bermuda onion, peeled, and diced</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">2 T. Oregano</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">¼ cup of red wine vinegar</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1 tsp. Salt</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Touch of olive oil</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Mix all ingredients in a bowl several hours before serving to enable the juices to release their flavors. </span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Serve at room temperature.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Tomato Salad</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">6 large ripe tomatoes</span><br />
<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">2 cubanelle peppers</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1 hot green Italian pepper (optional)</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">2 cloves of garlic</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Fresh basil to taste (I like alot so I would put about 6 large leaves)</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Sea Salt</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Olive Oil</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Cut the tomatoes into quarters and each quarter into 2 or 3 pieces crosswise. Place in a large bowl.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Slice the peppers in half, scoop out the seeds, and slice each half into 4 slices, then cut each slice into bite size pieces and add to the tomatoes.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Slice the garlic and add to the bowl; tear the basil leaves in half and add. Sprinkle with sea salt and drizzle with extra virgin olive oil. Add a drop of water and toss. Refrigerate for no more than one hour before serving or add a couple of ice cubes to cool off. When mixed with the tomatoes, the water and ice creates this delicious juice that is just asking to be sopped up with crusty Italian bread.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"></span></span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-19892866766571049932010-06-04T13:21:00.000-04:002010-06-04T13:21:24.298-04:00Memories from the "other side"<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>Today I have reached the age where I can see the end of life drawing nearer - my life, the life of my friends and some of my family. Not to be morbid but, at 55, the years ahead of me are growing shorter, the ones behind, much longer, and after having received the very sad news yesterday that my second cousin on my father's side, Greg, suffered a massive stroke and died at 59, I am changing direction of this next post, previously scheduled to discuss summer barbecues, to rehashing some memories of the other side of my family in Greg's memory. </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Like most families, ours was much closer to my mother's side than my father's. Most holidays and Sunday dinners were spent with Grandma and Grandad, Auntie Jean, Uncle Freddie and Uncle Bobby rather than Poppa, Grandma and Aunt "Cookie," but when we were together, boy was it fun. Even though first cousins Gay and Gary were playmates for Mindy and Stephen, I enjoyed the "Italian-ness" of the day in ways that were unfamiliar to my upbringing and definitely not enjoyable to my mother. Ironically, it was never about the food! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">What I loved best about those "Moliterno Sundays" was my grandfather: a short, chubby, incredibly happy man with a mustache and a strong Italian accent who called me "Poopsie," brought me Hershey bars and dollar bills when he came home from the dress factory where he worked and loved his food and wine. With a name like Felice, how could he be anything but happy? Poppa had diabetes so my grandmother restricted his intake of macaroni and vino on Sundays to the point where they bickered bitterly. I affectionately referred to them as "The Honeymooners." While the women were busy setting out the homemade braciole, stuffed breast of veal or steak pizzaiola, on the table, Poppa sat alone, with his macaroni dish full, napkin tied around his neck, glass of homemade red wine ready to be drunk as soon as the family joined. And as he watched my grandmother leave the room to fetch another dish, he poured his glass of wine into his dish of macaroni, stirring it around to remove all traces, poured himself another glass which he chugged down and poured yet another to replace them both before she made it back! Pretty smart thinking for an immigrant: he managed to get himself three glasses of wine this way instead of the one she permitted and he was happy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But Grandma Louise was no dummy - short, grey haired, squatty and built like a box, Grandma had eyes behind her back and although she never said it, I'm sure she knew what he was doing. Maybe because 3 of her 5 babies died and she suffered from epilepsy, she was tough as nails, took no crap from anyone and kept the family in line at all times, especially her French poodle, Pee Wee, and my cousin Gary who she threatened to sweep the floor with constantly if they didn't heed her warnings. On those Sundays when my brother joined the chaos, the entertainment couldn't be beat as there was always fighting, yelling, laughing, and someone getting hit. (There was no such thing as a "time out" for misbehaving kids in those days!) It was that old-world-Italian, rough-around-the-edges-way about my grandmother that also made me love Moliterno Sundays because in spite of her bluntness and seemingly guarded persona, this lady hand-fed me Cheerios for breakfast when I was a baby and slept at their house, rubbed my back for hours to lull me to sleep, knit me sweaters and mittens and hemmed my bellbottom jeans, and amused me endlessly with her scoffing and snorting at women wearing mini skirts, professional boxers cheating during a match and bitchy women fooling around with someone else's husband on the daily soaps. Best of all, she was the family matriarch so every Sunday, in spite of Cookie's under her breath complaints about pulling out the food all over again, all my grandmother's nieces, nephews and their kids came over for dessert and coffee and to pay their respects to this lady. And for her part, though she "hmmmmphed" behind their backs, she accepted them and served them generously week after week after week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">One of the Sunday cousin visitors was Greg. Since Greg's mother was my father's first cousin on Grandma's side, Greg, like his mother, wasn't really a Moliterno but a Crocco, and maybe that's why my grandmother was the way she was because it seemed that the Crocco lineage was responsible for that rough and tough veneer, although it was (fortunately) lost on Greg and a few other next gen cousins. When that clan united on Moliterno Sundays, the stories exchanged among Aunt Cookie, Greg's mom, Mary, her sister Renee, and brothers Frankie "Bird Cage," Bobbie and Johnny, as well as my grandmother herself were unbelievable! The teenaged second cousins like me, Greg, Glen, and Chris were left, as Greg said years later, in shock and awe. Stories included Grandma telling her cousin Biase with the huge handelbar mustache to shave his arms so that the homemade cheese he sold in the parking lot at any relative's wedding (my parents' included) wouldn't have hairs in it (no lie) and revolved around people with nicknames like the "Andrew Sisters", 3 unmarried distant cousins; "Lady Norelco," a hairy female cousin; "The Little People" a family of short relatives, and "Da-Da" a nosey neighbor who rocked on her front porch commenting on the neighborhood goings on most of the day (hence the da-da slang for guarda, guarda) - all brought laughs so hard from the adults, in-laws included who knew this people only by nickname, that when it grew late and everyone started packing up to go home, it was us young ones who begged to stay longer and hear more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As the years went on, the younger cousins stopped coming to the Moliterno Sundays choosing to go out with friends of their own age instead; some of the older cousins moved away or divorced or just chose to wash their hands of the family shenanigans and the guard changed. My Poppa died, my grandmother moved to the south with my aunt and her family, and the family bond, as harsh as it may have seemed, just fell away. I didn't see Greg for years but from time to time we would email one another, even call and talk, and always we reminisced about some member of our crazy clan, Biase's hairy cheese or Joanne's "damn danderees" but always fondly and somewhat longingly. He was the only cousin from "the other side" I felt any closeness to and with him gone, I'm left to the memories of Moliterno Sundays alone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Nevertheless, this is a cooking blog and so I will provide a recipe from Grandma Crocco Moliterno that is a favorite in my family. Although she wasn't a great cook, there were a few things that she made that my family loved like her Sunday gravy with neck of lamb (got some of those in my own freezer), breast of veal stuffed with egg and breadcrumbs, steak pizziaola which I cannot duplicate and her famous chicken with Bermuda onion that I have provided below. This is as close to associating food with Greg that I can come so make this chicken on a family Sunday and enjoy the memories. I promise the next blog will be more light hearted....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em><strong>Chicken with Bermuda onion</strong></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Chicken parts (legs, wings and some breasts with bone)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1/2 cup Olive Oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">2-3 Bermuda onions sliced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1-2 T. Oregano</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Salt and Pepper</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Wash all chicken parts and pat dry with paper towel. Place in a baking pan and add sliced Bermuda onions, olive oil, oregano, salt and pepper. Toss to coat chicken.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Bake at 350 for about an hour turning chicken pieces halfway through cooking. Remove when onions are soft but not burnt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">This can be made in advance and eaten cold during the summer or hot as desired. The onions are delicious by themselves. Serve with rice and vegetable. Grandma would have served this chicken with baked rice, similar to baked ziti (fix cooked rice in a baking dish with tomato sauce and shredded mozzarella), and escarole. </span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-24491046453789044082010-04-28T23:55:00.000-04:002010-04-28T23:55:07.539-04:00From artichoke to carciofi<em><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: magenta;">I'm back... at least for now. Since I bought these today - 2 for $1.00 at Wegmans, this great store in Princeton, NJ where I am currently working - I've been inspired to contribute to my blog again so here goes.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Clue:</strong> They're strangely beautiful, like a tropical flower; bland and yet somewhat exotic in taste; and a bitch to clean and prepare with their thorny and tough outter leaves and inner choke. When I was a kid, my family were the only people I knew who ate them, always stuffed with breadcrumbs and covered in tomato sauce. My friends gaped at them in awe demanding to know just what they were while I scraped the stuffing and soft layer from each leaf with my front teeth to reach that creamy concentrated burst of flavor buried in the heart. Yeah, they mighta choked Artie but, like Stymie, they weren't gonna choke me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Give up? If you guessed artichokes, you were right. Even though we always ate them the same way, I loved artichokes then and I love them more now and I have my life in Italy to thank for that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In the motherland, artichokes are not just artichokes - they're "carciofi," pronounced car-choe-fee, a word that sounds just like what they might do if the preparer doesn't take care. But there's nary a choke in those equisite carciofi, regardless of whether they're Roman or Jerusalem. When I saw Italian artichokes for the first time, my husband and I were visiting his aunt in Sicily and there were a bunch of them, "un mazzetto," propped in a bucket of water on her terrazzo, long-stemmed and full flowered, like peonies about to bloom. Aside from their "cuter" look, they were softer than the artichokes I was used to - those outter leaves weren't so thick, tough or thorny in Italy so although cleaning them was time consuming and a "bitch" as I lovingly say, the process was precise, helping to create a pretty perfect dish that was always worth the work. And once that part of the preparation was complete, the rest was usually a piece of cake because in Italy, carciofi are made in so many ways, each one more delicious than the next, far exceeding our traditional stuffed and sauced variety.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The first kind of carciofi I made were Roman style which I learned, among other things, in the Regional Italian Cooking Class, Lazio Region, I took through the American Women's Club of Rome. These classes met once a week for the entire day, a different region for each class spanning over a couple of months for the northern regions, a couple of months for the south, and it was quite an excursion! On cooking days, I'd put my kids on the school bus and my friend would borrow my husband's BMW, (I couldn't drive stick), to drive us the 45-60 minutes north of Rome to Lake Bracciano. The ride would often include us crying over the heart wrenching Italian music playing on the radio,even if we didn't understand all the words, stopping along the side of the road to buy "cheap" porcini or making a detour for an always perfect cappuccino in a ceramic cup! We didn't dilly dally much though because we were anxious meet with the other students and instructors to learn about the history of the week's particular region, follow the recipes to work in teams preparing various specialties and then spending the rest of the day sitting at a beautifully set table eating the dishes we cooked, sampling the wines of the region for each course, while surrounded by the beautiful scenery and distinct smells of the food, the lake around the restaurant, and Italy in general. No matter what you think, Italy does smell differently from New York and every once in a while, I get a whiff of Rome as I stroll up Fifth Ave. that makes me want to just stand perfectly still while my mind wanders back 15 years... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But back to the artichokes, thanks to the Lake Bracciano cooking classes, cleaning artichokes became a science to me that I use to this day: </span><br />
<ul><li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">take off the tough, dark, outter leaves (and there weren't many), </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">cut the top of the artichoke to discard the thorny tips and the stem, discarding the 1/4" at the end of the stem. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Pull the artichoke open and use a demitasse spoon to remove the choke, (again, not much there)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">rub the cut leaves and the base with a lemon and put both the artichoke and cut stem into a pot with acidulated water while cleaning the rest of the artichokes. </span></li>
</ul><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So did the many different ways to prepare them. At Lake Bracciano, I learned how to cook Roman style carciofi, stuffed with pancetta and mint. But that wasn't where it stopped - in restaurants I had delicious and light homemade fettuccine noodles with artichokes and cream; risotto with sauteed artichokes, and best of all, carciofi alla guidia - deep fried and smashed with the back of a wooden spoon, drained and fried again artichokes that, with just the right amount of sea salt, just dissolve in your mouth with eat bite. I never did muster up the stamina to cook those but they are the first thing I want when I touch down on Italy's hollowed ground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Well, I have 6 artichokes waiting to be cleaned and cooked, a $3.00 investment. I'm doing them Roman style.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>Carciofi alla Romana</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">4 artichokes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">2 1/2" slices of round pancetta</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">3 cloves of garlic minced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">2 T. chopped mint</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">1/2 c. dry white wine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">2 T. extra virgin olive oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Salt and Pepper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Water to almost cover</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Prepare the artichokes as I now do regularly, described above.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Slice the pancetta and cut it crosswise to make small cubes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Randomly stuff the pancetta into the artichoke leaves, pulling the artichoke open. Do the same with the chopped garlic and mint.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Put the artichokes into a pot large enough to hold all four in an upright position. When the stem is removed, the artichokes should remain flat in the pot. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, drizzle olive oil and wine over the artichokes and fill water halfway up the artichokes. Cover and let boil; then lower heat and cook till tender, adding more water if needed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">NOTE: Cut the artichokes into quarters and sautee in a frying pan with all the same ingredients, replacing the mint with parsley. While simmering, add the prepackaged cream sauce, panna, found in Italian specialty shops and deli's. Toss this sauce with pasta.</span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-35307302978282179982010-04-21T22:53:00.000-04:002010-04-21T22:53:05.465-04:00Hello out there!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Followers, Fellow Bloggers, Friends, Relatives, Browsers, and Search Engine Optimizers,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If you are reading this, I now know you are out there still so I think it's time to explain the whole blog concept to you all. I share a topic (in this case my recipes), and spend a lot of time coming up with the appropriate recipes, photos and obviously the whole story behind them. You, in return, either keep coming back to find out all these secrets about me and my crazy family or because you like to cook and try new recipes. You can give the recipes to someone you know who likes to cook or you can cook them yourself to show off to your friends and family. Whatever your motive, I'm not looking for royalties, or a by-line or even a formal "thank you" in return but, as is the purpose of a blog, I would like to hear from you now and then. If I post a survey, how about giving me an answer? And posting a comment isn't as tough as it looks - just click on the "0 Comments" link at the end of the post and a page will open with no comments displayed and a form where you can tell me what you think of me or the recipe you tried out. SNAP!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I've been having fun with this blog but lately, I'm feeling lonely. Since I've pretty much borrowed the entire concept from <strong>Julie and Julia</strong>, I might as well quote her: <em>Hello? Is anyone out there?</em></span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-8679209572603317582010-04-02T23:28:00.001-04:002010-04-02T23:32:38.973-04:00Easter Morning<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>It's 8:30PM Saturday night before Easter. I'm 13, Mindy is 8, Stephen 5. My sister and I are in our bedroom smelling the asparagus, scallions and dried sausage sauteeing downstairs in the kitchen. Our new Easter outfits, shoes, hats, and underwear have been laid out on our dresser earlier in the day by my mother who has spent the last several days baking cookies and preparing the pizza rustica which we happily sampled earlier that morning. My brother is still bouncing off the walls, pleading with me and Mindy to let him into our room, as my father yells at him to "leave [us] girls alone" and go to bed. Soon the vacuum will be whirring and we will all be lulled to sleep, visions of chocolate bunnies, licorice jelly beans, and marshmallow eggs dancing in our heads! </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>As Easter morning breaks and we dress for 8AM mass, we tear into the baskets that the bunny has brought us through the very capable hands of my mother (and father), and sample a piece of bunny here, a jelly bean there. My mother gets the holiday spirit rolling with shrieks of reprimand for the chocolate she smells on my brother's breath, pins the corsages onto Mindy's, mine and her own spring coats, and we are off to church. I pray God forgives me for what I am about to admit but throughout the hour that the congregation is rejoicing over Christ's resurrection, I'm only noticing the color of Bonnie's dress, Anne's new shoes and Kathy's hat and thinking about the delicacies that are awaiting. And here's the bigger sacrilege: in spite of the delicious, aromatic, vinegar and garlic basted leg of lamb with accompanying greasy potatoes that is our usual Easter lunch, breakfast is the best part of the day! </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Once back at home, the dining table welcomes us with a pink linen table cloth, fresh tulips, dyed eggs and Grandma's Easter bread and babies. Mom immediately heads for the kitchen and, using last night's sauteed asparagus, scallions and sausage, as well as cubed mozzarella, ricotta and lots of eggs, begins preparing our frittata - an Italian omelet reserved just for this holiday. Meanwhile, my father gets the coffee perking and I bring all the other Easter goodies to the table, like the dishes of diagonally-sliced homemade sausage, pizza ghiende (commonly known as pizza rustica), birds nest cookies and apricot pastries, while Stephen and Mindy continue to munch on the contents of their baskets. After half an hour or so, some champagne and oj and an Easter basket down, the weeks of chopping, stuffing, drying, rolling, twisting are finally fulfilled. As a joyous family, we proceed to the dining room to enjoy our breakfast feast. </strong></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQxWBTbP_3dCNfDjw50N_OGwZmYqnWDvJ5RgdRWTckhKv1gYqe0FAhkShKDbRUr0ZY2jMZnJLS8lMr80yLv9jrd5pEVbEqzE8G6XERGLNB84FZrqhUFQsHC7m7olv2s5PegiZig2pc4fy/s1600/Easter+bread+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><img border="0" height="175" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQxWBTbP_3dCNfDjw50N_OGwZmYqnWDvJ5RgdRWTckhKv1gYqe0FAhkShKDbRUr0ZY2jMZnJLS8lMr80yLv9jrd5pEVbEqzE8G6XERGLNB84FZrqhUFQsHC7m7olv2s5PegiZig2pc4fy/s200/Easter+bread+(2).jpg" width="200" /></strong></span></a></div><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Fast forward about 15 years: Mindy is 25, Stephen 22 and I'm 30 with 2 kids, ages 3 and 1. Although I'm not hosting Easter breakfast, I made the pizza rustica on Good Friday, a tradition I uphold to this day, managed the construction of 2 Easter baskets, vacuumed the entire 4 rooms of my house, purchased the girls' dresses, hats, ruffled socks and maryjane shoes (at Lord and Taylor!) and dressed them both, pinning on corsages, in time to meet my parents and sister at 8AM mass. Once again, I am occupied throughout the hour with Noelle's squirming, Jessica's hat falling off and thoughts of our traditional Easter breakfast. When we get to my parents' house, I hold the girls off with a piece of bread from their very own Easter baby while my mother works her magic with the frittata. My sister and her fiance (now my brother-in-law) are serving the champagne and OJ, bringing the sausage and cookies to the table as my kids open their baskets of goodies from Grammy and Poppy's Easter bunny. And Stephen is nowhere to be found. </strong></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXx0u-3RcPrYMjCBJcXqIhP-gsKDr3ffgWA6F-0_TH7wdVGKVNxtgANRpKnW1iGrcG6TDhxOZ_SzFYgLSQwxv4uLegzUeHZuVE1FZ2qP1M9K-yJJhc1e6Ih3BkUswX22VB-9ry0zdszDS2/s1600/Jessica_Easter+1985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><img border="0" height="158" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXx0u-3RcPrYMjCBJcXqIhP-gsKDr3ffgWA6F-0_TH7wdVGKVNxtgANRpKnW1iGrcG6TDhxOZ_SzFYgLSQwxv4uLegzUeHZuVE1FZ2qP1M9K-yJJhc1e6Ih3BkUswX22VB-9ry0zdszDS2/s200/Jessica_Easter+1985.jpg" width="200" /></strong></span></a></div><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Over the years since he was a child rebutting my mother's fashion advice, Stephen has creatively managed to evade the Easter church police posing as our parents so it's no surprise that he is MIA now. But just as I get Noelle settled into her highchair and Jessica's V-8 juice is served, just as my mother starts serving the frittata and we are about to take our first delicious bite, my brother comes pounding down the stairs, with the family Newfoundland/Lab, "Max," in tow, loudly singing his crass versions of otherwise popular songs, and all is lost. Jessica gets out of her seat, running to the stairs to meet her "Stevie Wonder"; Noelle starts squirming, whining, begging to be let loose to join the fun that is Stephen. All decorum is lost; all the weeks of preparation, shot to hell as quickly as you can say Peter Cottontail. Because in spite of the fact that my brother, like my sister, parents and in-laws, has a huge Easter basket for my kids, he has not one shred of Easter tradition in his bones. As he comes into the dining room, teasing and taunting everyone in his path, including my sweet old grandmother, he is dressed in his Easter finest: no shirt, no shoes, black and white striped boxers and his omnipresent "fro." Perhaps he is still rebelling for being forced to wear those suits with short pants or perhaps he's just the Easter grinch, a charlatan in fun uncle clothes. I believe the latter for with not an ounce of shame, he sits at the head of the table and chows down, critiquing every morsel along the way, throwing black jelly beans at my sister, demanding 16oz refills of iced water from my mother, tossing the ball in the living room to Max, singing Bad Boys with Jessica, taking the food out from a shocked Noelle. And so our Easter begins….</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Here’s hoping yours is calmer or at least made a little bit funnier, definitely more interesting and hopefully tastier since reading this story from our crazy family's past. To thank you for bearing with us, I share our prized Easter recipe.</strong></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE6e-Nu-xbaoMdiUB7lfiK_A0AAzlIhbzZDR3kTp-_MK2izchsGnJAS3F3uxYu5xKyn_mMrGRNf9inA7a6bsmRlCk2wdZiGPcOVc-qco9atxkrTgLyiib4GDgpeVj42u89TsYvA1hIoHS/s1600/IMG_0775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE6e-Nu-xbaoMdiUB7lfiK_A0AAzlIhbzZDR3kTp-_MK2izchsGnJAS3F3uxYu5xKyn_mMrGRNf9inA7a6bsmRlCk2wdZiGPcOVc-qco9atxkrTgLyiib4GDgpeVj42u89TsYvA1hIoHS/s200/IMG_0775.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<em><span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: large;"><strong>Pizza Rustica (aka “Ghiende”)</strong></span></em><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">Pillsbury pie crusts (2) or double recipe of pastry dough</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">18 eggs beaten with grated locatelli cheese</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">4 tsp baking powder</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">1/2 lb of thick sliced prosciutto, cut into pieces</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">1-1/2lb fresh mozzarella (in water) cut into cubes</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">1 large packaged mozzarella, cubed</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">1-1/2 lbs. fresh sausage, browned and sliced in rounds</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">-Make the pastry dough or roll out one sheet of pie crust for the bottom of a large rectangular roasting pan.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">- Beat the eggs in two batches in a blender with cheese</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">- Pour into a bowl and mix with the other ingredients. Then pour into the roasting pan.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">- Top with the other rolled out pie crust. </span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">- Brush with beaten egg and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 45 minutes or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-small;">- Remove from the oven and let cool completely. Cover and refrigerate overnight.</span>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-22277807196870735002010-03-16T21:41:00.003-04:002010-03-30T22:50:29.512-04:00Preparing for Easter<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do you remember Alexander's department store? It was a step down from Macy's but a step up from Korvettes and when our parents would treat my sister, brother and me to our Easter outfits, and some spring clothes, it was the most exciting day of the year - at least for me forced to wear the same uniform day after day. While Mindy and I tried on bright yellow spring coats and mod "bonnets" with wide brims, Stephen would entertain the other shoppers with his moaning and groaning, pleading and threatening, and whining and nagging over the amount of time we girls were spending on our shopping, the suits my mother would suggest for him, particularly any with short pants, and the fact that my father was "letting her get away with it," all the while laughing at his unhappiness. In spite of his drama, our annual venture was the official kickoff of winter ending, spring beginning, and the first sign that the Easter preparation period would soon begin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As you should know by now, everything in my life revolves around the food and Easter is no exception. Throughout the 6 weeks of Lent, we deprive ourselves of red meat, rich foods and 3 solid meals a day per canonical law, but we are dreaming of what we are going to scarf down once Easter arrives! So we start preparing right before Ash Wednesday and by the time the blessed holiday arrives, everything is ready to launch. And it all does on Easter morning with as much fanfare and excitement as the arrival of Santa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">First we start with the sausage: every January, right after the Christmas holiday season officially closed, my grandparents would make homemade dried sausage that cured in the cold, dry attic for about 3 months until it made its Easter debut. Grandma would hand cut the pork butts and mix the chopped meat with paprika and fennel seeds smuggled in through the mail by relatives from the old country, adding enough salt to ensure the curing process would not spoil the goods. After the mixture was hand stuffed into the casings, Grandad would hang them over a pole in the attic for about a month and then lay them out on paper-lined trays with bricks to flatten them until they were ready to complete their curing process in a ceramic vat of olive oil. There was and still is no taste to compare with our sausage and even slicing it became a distinct art form to our family, as slicing thinly and slicing on an angle enhanced the taste. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkaxuI-mEW68QH7tQzhxknZ5qU50cHZmPmaPkRRrXc3Alx_3kwDebqAY3BQocU6t6sU5PDEUX2Fy_anQ7Ic3yJhUXQYO6y4bBxfB7P9eYwVl3RlUbQQmyousCttW-T2b8NxPgVd10fidg/s1600-h/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkaxuI-mEW68QH7tQzhxknZ5qU50cHZmPmaPkRRrXc3Alx_3kwDebqAY3BQocU6t6sU5PDEUX2Fy_anQ7Ic3yJhUXQYO6y4bBxfB7P9eYwVl3RlUbQQmyousCttW-T2b8NxPgVd10fidg/s200/IMG_0713.JPG" vt="true" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijOMm0mfbum-kflBkrMEQiRfgqZUlxAiywOrgBGSlrCiVQ-IxZ43yOamdRMYqcXj2FCDduDuBOYCwjInQtMcOUSZ6IyrPw-I7X7TLI4jqkftOlt9RydP_qpD4SU3JcEKSGLfSZNJcFL2e/s1600-h/IMG_0722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijOMm0mfbum-kflBkrMEQiRfgqZUlxAiywOrgBGSlrCiVQ-IxZ43yOamdRMYqcXj2FCDduDuBOYCwjInQtMcOUSZ6IyrPw-I7X7TLI4jqkftOlt9RydP_qpD4SU3JcEKSGLfSZNJcFL2e/s200/IMG_0722.JPG" vt="true" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">For several years now, my brother, the Easter charlatan, has carried on the sausage tradition from my grandparents and this year, I was his sous chef. I chopped butts and stuffed casings, although I admit to using his fancy attachment to the Kitchen Aid mixer, after he mixed the various ingredients with his hands! Unfortunately, the paprika and fennel did not come from Calabria but I'm sure it'll be fine. And the sausage is drying right now - in the fridge rather than the attic because you just can't trust the weather on the east coast anymore - too damp, too inconsistent. I doubt that we will put it into a vat of oil and probably won't even cut it super thin and on an angle but it will still be the best sausage you can imagine. I'm not providing the recipe because, let's face it, who in their right mind is going to make homemade sausage? (I never said we were a sane family...)</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuI9BcEJIIML7o95PsKSe0ndtUQv-QYWxZXtwAHvrqZjDB80_Zkhtfm2hQkxhGkeheubq225UMU5qdehvOyXQel3JqEL-z4RVn90rVjEMyEHIVGZD5NjWlv7mJdo1TiZJ3J584pOd0f2f/s1600/IMG_0767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxuI9BcEJIIML7o95PsKSe0ndtUQv-QYWxZXtwAHvrqZjDB80_Zkhtfm2hQkxhGkeheubq225UMU5qdehvOyXQel3JqEL-z4RVn90rVjEMyEHIVGZD5NjWlv7mJdo1TiZJ3J584pOd0f2f/s200/IMG_0767.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Next comes the Easter bread - a little dry, a little sweet, and a lot of delicious! Yes, it's easy enough to make the dough, but really tough to work into just the right shapes. Grandma always made one big round bread like a doughnut with two eggs on either side and a piece of blessed palm from Palm Sunday mass, as well as a "baby" for each of her grandchildren. She would proudly present us with our baby bread, wrapped in a brand new handkerchief secured with a thin pink or blue ribbon and wait for our reaction as we unwrapped it to find what did in fact look like a small baby and tasted like a weird bread. I have to admit that as a kid, I thought it was a bit strange to receive this as an Easter present: unwrapped, the baby was about 12-18" inches long, (depending on how old each grandchild was), with an egg that represented the baby's head, crowned by a piece of blessed palm, and legs that crossed with distinct toes on the baby's feet. Minus the arms and facial features, the bread really did look like a swaddled baby! It felt criminal to cut into it and dismember the damn thing for a piece of bread that admittedly, I needed to grow into, and grow into it I did. My own kids were fortunately less traumatized by the look of the baby and acquired a taste for it at a very young age as demonstrated by Noelle, age 2 below. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfR26XZJkEaoUX0CH6VsoZ4aS3HK3TI3y9VVvlKV1MDxfwB6XbpSfdQ-AdnTaMMdih2QbVOMtaujUS-6vEV8YB7EzwUjNUBJPvZknedOLFP5zV_CfF4vHk0H_mPKg_bhuuwVaClcNDWCOB/s1600-h/Noelle+and+Easter+baby.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfR26XZJkEaoUX0CH6VsoZ4aS3HK3TI3y9VVvlKV1MDxfwB6XbpSfdQ-AdnTaMMdih2QbVOMtaujUS-6vEV8YB7EzwUjNUBJPvZknedOLFP5zV_CfF4vHk0H_mPKg_bhuuwVaClcNDWCOB/s200/Noelle+and+Easter+baby.JPG" vt="true" width="160" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'm not giving out this recipe either as again, I sincerely doubt anyone would make it or want to eat a baby but I will tell you how to make the baby bread shape. Simply, a piece of dough is rolled out and crossed over the egg, toes are cut with a knife into the bottom of each piece or leg, and voila, un bambino. (When all is said and done, really not such an easy task.) No matter how long I have been making them, my babies never turn out as eerily cute or oddly tasty as Gram's but I do love making them if for no other reason than to carry on my grandmother's tradition so I make a large round one for the Easter host and babies for the other members of my family. Add a shmear of butter and yummo as the infamous RR would say. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Sometime during that week before the holiday, my mother would bake delicious Easter goodies like birds nest cookies and apricot pastries that would also make their debut on Easter morning. Although not a baker, these were her specialties and I don't know of another family that had these cookies in their Easter repertoire. Maybe because they are a <strong>huge </strong>pain in the neck to make! So, as Mindy and I got older, mom started delegating the task to us, particularly the birds nests, and she never went back. I made them for a brief while until Mindy became the family baker and makes them to this day. This recipe I will share with you however because aside from the fact that misery loves company, they are delicious, very colorful and perfect for Easter. Here's the process - you decide....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">After making the cookie dough, Mindy and I would roll teasponfuls into balls, dip them in egg whites and chopped nuts, then place them on a cookie sheet, bake for a few minutes, pull them out, press a hole into the center with the end of a wooden spoon, (fortunately mom always had several spoons regardless of how many she would break on my brother's ass), put them back into the oven for another few minutes, take them out, cool them, then fill them with different kinds of jellies and just keep repeating the process. We would get punchy from standing up and rolling, dipping, denting, filling over and over and over again until all the damn dough was used up and one year, during our bouts of exhausted hysteria, Mindy and I decided we should roll up one big ball and fill it with jellies in sections so we could slice it up and serve it as a cake! We got as far as gathering all the dough into the big ball until my mother coaxed us out of going further through her giggles but it was an exciting idea nonetheless and one we reprised every single year! The apricot pastries didn't fare as well over the years. I have made them a few times and Mindy did them last year but no one has really owned them and probably never will as carrot cake has repeatedly beat them out. (Side note: Since Mindy is hosting Easter dinner this year, I have volunteered to revisit the nests and pastries. I'll let you know if I succumb to the one big nest.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But wait, there's more! What would Easter be without pizza rustica and frittata? That story will just have to wait until next week as the countdown to Easter draws nearer. In the meantime, get started on these...</span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana;">Bird's Nest Cookies</span></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 bag of shelled walnuts chopped</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xSAsgCtwXfO-AY0KtPMz-wVkZ5_OTMYY-7EkGvrMB4QKhDof7rXXPTpb1Txnw2JzbAnMA9X5-mAnNQ50CDvnH84NHmRsJhfR0RYbArM0Au6fTdoOgLYg4WYLR-qtJ-8BuG6lc9SwWQs9/s1600/IMG_0758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xSAsgCtwXfO-AY0KtPMz-wVkZ5_OTMYY-7EkGvrMB4QKhDof7rXXPTpb1Txnw2JzbAnMA9X5-mAnNQ50CDvnH84NHmRsJhfR0RYbArM0Au6fTdoOgLYg4WYLR-qtJ-8BuG6lc9SwWQs9/s200/IMG_0758.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">2 sticks of margarine softened</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">2 egg yolks</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">2 C. flour</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">1/2 light brown sugar</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">2 egg whites</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">Assorted jellies (mint, grape, strawberry, raspberry)</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">-Soften the margarine and add brown sugar. Cream together.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">-Add the egg yolks, blend thoroughly and add flour. Mix well.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">-In separate bowls, put slightly beaten egg whites and chopped nuts.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">-Make balls of dough mixture. Roll first in egg whites and then chopped nuts</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">-Place on a greased cookie sheet in preheated 350 degree oven for 5 minutes; remove from oven and, with the end of a wooden spoon, press the center of the cookie making a dent. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">-Place back in the oven for 8 minutes more. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Remove and place a small amount of thick jam in each cookie pocket.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">What did I tell you????</span> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-53058561845643193042010-02-26T22:54:00.002-05:002010-03-12T22:00:12.150-05:00Lent is here and so is Friday night pizza!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">February is winding down, it's been snowing for 2 days and it's a Friday night during Lent. Though Lent is a time of fasting, repenting, mourning, and examining our conscience, I've always liked this time of year: maybe it's because I like the rituals of old Catholicism that involve mass in Latin, incense, bells ringing, novennas and holy water which resurface meaningfully during this period as we prepare for Christ's resurrection using ashes, reciting the Stations of the Cross and exchanging palm. While I giggled my way throughout church services back then, moaning all the while about having to give up candy, there were no complaints from me about no meat on Fridays.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back in the day, fish wasn't all that it is today. Most of us didn't like it and those of us who did, like us Moli's, ate it sparingly - only on Fridays, Lent or not, and usually flounder or sea squab - no salmon, chilean sea bass or red snapper. But on Fridays in Lent we didn't necessarily dine on fish; sometimes there was spaghetti "aglia ool," (garlic and oil), pasta "vazool," (with beans), lentils or, hold on to your hats, canned sardines usually accompanied by some doughy, stretchy, basily, homemade pizza. Maybe because of the snow, it being a Friday in Lent and ipod tunes like "Build Me up Buttercup" and "Ferry Cross the Mersey" filling the kitchen, I was reminded of those days of yore and made homemade pizza... with sardines on the side.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My father loved sardines and my mother bought a tin of those boneless, skinless things in oil each week. Dad would gingerly peel back the top of the tin with a special key that was glued to side of it, being careful not to spill any oil on the tablecloth or counter, and not a one of us could do it but him. I don't recall my mother, sister or brother liking sardines but I sure did, so much so that my mother would put them into a sandwich on toast that I would take in my lunch bag when I was in grammar school. When I unwrapped the wax papered sandwich, the bread soaked with oil from the sardines, and took a bite from one of the cut quarters, my best friend, Kathy Porter, would publicly and loudly "ew" and "gross" and hold her nose until I wrapped up the remains and tossed it in the cafeteria garbage pail along with Kathy's sour milk container.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight I ate sardines out of a flip top can, without the help of my father, the squishy toast and Porter whose zany ways and tastes in food have grown in leaps and bounds since she was an 11-year old tall, skinny girl frying up and eating her own peeled skin. (Gotcha back, Kath!) Ok so she would still hate the sardines but there's the homemade pizza....</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pizza Dough</span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHh4hjYzxA778P8xQZLOC6DQx8oHwybJFWvKm6r-LRHGG40AM9DzJX6wWp3dYzRe1BGQsJBSDCLRpqZ4DXGBrFdFkWrIcRlPHIBgE_qVJvO8IOqkoqZs9A4bNcvlJ5bucBKONnbu2j2kU/s1600-h/IMG_0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHh4hjYzxA778P8xQZLOC6DQx8oHwybJFWvKm6r-LRHGG40AM9DzJX6wWp3dYzRe1BGQsJBSDCLRpqZ4DXGBrFdFkWrIcRlPHIBgE_qVJvO8IOqkoqZs9A4bNcvlJ5bucBKONnbu2j2kU/s320/IMG_0723.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(for 2 large pizzas)</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 packages of active dry yeast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1-1/2 C. lukewarm water</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pinch of sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4 c. flour</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 tsp. salt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1/4 c. olive oil</span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">cornmeal</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">• Sprinkle the yeast into 1/4 cup of lukewarm water with pinch of sugar. Let it sit for a minute or so and then stir it to mix. Keep in a warm place for about 5 minutes until the mixture doubles in volume.</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">• Mix the flour and salt in a bowl or large pot and make a well in the middle. Add the yeast mixture, 1 cup of lukewarm water and the oil. </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">• Gradually blend the flour into the liquid with your hands until all the flour is mixed in. If more water is needed, add a little at a time. The dough should form a ball but not be too dry or too tacky.</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">• On a floured surface, knead the dough until pliable, about 10 minutes. Put back into the bowl, dust with flour and cover with a plate or pot cover and kitchen towel. Keep in a warm spot for 1-1/2 - 2 hours. Punch down and let rise again.</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sprinkle 2 large cookie sheets with cornmeal. Divide the dough in two parts. Stretch each piece with hands and roll out to an oval/rectangle to fit the cookie sheet on a floured surface. You'll notice that homemade pizza dough is much softer and pliable than store bought so this shouldn't take much time.</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mMBeZo7NKCenYSWUnuQR76WYqyIyNTnND-L6gIZxhQ0Zj9IQxtEOLNJyCFILeyCizPPIATf_ADrSA-h5hxcAZfYKvNPgr9rvaRBOfi8OSVf38-61Ldag8Y1REHZsR61NJ3PVPxfJXchC/s1600-h/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mMBeZo7NKCenYSWUnuQR76WYqyIyNTnND-L6gIZxhQ0Zj9IQxtEOLNJyCFILeyCizPPIATf_ADrSA-h5hxcAZfYKvNPgr9rvaRBOfi8OSVf38-61Ldag8Y1REHZsR61NJ3PVPxfJXchC/s200/IMG_0724.JPG" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Top the pizza with desired toppings. I made them simply with just tomato sauce and mozzarella. Earlier today I made the sauce using one large can of tomatoes, a clove of garlic, drop of olive oil, pinch of salt and several leaves of fresh basil. Don't puree these tomatoes - while the sauce is cooking, use a fork to squeeze the tomatoes and cook the sauce on low heat until it's reduced, about an hour. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you spread the sauce, use your fingers to press it into the dough. Top with grated mozzarella, drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with ground black pepper. Cook on the bottom rack of a preheated 500 degree oven for 10 minutes, making sure the bottom crust is browned. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can’t really prepare in advance for this meal but if scheduled properly, you should have plenty of time to make it to Friday’s Stations of the Cross. Amen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiUsL6JDuSmtCJi28p9hj_VYJS621wRf8oLVrgB4prqC70kJTA4toudkG4TTvbZmmLl3mCQu5hSrDqsrqRHXfKS754wNOWUIVB9-9OUjE8jT7z-YIc2WULutnRnrGIH4fAK6HpLAvJkmW/s1600-h/IMG_0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiUsL6JDuSmtCJi28p9hj_VYJS621wRf8oLVrgB4prqC70kJTA4toudkG4TTvbZmmLl3mCQu5hSrDqsrqRHXfKS754wNOWUIVB9-9OUjE8jT7z-YIc2WULutnRnrGIH4fAK6HpLAvJkmW/s320/IMG_0726.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-18964523680623498682010-02-18T21:38:00.001-05:002010-02-26T22:56:15.863-05:00For Dinner Parties: Tagliatelle Bolognese<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO3wnMQb-PY6m2HZWLUv6Nbj4yl1rPbR7_qmVZ7jbQP3GIAeFyPOdJU2C3QzxRAbyUF4I88VTVLLsFAjcT5Bm_DJq922JkvY3Sxu2OTCDYdGkGkxtIqoaKYA9PqLH5MRR-eVc9UN4P6cEa/s1600-h/IMG_0554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO3wnMQb-PY6m2HZWLUv6Nbj4yl1rPbR7_qmVZ7jbQP3GIAeFyPOdJU2C3QzxRAbyUF4I88VTVLLsFAjcT5Bm_DJq922JkvY3Sxu2OTCDYdGkGkxtIqoaKYA9PqLH5MRR-eVc9UN4P6cEa/s200/IMG_0554.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are you all just dying to know how to make that scrumptious looking bolognese sauce in the picture? I know, I've been holding out but one just can't give away all the best recipes off the bat, and this is one of them. However, since I mentioned my muse, Marcella Hazan in the last post, I will carry through on the Marcella theme in this one and supply the recipe for tagliatelle bolognese, a Marcella Hazan classic.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">But first, a little story.....</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Once upon a time, people used to have fancy dinner parties on Saturday evenings with friends and neighbors, business associates and their wives, (women weren't the business associate back then), and even relatives -always without their kids. I know, dinner parties at other peoples' homes without the children does not belong to the "2000's child-rearing code of conduct" since kids nowadays are always seen, always heard for fear that they may grow up to be serial killers, but I grew up in that other era - not seen, not heard and I think I turned out ok. Ironically, not being included made adult dinner parties fun even for us. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My mother loved her dinner parties. She hosted them regularly but alas, since she was an excellent cook and hostess, she wasn't invited back that often - bad for her but wonderful for my sister, brother and me as we reaped the rewards at our own dinner party before the guests arrived by sampling every delicacy my mother concocted... and she had talent. But we had the most fun with the pre, during and post party activities. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">First there was the shopping: all three of us would accompany mom to the grocery store in her hair rollers and kerchief and distract her from her necessary preparations by conning her into buying us mallomars and TV dinners - anything to leave her alone while she shopped for god's sake! Then there was the cleaning: when my mother was having company, you couldn't live in the house - anywhere. All of us, including my father, weren't permitted to walk into the living room that she just vacuumed for the third time that day, let alone sit on a couch. It's a wonder that she had as many dinner parties as she had since the drill was always the same: she would literally kick my father out of every room and he would whine back that it was his house after all and where was he supposed to read his paper? Added to that mix was my brother who took every opportunity to rile my mother up even more just for the hell of it by touching the table she just set or the flowers she arranged or worse still, anything on the stove because my brother had an uncanny ability to then make those things drop... and break... and just cause total chaos, much to the delight of my sister and me. He'd act up, we'd laugh and he'd get hit - it was a tradition, a ritual, a routine that never wavered and <strong>he'd never learn</strong>. And Mindy and I, well, we would just survey all of mom's dinner party touches, clucking about the tall colored tapers and the little round flat chocolate mints that were arranged in concentric circles on the candy dish at every party while making mental notes to do the exact same thing when we grew up!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Ah, when the doorbell rang and my mother screamed at us in hushed whispers to "get up those stairs right now," then the fun really began. Somewhere after the first course, all three of us would tiptoe out of our rooms to sit on the steps in our center hall colonial, while we snickered, whispered and giggled at the adults making total fools of themselves as they ate and ate and drank and drank. And lo and behold, during those few hours, my mom's pre-party mania would miraculously slip away and she would actually excuse Lillian for staining her perfectly pressed linen tablecloth with beef stroganoff and ignore the red wine stain on the beige rug that she would have to "afta" first thing Sunday or fluff off the cigarette burn on her upholstered chair because in those days <strong>everyone</strong> smoked. Even when my brother would be discovered sneaking into the kitchen to grab a piece of bread, the dinner party spirit would reign supreme and once his presence was acknowledged, we were all invited downstairs for a little while to chat with Jackie and Vinny and pick on the leftovers, even take dessert upstairs. And with all the fussing and prepping and cooking and serving, the dinner party was a declared success, my mom the Martha Stewart of the 70's. Best of all, we kids didn't have to lift a finger to clean up a mess that we got to enjoy and didn't make!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">In later years, I had lots of dinner parties too and alas, like my mother, didn't get a lot of invitations in return. Some of my guests had the nerve to scold me for entertaining them so generously, telling me not to expect anything like what I had done when I came to their house for dinner, maybe 6 to 12 months later. The few invitations I received in return even included my kids which certainly changed the rules of the game, and honestly, some of the fun was gone. The tide had definitely turned and it's obviously still not returned, even in a recession! Maybe the pre and post dinner party mania is just too much to bear in an already stressful world but for me, it's still the best game in town: planning the menu and experimenting with new recipes is fun, the spirit festive, there's a reason to clean the house and the appreciation from your guests is uplifting, so I continue to plan, prepare and host dinner parties. It's really not so bad if you like the people you're entertaining and a little help from the husband/wife/kids goes a long way so try it and you may like it. I'll help too with these stories and advice, direction, recipes - just ask Val.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Marcella's tagliatelle bolognese has made its appearance as a first course at many of my dinner parties and I now happily provide the recipe. Here's a menu for one of my classic dinner parties in which it was served, with the corresponding recipes as well. A long story like this deserves a reward!</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Mushrooms beschamel</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Tagliatelle bolognese</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Veal Marsala</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Zucchini with mint</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Tiramisu</strong></span> </div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Tagliatelle Bolognese</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(for 2 lbs. of tagliatelle)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 yellow onion chopped fine</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">6 T. olive oil</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">6 T. butter</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 celery stalk chopped fine</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 carrot chopped fine</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1-1/2 lbs. ground lean beef</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Salt</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1-1/2 c. dry white wine</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 c. milk</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">1/4 tsp nutmeg</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">2 cans of canned tomatoes </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><ul><li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Using an earthenware pot like Le Crueset or copper dutch oven (which I usually use), melt together the butter and olive oil. Add in the onion and sautee until translucent and slightly golden. </span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Add the celery and carrot and cook for a few minutes till softened.</span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Add the ground beef and salt, crumble with a wooden fork and cook until the meat has lost its rawness. Put in the wine and turn up the heat to medium high and cook, stirring occasionally, until the wine is evaporated.</span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Turn heat down to medium and add the milk and nutmeg, cooking till milk is evaporated.</span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Puree the tomatoes and add to the pot. Like my grandmother, I puree my tomatoes with a food mill. Because the seeds and skin can cause the sauce to be bitter, she believed in using the food mill instead of the blender to puree the tomatoes, and she was right. </span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">When the sauce start to bubble, turn the heat down and simmer slowly. Cook uncovered for 3-1/2 to 4 hours, stirring occasionally. </span></div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Season if needed and toss with pasta to serve.</span></div></li>
</ul><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-49661406833382579972010-02-10T12:32:00.003-05:002010-02-10T19:43:01.851-05:00My favorite recipe of all time: Risotto with Pumpkin<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Based on the recipes I've been giving you, you must think I'm your typical chubby Italian lady with an oregano stalk in my ear mixing my meataballs while stirring my gravy when nothing could be farther than the truth.Well, the chubby Italian part is close but my cooking repertoire is a bit more extensive. Although I love all the old time recipes, and there will be more to come, I started developing an interest in what my family might have considered "nouvelle" Italian cuisine around the time I got married 30 some years ago. My husband-then-boyfriend and I went to the very best restaurants in New York while we were dating: the Four Seasons, il Gattopardo, La Caravelle, Lutece, but our favorite was in Little Italy, <em>il Cortile</em>. Back in 1978, il Cortile would have been considered an upscale restaurant for that area: it was small, the food was excellent and it was always crowded. Since they didn't take reservations for only two, Tony and I would arrive around 8:30 on a Saturday night and wait in the small portico shoulder to shoulder among other starving diners <strong>for hours</strong> (no lie) until we were seated. There were many times when we ate dinner at 11pm with the likes of Lou Pinella (who had hit the ground ball that won the Yankees the series at the time) and it was always worth the wait, for it was at il Cortile where I first ate pasta with pesto, spaghetti puttanesca and "petto di venere" or Venus' breasts (tell you more about that one another time). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Next to the famous meatballs, these were the first dishes I learned to make: the pesto, from a neighbor, the puttanesca from my first recipe book, <em>The New York Times 60 Minute Gourmet </em>by Pierre Franey (minus the clams), both of which became my early contributions to other members of my family. "The 60 minute gourmet" was my bible for the first few years of my marriage until I discovered <em>The Classic Italian Cookbook</em> by Marcella Hazan - the Italian Julia Child who taught me all about the world of Italian cooking that had otherwise revolved around gravy and meatballs, chicken cacciatore and sausage and peppers. Marcella prepared me for the years later when I would live in Italy and would learn more about Italian cooking that would differentiate my cooking from my mother and grandmother's but it all began with her <strong>risotto</strong>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Yes, you need to make your own chicken stock and yes, you need to stand over the stove cooking it slowly for 20 minutes or more, and ok so there's lots of butter, wine and Parmiggiano cheese and sometimes even ingredients that I never even heard of growing up like pancetta and zafferano (saffron), but mastering a risotto has by far, become the most rewarding, versatile and personal favorite dish in my cooking portfolio. It is what I serve guests to make an impression and my family to warm them up. It can be served very simply alla milanese as a side dish for osso bucco or veal saltimbocca or as a main dish with porcini mushrooms, seafood, or, my favorite, zucca, a small squatty pumpkin very common in Italy that you can now find in supermarkets or local specialty markets in the US. If you make a visit to Italy, you will find risotto on every restaurant menu from north to south, getting heavier tasting and richer in ingredients along the way. I prefer to keep it simple..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I made risotto alla zucca for last night's dinner. I found a piece of squatty pumpkin in a small Mexican local vegetable market but if you can't find it, butternut squash is a good substitute. To serve 4 people, I used one small box (16 oz) of arborio rice and 1/4 of the whole zucca, equivalent to one butternut squash. When I make chicken stock for risotto, I make it very "plain" with only parsley, celery and onion which I strain and freeze in quart containers. For this risotto, I cheated a little and used one quart of my own stock plus 2 cups of College Inn low salt chicken broth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Keep in mind that imported arborio rice is usually sold by the kilogram which is slightly over 2 lbs. If you are making that much for more than 4 people or you want leftovers as we sometimes do, use 1/2-3/4 of a whole zucca(2 butternut squash) and at least 2 quarts of stock. Although I love the saffron in risotto, I do not include it in my risotto alla zucca - the pumpkin turns the rice a nice orange color on its own and honestly, how orange is too orange? When making risotto milanese or risotto with seafood, the saffron should be dissolved in warm water and introduced in place of the broth halfway through the cooking process. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Any questions on this process or risotto in general, just ask. Remember, it takes time to master and time to cook, but hey, we're worth it.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQq7N0_W24pNud5wQhZPuvAJ1joL4lRfvnTp9mfCoDLhxglDUUtOZA5WOnSlB_-9cIaEOXbzYd63IS5RS8Xt7nUeNaMSX1ZWxB5blBn-ElnKC5o7LeoKPmJ2vzg5w2xeL4q_xjl1bZQ5qa/s1600-h/IMG_0709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQq7N0_W24pNud5wQhZPuvAJ1joL4lRfvnTp9mfCoDLhxglDUUtOZA5WOnSlB_-9cIaEOXbzYd63IS5RS8Xt7nUeNaMSX1ZWxB5blBn-ElnKC5o7LeoKPmJ2vzg5w2xeL4q_xjl1bZQ5qa/s200/IMG_0709.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span style="color: orange; font-family: Verdana;"><strong>Risotto all Zucca</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 small box (16 oz) arborio rice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1/4 of whole zucca or 1 butternut squash</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 large onion chopped fine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">4 T. butter plus 2 T olive oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1/2 c. dry white wine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1-1&1/2 quart homemade chicken stock or College Inn low salt chicken broth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">4 T. butter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 C. grated Parmiggiano cheese </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Salt and pepper to taste</span><br />
<ul><li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Remove the outer skin of the zucca and cut into cubes. If using butternut squash, be extra careful as the skin is extremely hard. Cut the squash in half lengthwise and remove the seeds. Then cut in half crosswise and remove the skin. This will make it somewhat easier to cut the squash into cubes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In a heavy dutch oven or casserole pot (I usually use a copper pot but Le Crueset is heavier and just as good), melt the butter and olive oil together. Add the chopped onion and saute for a few minutes but don't brown. Add the zucca/squash with a touch of salt and stir constantly.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Cook the zucca until soft but not mushy. Keep in mind that because butternut squash is harder than zucca, it will take longer to cook.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Meanwhile heat the broth in a nearby pot almost to a boil.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Add the arborio rice to the zucca mixture and stir to coat. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Deglaze with white wine, stirring in gradually until the wine is completely absorbed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Here comes the tough part. By the ladleful, add the broth, stirring the rice slowly and gently until it is absorbed, being careful not to let the rice become too dry and burn the pot. After each ladle of broth, stir the rice until absorbed and repeat the process until the broth is completed. This should take about 20 minutes and the rice should be a little hard to the taste but not raw. If you prefer the rice to be softer, add more broth. (You can use College Inn or bouillon.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana;">When the rice is cooked. Turn off the heat and stir in the remaining 4 T. of butter, parmiggiano, ground black pepper and salt to taste. Serve with extra parmiggiano as needed.</span></li>
</ul>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-2456028026656990342010-02-04T10:46:00.000-05:002010-02-04T10:46:30.554-05:00Meatball Variation alla EnzaI think I've mentioned this before: my husband is Sicilian and no, he is NOT in the Mafia. I do admit that he does have tendencies to "never forget" an injustice upon him and I have used all the standard Sicilian "mafioso" digs on him in our fights over the years but beyond that veneer, he is honest, generous and perhaps unfortunately, not involved in any dirty business that might help our declining financial situation. He's also into food as much as I am - it's been the common bond between us from the start and sometimes, the only bond. For the most part, the Calabrese/Sicilian connection is not always an easy one, but I digress....<br />
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The Sicilians cook so differently from what I consider "Italian" cooking. My late mother-in-law used onion, hard boiled eggs, pignoli nuts and raisins in her roasts, meatloaf, meatballs and those other home-style, old- fashioned dishes made with organ meats, like soffritto, that are no longer considered healthy. I ate risotto for the first time at her house (again with chicken livers), caponata, asparagus soup and baby lamb and I thought pasta alla norma was really pasta alla Enza until a few years ago. Although very different from my mother's cooking, I learned to appreciate Enza's Sicilian style. And in case I forgot, she would frequently remind me in her heavy Italian accent: "After all, Valeria, I am Sicilian..." as though that alone was justification for everything she said or did. I say this affectionately - she was a kind, happy, strong woman who thought I was a great Italian cook "for an American girl" and she is missed by us all. <br />
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This blog will talk a lot about my family and the recipes that I grew up with or cultivated myself during my own life experiences but it will also provide some of my mother-in-law's Sicilian ones as well. One of the things I loved was "agre dolce", sour and sweet, broccoli and meatballs. Although she made her meatballs differently from mine and the recipe I had provided, I have used my meatball mixture in this recipe and served it as a main course with rice or some simple pasta on the side. <br />
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Try it out and let me know what you think. <br />
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<strong>Enza's Agre Dolce Meatballs</strong><br />
Meatball mixture (see Jan. 20 post)<br />
2 onions sliced thin<br />
1-1/2 tsp sugar<br />
1/2 c. vinegar<br />
Olive oil for frying (not EVOO)<br />
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After mixing the meatballs, shape them into large squares, rather than rounds. Enza made big meatballs and these need to hold their shape. <br />
<ul><li>In a large pot, <em>not a frying pan</em>, add oil up to about 2" high and heat. </li>
<li>Fry the meatballs with the sliced onions, turning on each side.</li>
<li>When meatballs are browned and mostly cooked, add the sugar and vinegar to the pot. Stir, loosening up the onions but being careful not to break the meatballs.</li>
<li>Cover and let boil 6-7 minutes. If liquid is evaporating quickly, lower the heat slightly.</li>
<li>Simmer 5 minutes more and serve.</li>
</ul>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-59366233927156807132010-01-20T00:48:00.001-05:002010-01-24T20:01:19.987-05:00Mom's Meatballs are the BEST!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I hate cheese. There, I said it. Who would have thought? I’m Italian, I love wine, the perfect accompaniment to cheese, and I cook, pretty good at that I must say, so what respectable cook doesn’t like cheese?<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I don’t like the consistency of it. I’m told that when I was a baby, I literally gagged at those cellophane-wrapped cheese slices, factory-produced by the Kraft company. Why shouldn’t I? They were tacky, and yet slimey: my brother and sister used to take bites of them and stick them to their faces. Talk about gross! They were artificial looking: each slice was exactly the same size, bright orange in color, and conveniently packaged in 8’s, 16’s, and 24’s for every size appetite. And the taste – well, what exactly was the taste? Did they have a taste? All in all, they were just indicative of the era in which I was born in which white, doughy “American” bread and fake cheese sandwiches were a staple.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I don’t like the taste of cheese either, at least not the cheeses that my family ate like LOCATELLI ROMANO, our “macaroni cheese.” I hated seeing my father grate it onto a paper towel and then put it into an old peanut butter jar with holes punctured into the lid that was stored in the refrigerator. I hated it sprinkled on our Sunday platter of macaroni so much so that my mother made my dish separate from the rest of the family’s and for a long time, I wouldn’t help clear the macaroni dishes from the table for fear that my hand would accidentally touch the edge of dish where the remains of my mother’s delicious gravy had been intermingled with that disgusting cheese.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">What makes cheese look, feel and taste so awful to me though was the smell – this overpowering quality was the key to it all. That grated locatelli cheese smelled so awful I couldn’t imagine enjoying a forkful of spaghetti that had any trace of it on it. I came home in tears from many a birthday party where macaroni and meatballs garnished with cheese, even bottled Parmesan, was served. My mother’s occasionally fancy dinners where she served gorgonzola with our salad, even though “on the side,” were totally ruined for me. On holidays, when a sharp piece of provolone was offered up to the family for antipasto as if it were some kind of gift, I kept far away from anyone who came close to the malodorous culprit in case its smell (as its smell) seemed to attach itself to them.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6xKo1vVlX-RouQ66l3bKC_FbOCXADFYNQ0qGLds9-kO0PEstPozsczri6WUgyAS58AiM3sMP_i9pIIP4epXmh9tB48q7oc-ue5vUro3E0AMNhATbPW_aomyGB7e7OpDZqKWfkvE_Ust5/s1600-h/IMG_0637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6xKo1vVlX-RouQ66l3bKC_FbOCXADFYNQ0qGLds9-kO0PEstPozsczri6WUgyAS58AiM3sMP_i9pIIP4epXmh9tB48q7oc-ue5vUro3E0AMNhATbPW_aomyGB7e7OpDZqKWfkvE_Ust5/s200/IMG_0637.JPG" width="200" /></a>Yes, I hated cheese so much that there was doubt in everyone’s mind that I would ever make a meatball for my family when I married – after all, how could you be a good Italian cook without meatballs which of course, contained grated smelly, pungent, c-h-e-e-s-e. My mother marveled at how I would mix the meatballs with my hands, a requirement to the recipe’s success; my sister joked at the outcome, donating a little “meatballer” gadget to my bridal wishing well; and everyone waited with bated breath for the first invitation to Sunday dinner at my house. So, against all the odds, I made my first meatballs and though not like my mother’s, they definitely had legs. My husband’s family used Parmiggiano Reggiano on their macaroni and in their meatballs and because it didn’t smell too bad, and is much milder in taste than locatelli, I made my meatballs with parmiggiano – for years. I used a wooden fork to mix the cheese into the rest of the ingredients and when I thought it was safe, I used my hands to mix it completely. Sorry Mindy, I never used the meatballer…<br />
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The parmiggiano broke the ice and as my meatballing got better, so did my tolerance for cheese. I started eating mild cheeses like gouda and brie and before long, ventured into nibbling on chunks of parmiggiano, perfect with wine, and goat cheese. I still hate Kraft slices, but I will eat cheddar cheese. I hold my nose at provolone and try not to at those who eat it, but I love Jarlsberg. I can’t do gorgonzola on salad or otherwise, no matter how chic, but I will say that I have eaten pizza with “quattro formaggi” many, many times while I lived in Italy… (remember, it’s melted.) And although I will probably never eat locatelli sprinkled on my macaroni, I know it is the key ingredient to the golden brown, crunchy yet soft, salty, moist, absolutely best meatballs that my 78 year old mother still makes every Sunday. So I share the secret to their success with you but don’t breathe a word of it to anyone, especially not in their faces. You know, I guess I don’t hate cheese anymore.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV9-7A94J3P9gVuAYv9spp2DBitkUwbPFSRLV89p2bUCYJ5tWgFPqgHHI5FYtFJ_xUeYeioSEQMMRfVgYvjeu3LWqggtaP15AB7nGBlQ9ImsHdCnSMx_X_TBOXnHqv234x3KH9ZkJ2vgO/s1600-h/IMG_0640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV9-7A94J3P9gVuAYv9spp2DBitkUwbPFSRLV89p2bUCYJ5tWgFPqgHHI5FYtFJ_xUeYeioSEQMMRfVgYvjeu3LWqggtaP15AB7nGBlQ9ImsHdCnSMx_X_TBOXnHqv234x3KH9ZkJ2vgO/s200/IMG_0640.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
</div><strong><em>Mom’s Meatballs<br />
</em></strong>Follow these directions to the letter in order to get the perfect meatball, I mean down to the brand of bread and salt. Don’t scoff. Aside from using parmiggiano instead of locatelli, I’ve used Pepperidge Farm white bread and it’s not starchy or moist enough; I’ve used Italian sea salt and it’s just not salty enough. If your supermarket doesn’t have beef, pork and veal chopped, aka meatloaf mix, ask the butcher! All-beef meatballs are drier and too meaty tasting. Until I used these exact ingredients, my meatballs just weren’t like mom’s. Use your hands to mix the meatballs or you will get chunks of bread or garlic in a bite and please, PLEASE, don’t try to cut on time or calories by removing the frying from the process. If you don’t fry your meatballs before you drop them into the gravy, don’t come crying to me.<br />
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1 ½ lbs.Beef, pork and veal chopped<br />
2 extra large eggs<br />
8 slices Wonder American bread<br />
2 cloves garlic minced<br />
¼ cup parsley chopped<br />
Morton Salt (approximately 1 ½ tsp)<br />
Pepper<br />
½ cup Grated Locatelli Romano cheese<br />
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Put the ground meat into a large mixing bowl and add the salt and pepper and chopped garlic. Drop the eggs into the center and add the cheese and parsley. Taking two slices of bread at a time, run the bread under water and remove the crusts, then ball the bread slices to squeeze out the water. Put each of the sets into the bowl.<br />
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Using a wooden fork, mix all the ingredients until blended. Remove your rings and other jewelry that may be susceptible to catching food particles and finish mixing the meatball mix with your hands.<br />
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Fill a large frying pan halfway with corn or vegetable oil and heat. Meanwhile, roll the meatballs into the desired size. (We sometimes serve meatballs as an appetizer so we make them small; otherwise, roll them the size of a regular good old fashioned meatball.) When the oil is hot put in a few meatballs, but don't overcrowd them, and watch for them to brown before turning. You'll notice that they start to shrink a bit in size and can be moved around in the pan without sticking so you can add more. Don't walk away or do other things while the meatballs are cooking because, in a blink of an eye, they can go from being perfectly brown to becoming crunchy and then dry inside. Turn them on to the other side and cook until nicely browned on both sides. Remove and add another batch.<br />
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At this point, you can either add the meatballs to your fresh gravy or freeze them for future use. Stay tuned for tomato sauce recipes.Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-27263436409457374852010-01-16T18:16:00.003-05:002010-01-19T23:44:52.801-05:00Jessica's favorite: "Piwaf" (aka Rice Pilaf)<span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>My grandson has arrived!</strong></span><br /><br />On January 11, 2010, at 9:26AM Ryan Patrick made his debut into the world at Greenwich Hospital in Connecticut after quite an ordeal. It’s funny about pregnancy and birth – well, not haha funny but somewhat ironic – although it happens every minute of every day all around the world and the drill is basically the same, there’s always something ever so slightly different with each delivery. My daughter’s case is one: all perfect 9 months aside, we all anticipated labor and delivery to be quite ordinary but just about the time Jessica passed the 24 hour mark, things got hairy and baby Ryan presented posterior (or sunny side up as the labor nurses so affectionately refer). Neither pushing nor vacuum nor doctor’s hands would get Ryan out until C-Section prevailed. Adding insult to injury, the anxiety and stress of it all seemed to have lent itself to my daughter contracting postpartum hypertension, with blood pressure readings close to 200/100 and fear of seizures. Instead of feeling joy and excitement, we were all just plain worried.<br /><br />Jessica is home now, after having convinced the doctors that an extended hospital stay would only worsen her condition, and my maternal instincts have kicked in in full force. I can feed, change and cuddle Ryan in true grandmother (aka “Gigi”) fashion and tend to Jessica the way I did when she was just a baby herself. After 28 years, the memories of that time are flooding back - a blessing because I stupidly did not write them down back then and now have an opportunity to flash back and get my memories documented once and for all. I too had C-sections with both my girls and Jessica was a breech baby so although I was in labor, I didn’t have to push so hard and perhaps my trauma was slightly less. I do recall having palpitations when I came home from the hospital and it was my mother’s sage advice, nightly glasses of red wine to help me sleep and comforting, soothing, enriching meals that got me through.<br /><br />With that in mind, the Jessica who is still my baby, and remembrances of my own postpartum twinges, I prepared a welcome home meal for my daughter. To strengthen her blood, roast beef; to give her much needed iron, spinach; to give her comfort and love, rice pilaf, or “piwaf” as she called it, her childhood favorite. Now I know we Italians don’t know from pilaf, but my college roommate’s aunt was Armenian and my mother took this recipe from Harriet’s family 34 years ago at my recommendation and then I adopted it when I had my own family. After all, who would dislike rice and lots of butter? Over the years, dietary concerns have restricted me from serving this tasty side dish but I threw all caution to the wind for Jessica yesterday.<br /><br /><strong>Rice Pilaf<br /></strong>2 cups of raw rice, preferably Carolina<br />4 cups of water<br />2 double Knorr chicken bouillon cubes<br />1 stick of butter<br />½ bag Pennsylvania Dutch fine egg noodles<br /><br />Boil the water with the bouillon cubes in a 6 quart pot. Add the rice and stir; lower the heat and cover. When all the liquid is absorbed and the rice is soft, turn off the heat and let sit.<br /><br />In a large skillet, melt the butter until foamy. Add the noodles and stir with a wooden fork or paddle. Pay close attention at this stage as the noodles can burn easily. When they are golden browned on both sides, turn the heat to low and add the rice, stirring evenly into the noodles. Try to serve while noodles are crisp but if that’s not possible, as is usually the case, rice pilaf tastes just as good with soggy noodles.<br /><br />This is a very simple side that’s great with chicken or steak, or Jessica’s favorite, roast beef.Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-43483581949916018432010-01-03T19:34:00.010-05:002010-01-03T22:46:50.099-05:00Leveraging the LentilsThe doldrums are setting in. The holidays are sadly, (yet happily), over; the tree has dried up and awaits the garbage truck, the stockings, lights and other decorations packed away for another year; the January wind is blowing - fiercely and frigidly - and now I am ready for my grandchild to enter the family to break up the dull months ahead. In the past month, we have eaten every thing from stuffed turkey to fried baccala, from a fenneled, spicey pork roast to a garlicky filet mignon. I've served up tortellini in beef soup, polenta with "gravy," tagliatelle alla bolognese, and macaroni and cheese; I've creamed spinach, stuffed mushrooms, braised carrots, sauted escarole. And we gifted cupcakes, chocolate cakes, cheesecakes and lots and lots of cookies. So what's left? Well, we still have the lentils.<br /><br />Lentils were Friday night meals. My mother served them throughout the cold winter months to warm our insides and since they were always accompanied by a second dish we really liked, even during the old Friday night fish days of Lent, we didn't mind the thick beans with the heavy dark green oil. And as appearingly "dull" as the meal seemed to be, there was an exuberant end-of-the-week tone present each Friday night in that small, warm kitchen. Who am I kidding? Every day of the week was loud and exhuberant in our house but Fridays perhaps more so while my mother served lentils and thick homemade pizza, or lentils with doughy paprika foccaccia, even lentils with "sea squab," a type of blowfish that she found in the local A&P that my sister, brother and I literally BEGGED for each week. Later on, when I got married and had my own kids, I switched it up a bit and served lentils on Friday nights with stromboli's, boboli's or my own homemade pizza, not as thick as my mother's and topped with some of my mother-in-law's pizza ingredients. Although my kids had no baby brother to lock out of the house in the dark while throwing the garbage, there was the same Friday night "exuberance" - lentils, pizza, friends and "<em>Full House" </em>on channel 7.<br /><br />To get you out of the doldrums this winter, leverage those lentils of the new year with strombolis stuffed with spinach and mozzarella, sausage, peppers and mozzarella, or broccoli di rape, sausage and mozzarella. In warmer months these breads can be stuffed with fresh tomatoes and veggies but those recipes will come. And remember, strombolis and pizza make great appetizers too!<br /><p><strong>Using Pizza Dough</strong></p><p>Working the dough takes time. I prefer using homemade dough especially for pizza but when making a stromboli, store bought works well once you learn how to work it well. Here are some of my tips for working the dough for stromboli, or pizza. </p><ul><li>Use only pre-made pizza dough from a bakery, pizzeria or Italian delicatessan</li><li>If dough has been refrigerated, it's important that it's at room temperature before stretching it out and preparing it.</li><li>Sprinkle a baking sheet with a hand full of flour and put the dough on the sheet and cover with a clean dish towel. Let it sit for about 2 hours.</li><li>Sprinkle some flour on the counter top and press the dough down. Using both hands, stretch the dough in a circular motion. Alternate the hand stretching with a small roller or rolling pin, sprinkling with flour.</li><li>The dough should be rolled out to an oval shape that is length and width of a baking sheet. </li></ul><p><em>Spinach and Mozzarella Stromboli</em></p><br />1 fresh pizza dough, prepared as explained above<br />2 packages frozen chopped spinach<br />1 Polly-o mozzarella, grated<br />2 garlic cloves, chopped fine<br />Olive oil to saute spinach<br />Pinch of salt<br />Crushed red pepper or dried red hot pepper (optional)<br /><br />Defrost spinach and squeeze out excess water. Saute in a frying pan with olive oil, chopped garlic, salt and hot pepper if desired. Spread the spinach onto the rolled out dough, leaving a 1-inch border around edges. Sprinkle the grated mozzarella on top of the spinach.<br /><br />Taking one end of the oval, roll the bread approximately 3 times, ending with the narrow end facing the top.<br /><br />Drizzle some olive oil on the bottom of the cookie sheet and spread around with finger tips. Place the bread on the cookie sheet and using your fingers, spread some oil onto the top of the bread.<br /><br />Bake the bread in a preheated oven at 375 degrees for 20 minutes or until the crust is golden browned. When cooled, cut the ends of the bread and slice it lengthwise, then slice it crosswise into slices to serve.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422712562210096018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvlqaCpYCp35jPQSrgdgpTXxQP9CGlMNy0rfP-G_CavqwjV6yADptri8bnI54-psVhe7q9SBqZUTpxyASxDM5zR3TlNfj8iTsr3YVHAZebEhxH-vLOZcZwEbyOFciRmsWQRJ12afVyYWo/s200/IMG_0579.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em>Sausage, Pepper and Mozzarella Stromboli</em><br />1 pizza dough prepared as described above<br />1 lb. sweet fresh Italian sausage with fennel<br />3 red bell peppers, sliced in 1/2" strips<br />1/2 lb. mozzarella, grated<br />Olive oil for sauteing the peppers<br /><br />Take sausage out of its casing and brown the rounds in a frying pan with a tablespoon of olive oil, stirring frequently. Remove the browned sausage to a bowl. In the same pan, add another tablespoon of oil and fry the peppers.<br /><br />Spread the sausage and peppers onto the pizza dough and sprinkle with mozzarella. Roll the bread from the narrow end as done for the spinach bread but be careful to avoid making holes in the dough from the sausage.<br /><br />Drizzle olive oil into a cookie sheet and lift the bread carefully onto it. Using your fingertips, spread the oil onto the top of the bread. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until golden brown. When cooled, cut off either end and slice bread lengthwise, then slice it crosswise into slices to serve.Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-52495880141948919842009-12-31T10:31:00.002-05:002010-01-03T19:12:08.804-05:00New Year is always the year of the pig<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In my family, every holiday is steeped with tradition, some meaning behind the foods we use to celebrate and commemorate the occasion, but I never quite understood our New Year's menu. When I was young, the "eve" was celebrated at home with my parents and siblings, watching Guy Lombardo (the father) or Dick Clark, with what I now consider Super Bowl fare: cheese fondue, pigs in a blanket, Italian cold cuts - prosciutto, capicolla, sopresatta - and sausage with "cipolline," an antique Calabrese dish that combined fresh sweet sausage from “Guido’s” Italian specialty and delicatessen with dried tiny onions, impossible to peel, in a frying pan. On New Year's Day at my grandparents, aside from some simple pasta, there was always some kind of pork roast and greasy, crunchy potatoes; one year, there was an entire pig with an orange in its mouth that although tasty, freaked us all out. (We had exchanged the apple for an orange to accomodate my grandfather who could not abide the smell or taste of an apple of any kind.)<br /><br />Perhaps you have figured it out already: the sacrificial lamb of my family's New Year's table is the pig. Many years later when I lived in Italy, I discovered that pork, particularly sausage, is the traditional and classic ingredient of the occasion, and an integral component in ensuring success for the upcoming new year. In Italia, the new year begins with "cotechino e lenticchie”. Cotechino is a delicious, savory, fresh pork sausage and lenticchie (lentils) are said to bring good luck and prosperity in the new year. For those adventurous souls, I am providing the recipe for this classic Italian dish. Keep in mind that the cotechino isn’t easy to come by – It’s from Northern Italy but you can try Dean and Deluca or the Calabrese pork store on Arthur Ave. If you don’t want to try that hard, here’s my variation on the theme. You can serve the lentils separately, as a soup, or try our thick version. As for the sausage, it’s pretty easy to just roast it and serve separately. Add a loaf of crusty bread and some Prosecco and you have a real Italian New Year’s feast.<br /><br /><strong>New Year’s Lentils and Roasted Sausage – my style</strong><br /><span style="color:#006600;"><em>For the lentils</em><br /></span>1 bag of green lentils<br />1 stick of dried sweet sausage, peeled and cut into equivalent chunks per serving<br />Extra virgin olive oil good enough for dipping bread<br />Dried sweet red peppers or crushed red pepper (optional)<br /><br />Rinse lentils in a strainer.<br />In a 3 quart saucepan, add lentils and water to cover. Add a pinch of salt and the chunks of Italian sausage. Bring to boil, lower gas and cover, stirring until all water is absorbed and lentils are tender. Note that you may need to add some more water to complete cooking.<br /><br />If you have dried red peppers which you can either buy at an Italian specialty store or make yourself in a dehydrator like my mom does, sauté a few and after removing them to a dish, salt them sparingly. You can replace this ingredient with crushed red pepper but remember, this will make the dish spicey.<br /><br />Serve the lentils into individual bowls and top with a swirl of olive oil and crumbled dried fried red peppers. </span><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgjr6CwKc-8xVDhuz-3omNMTNRzY4kQ7gvth42TFG-irV28Hz8w6fIUzrmtIBBQ2w-47K6xqOf4AzGlO0UozxsgXH9m6Xntah_QliVAQ9Uggx30Q7goVYNK2m4H2Qg1hpRo9VyKX6xGlv/s1600-h/IMG_0584.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422668241828657986" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgjr6CwKc-8xVDhuz-3omNMTNRzY4kQ7gvth42TFG-irV28Hz8w6fIUzrmtIBBQ2w-47K6xqOf4AzGlO0UozxsgXH9m6Xntah_QliVAQ9Uggx30Q7goVYNK2m4H2Qg1hpRo9VyKX6xGlv/s200/IMG_0584.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">For the sausage</span></em><br />3 lbs of sweet fresh Italian sausage with fennel<br />6 potatoes<br />1 onion<br />Olive oil<br />Oregano<br /><br />Lightly coat the bottom of a roasting pan with 2 T. olive oil. Add the sausage, potatoes cut in quarters and sliced onion. Pierce sausage with a fork and sprinkle with oregano and a touch of salt. Bake in a 375o oven for 30 minutes; turn sausage and potatoes and bake for another 30 minutes until sausage is browned and potatoes are browned and crunchy.<br /><br />Note that although the sausage will be fully cooked in that time frame, you can continue to cook longer or remove sausage so that potatoes may continue to brown and crunch up as desired. </span></div><div><br /> </div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5a4Da1iiGwIG7bqkMgTQEFN5OueRpkvFkfgGG37-sRbCTGppNZnJacA6Tho074u5AD14FB5BlNJwXXnZlR2pJUGwC9eynJdFsULzTXsqOdiSrWk-ECBzB1moWSu3Q9y1-nF3YNRcwHhcc/s1600-h/IMG_0558.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422668247425503234" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5a4Da1iiGwIG7bqkMgTQEFN5OueRpkvFkfgGG37-sRbCTGppNZnJacA6Tho074u5AD14FB5BlNJwXXnZlR2pJUGwC9eynJdFsULzTXsqOdiSrWk-ECBzB1moWSu3Q9y1-nF3YNRcwHhcc/s200/IMG_0558.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>The original "Cotechino e Lenticche"</strong> </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One 1-pound cotechino, preferably uncooked </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1 pound green or brown lentils, picked over & rinsed </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1 carrot, finely chopped </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1 medium onion, finely chopped </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1 stalk celery, finely chopped </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2 garlic cloves, minced </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2 cups chicken broth </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Salt & black pepper</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In a large bowl, soak the cotechino in water to cover for 1 to 2 hours. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Place the lentils in a soaked 3-quart clay pot. Stir in the carrot, onion, celery, and garlic. Add the broth and 1 cup of water. Cover the pot and place it in a cold oven. Set the oven temperature to 450 degrees F and cook for 1 hour, until the lentils are soft but not mushy. (Check the lentils after 30 minutes, adding an additional cup of water it the liquid has dropped below the surface of the lentils.) Season with salt and pepper to taste.I Meanwhile, with a fork, pierce the cotechino in 8 to 10 places. Place the cotechino in a deep skillet and add enough water to cover. Cover the pan, bring the water to a simmer, and cook the sausage gently for 20 minutes if using cooked cotechino, 50 minutes if using uncooked. Spoon the lentils onto a serving platter. Cut the sausage into 3/4-inch slices and arrange over the lentils. </span></div></div></div></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271403954651893491.post-64227846430618428812009-12-31T09:33:00.001-05:002010-01-03T19:34:10.719-05:00Welcome to my World<div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For a long time, I have collected recipes: some originate with my family and have been modified throughout the generations, and others are taken from cook books, magazines and cooking classes I have taken both in the US and Italy, also modified throughout the years. Not only are they tried and true and taste great, they have one thing in common: each has a very special meaning to me as they are associated with a particular person, place or occasion in my life which brought happiness. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For a long time, I have been dreaming of combining them - the story with the recipe because, among other things, I am also a writer. No longer the writer I had once hoped to be, but still one who likes to finesse the words in just the right way so the reader will understand a procedure better, thanks to me. Providing communications about technology to technology users has trained me to do that well. Understanding that anyone who eats usually associates the food with traditions, occasions and people, makes the combination of the story and the recipe more "digestable." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And so, this blog comes from my passion for great food that uses fresh, mostly healthy ingredients, the love of the people that I have cooked for and served and the funny, happy, and sometimes sad memories around each and every recipe. I hope you enjoy the stories and will use this recipes to create your own memories.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9966;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Valerie</strong></span> </span></div>Val V.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17698091878119805889noreply@blogger.com1