Chickpeas: Neither Chick Nor Pea: Discuss...

In our house, I am solely responsible for planning our meals, as well as planning the grocery runs that make them possible. I sit down every Thursday or Friday and look at the store ads online to see what the best bargains are for the week. Then, I conduct a mental (and sometimes physical inventory of the fridge, and what ingredients need to be utilized in short order. Next, peruse my Pinterest boards to see what new recipes I could try that best combine items that are on sale with items we already have, and finally, I write down a list of what ingredients we need to buy.

Given that all this decision-making falls on me, it would be easy to abuse this power and impose my culinary vision on Justin however I see fit. I could easily eliminate ingredients from our diet that don't appeal to me, but for the most part, I strive to make my kitchen dictatorship a benevolent one.

This is why I decided to include a variation on pasta e ceci, or pasta with chickpeas, a classic Italian pairing, in this week's meal rotation. I've never been much of a fan of the legume, in fact, I eschewed eating hummus at all until the past couple years or so, but my beloved loves chickpeas almost as much as he loves me.

I think he also loved this recipe because he was able to do almost all the chopping in the food processor, which is a huge time-saver compared to the usual recipes I request him to make that require lots of meticulous chopping my hand. (It was truly a stroke of tremendous foresight to have signed us up for that knife skills class back in the early days of our relationship!) 

It did have an added step, in the form of creating a garlic and rosemary-infused olive oil to drizzle over the top of the finished dish, but we felt that the effort-to-result ration was skewed in its favor -- it really brought something special to the dish, and rescued it from being bland. As for me, I felt that the starch-on-starch of the beans with the pasta was a little much for me, though the chickpeas maintained their texture surprisingly well. For a non-chickpea lover, this wasn't actually a good thing, but the dish benefited from having a bit of textural contrast, even if I was left longing for some meat, or nuts, or really anything besides the garbanzos.

Still, Justin really liked this dish, so I'll be sure to incorporate it into our future meal planning. After all, I'm always on the lookout for something to do with the giant seven pound cans of chickpeas he buys from a nearby ethnic grocery store. A girl can only eat so much hummus, and even if I'm not super enthusiastic about this dish, it could be a welcome change of pace...

Ditalini with Chickpeas and and Garlic-Rosemary Oil

adapted from Bon Appétit

1 medium onion, quartered

1 medium carrot, peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces

1 celery stalk, cut into 1-inch pieces

6 garlic cloves, 4 whole, 2 chopped

1/2 cup flat-leaf parsley leaves

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1/2 cup olive oil, divided

Kosher salt

2 tablespoons tomato paste

2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, rinsed

1 pound ditalini or elbow macaroni

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary

1. Pulse onion, carrot, celery, whole garlic cloves, parsley, and red pepper flakes in a food processor until finely chopped; transfer to a small bowl and set aside. Wipe out food processor bowl and set aside.

2. Heat 1/4 cup oil in a large heavy pot over medium heat; add reserved vegetable mixture, season with salt, and cook, stirring often, until golden, 8-10 minutes. Stir tomato paste and 1 cup water in a small bowl to combine; add to pot. Cook, scraping up any browned bits from bottom of pot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer until liquid has almost evaporated, 5-8 minutes.

3. Add chickpeas and 2 cups water to pot and simmer for 15 minutes to let flavors meld. Transfer 1 cup chickpea mixture to food processor; purée until smooth, then stir back into sauce to thicken.

4. Meanwhile, cook pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente. Drain pasta, reserving 1 1/2 cups pasta cooking liquid.

5. Add pasta and 1/2 cup pasta cooking liquid to sauce and stir to coat. Increase heat to medium and continue stirring, adding more pasta cooking liquid as needed, until sauce coats pasta.

6. Heat remaining 1/4 cup oil in a small sauce­pan over medium-low heat; add chopped garlic and rosemary and cook until sizzling stops, about 1 minute. Divide pasta among bowls and drizzle with garlic-rosemary oil.

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomahto...

Never say never. Just last week, I was comparing kitchen notes with a friend of mine, who has an equally impressive collection of cooking implements and utensils. It seemed that the only items on which we diverged were our preferred tools for making mashed potatoes. His vote went to the food mill, which has the added benefit of straining out seeds and skins for jam-making and creating homemade apple sauce. A fine, multi-tasking choice, but given that I never make any of those other foods, my vote went to the potato ricer, the device preferred by Alton Brown, one of my food idols. I razzed him a little bit about his preference for the food mill, and proclaimed that I would never be in the market for one myself.

Flash forward to last night, when I sent Justin on an emergency trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to procure a last-minute food mill. Unexpectedly, we had found ourselves in possession of a huge bag of homegrown garden tomatoes, a gift from some family friends with whom we had had dinner. Given that I hate raw tomatoes, there was no way that Justin would be able to eat the entire bounty on his own, especially considering that they were already extremely ripe and on the verge of spoiling. The only solution I could come up with was to turn the tomatoes into tomato sauce -- something we would both eat.

Because the tomatoes consisted of an assortment of cherry, plum, and other small heirloom varieties, I immediately thought of an old episode of Good Eats I'd seen years ago, when Alton Brown turned a batch of Roma tomatoes into an unusual sauce by roasting them in the oven instead of simmering them on the stove. I'd always been curious about it, but was too dedicated to my mother's spaghetti recipe, which calls for doctoring up a bottle of Ragu, to ever get around to trying it. Now, with a bag of rapidly deteriorating tomatoes gracing my counter, it seemed that the time for Alton's recipe had finally arrived.

The only catch was that the recipe called for a food mill to remove all the skins and seeds while grinding the roasted tomatoes, garlic, onion, and herbs into a puree that might properly be called a sauce. Much as it pained me to do so, I sent Justin to the store to purchase one while I got started on the sauce. With a nearly three hour prep time for the recipe, I needed to get started right away, or else I would have been up into the wee hours of the evening working on it, and nobody wants to do that on a work night.

While roasting the tomatoes, a heavenly aroma emanated out of the oven, that seemed to be most promising. My new, OXO brand food mill worked like a dream, creating a smooth, luscious sauce. The only problem was that the recipe ultimately yielded so little. Since my tomatoes had been on the petite side, I used more than the recipe called for, but it proved to not be enough. I ended up with approximately enough sauce to dress one and a half servings of pasta. Hardly enough to make all the hours of effort worthwhile. 

The sauce did have a beautiful complexity, and I loved the herbal notes brought about by the addition of thyme in addition to the standard oregano. I might consider making it again in the future with bigger tomatoes, to see if I could increase the yield, otherwise, I'm not sure all that effort would be worth it. Making it again would, however, give me another opportunity to use my new food mill. Otherwise, I'm going to have to take up home canning or something in order to justify the purchase and the space it is currently taking up in my cabinets...

Oven-Roasted Tomato Sauce

adapted from Alton Brown

20 Roma tomatoes, halved

1/4 c. olive oil

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon pepper

1 c. finely diced onion

2 teaspoons garlic, minced

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 tablespoon vodka

Preheat oven to 325.

In 2 (13x9-inch) pans place tomato halves cut side up. Sprinkle with oil, salt and pepper, onion, garlic, and herbs. Bake tomatoes for 2 hours. Check the tomatoes after 1 hour and turn down the heat if they seem to be cooking too quickly. Then turn the oven to 400 degrees and bake another 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and process tomatoes through a food mill on medium dye setting over a small saucepan. Discard skins and seeds. Add vodka, bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and cook for 5 minutes.

Keep It Simple, Stupid...

Ever since I've taken a greater interest in food, I've made more of an effort to seek out culinary experiences when I travel. In Istanbul, I took in the sights and smells of the spice bazaar, where heaping piles of brightly-colored spices compete for consumers' attention, and on my most recent trip to Italy, I made sure to check out the central markets in Florence and Ravenna. Foodie travel icon Anthony Bourdain says the best way to learn about a place is through its markets, and while I'm not sure I completely agree with that, it is a treat unto itself to see all the rare foods that are common in other countries but that don't get imported to the United States for whatever reason.

For example, in the upper right hand corner of this photo is burrata, a cheese that has recently become trendy in the U.S., but is almost always inferior to the Italian original. The cheese spoils so rapidly that it is wrapped in leaves on the day it is made. When the leaves begin to wilt, you know the cheese is no longer fresh.

In addition to visiting the markets, I felt a certain hyper-awareness of what I was eating when I was in Italy this time around. I enjoyed the food a great deal more than I did the first two times I was there, due to a combination of older, more diverse taste buds and greater knowledge about what I was eating. Also, I feel that I have much stronger memories of what I ate this time around. 

A simple plate of spaghetti all'amatriciana, for example, stands out in my mind as a study in culinary elegance. There weren't many ingredients, but everything in the recipe served an important purpose. Guanciale, or cured pork jowl, adds a funky, smokey flavor to the dish, balanced by the heat of red pepper flakes. Tomatoes provide acidity, and onions lend their sharp bite. Italians can be very rigid and resistant to interpretive license with their classic dishes, and it is easy to see why -- you shouldn't mess with perfection.

Since I don't have one of those expansive, European-style markets at my disposal, I had to make a few improvisations when I attempted to replicate that plate of pasta in my own kitchen. For one, guanciale only exists at expensive gourmet shops, so I substituted bacon, since I had some on hand. It wasn't quite the same, but it would do. I also substituted regular, cheap canned tomatoes for the imported San Marzano varietal favored by Italians. Sacrilege, I know, but the dish still turned out just fine. 

The dinner I ended up with, bucatini all'amatriciana, was easy and quick enough to be a regular weeknight meal around here. It will never supplant Sardinian sausage sauce as my favorite at-home Italian meal, but it's always good to have options, especially when they conjure up such happy memories...

Bucatini all'Amatriciana

adapted from Saveur

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

4 oz. pancetta or bacon , cut into strips

Freshly cracked black pepper, to taste

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 small carrot, minced

1⁄2 medium onion, minced

1⁄2 teaspoon. crushed red chile flakes

1  28-oz. can crushed tomatoes

1 lb. bucatini or spaghetti

1/2 c. grated Pecorino Romano cheese, plus more for serving

Heat oil in a large, high-sided skillet over medium heat. Add pancetta; cook, stirring, until lightly browned, 6–8 minutes. Add pepper; cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes more. Increase heat to medium-high; add garlic, carrots, and onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 6 minutes. Add chile flakes; cook for 1 minute. Stir in tomatoes, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until sauce thickens and flavors meld, 20–25 minutes. Season with salt; keep warm.

Bring a large pot ofsalted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until just al dente, 6–8 minutes. Reserve 1⁄2 cup pasta water; drain pasta. Heat reserved sauce over medium heat. Add pasta and reserved water; cook, tossing, until sauce clings to pasta, 2–3 minutes. Add 1⁄2 cup Pecorino; toss. Divide between serving bowls; serve with additional Pecorino.

Didn't We Almost Have It All...

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can't make something work, even when it seems like you are poised for success. Such was the case with tonight's dinner, a pasta dish that I selected based on what I believed to be the foolproof triad of bacon (which makes everything better), Brussels sprouts (a vegetable of which I am growing increasingly fond), and dried cranberries (which are surprisingly delicious in pasta, just try them in a basil cream sauce with chicken and fettuccine if you don't believe me.) I really couldn't fathom how that combination of ingredients could possibly go wrong, so I selected it as a relatively simple weeknight meal. 

Somewhere along the line, however, my foolproof meal turned into a flop. After following the directions in the recipe, the Brussels sprouts turned out completely overcooked -- soggy and bitter. No amount of crispy bacon, sweet-tart nuggets of dried fruit, or savory sauce was going to fix this nightmare. After all, it was generations of miserable, cooked-to-death Brussels sprouts that gave them their maligned status today, and when the usually tender, savory sprouts are cooked within an inch of their lives, they pretty much deserve all that bad press.

Usually, Justin and I playfully argue over who will get to take an evening's leftovers for lunch the next day if there isn't enough for both of us, but not tonight. Both of us tried to persuade the other to take them, in the guise of doing them a favor, but we both knew nobody wanted to eat this dish again. 

I'm not sure I'd be willing to give this another try. I do believe in this flavor combination, and perhaps if the sprouts were properly cooked, this would still have the potential to be delicious. After this failure, however, I'm almost to traumatized to try it. I've adjusted the recipe to reflect the changes I would try next time, if there is a next time...

Pasta with Brussels Sprouts, Cranberries, and Caramelized Onions

adapted from Serious Eats

4 oz. bacon, sliced into 1/4 inch strips

12 oz. Brussels sprouts, halved and trimmed

1 medium onion, sliced

1 1/4 c. chicken broth

1/2 c. dried cranberries, chopped

6 oz. fettuccine or spaghetti

2 oz. Parmesan cheese

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. While that warms up, toss the bacon into a large skillet set over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the bacon has rendered some of its fat and is crisp, five to seven minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels.

2. Turn the heat to medium-high, and add the Brussels sprouts cut-side down. Cook, making sure not to stir them, until they are browned, about two minutes. Add the onion slices, stir, and cook until the onions are translucent, about four minutes. 

3. Pour in the broth, vermouth, and dried cranberries. Stir well. Cover the skillet, reduce heat to medium, and cook until the sprouts are very tender, about 5 minutes. 

4. Meanwhile, cook the pasta according to the directions on the packaging, minus a minute or two. When done, reserve 1/4 cup of the cooking liquid, and drain the pasta in a colander. Then toss the pasta into the skillet along with the pasta water. Turn heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring constantly, until the pasta is well coated and the liquid has evaporated, one to two minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with grated Parmesan and the cooked bacon.

Orange You Glad...

Often, my menu choices are inspired by curiosity about a given recipe. I routinely find myself asking, "Does that flavor pairing really work?" or "Could I handle that complicated technique?" Often, I begin cooking with a sense of, "Well, this will either be brilliant or terrible." For the most part, I've had fairly good luck with the thirty or so new dishes I've tried since we moved a little over two months ago (time flies, doesn't it?), despite the skepticism about my recipe choices voiced from such critics as my mother, who frequently questions the unusual flavor combinations to which I am drawn. 

Tonight, I was moved to try a recipe that seemed so odd, even I had serious doubts. It called for pasta in a simple cream sauce flavored with prosciutto and, of all things, orange. I had never heard of such a paring, but I spotted it in a Bon Appetit article about the Emilia-Romagna, the region of Italy that is home to Bologna and Ravenna, both of which I visited last fall when I was traveling with Dad. Considering how exceptionally well we ate in both cities, I figured this seemingly odd recipe couldn't be all bad, so I filed it away for another time. 

This recipe finally moved to the front of the queue today because I had a Groupon for Fox and Obel (my favorite gourmet food shop in Chicago) that was getting ready to expire next week. I couldn't come up with any truly extravagant purchases I wanted to make there, so I decided to stock up on a few expensive and/or hard-to-find ingredients to round out some of the recipes that had been lingering on my to-do list. There was high-quality Parmesan cheese, golden syrup, imported from England, for a few British desserts I've had my eye on, maple sugar for more of my beloved macadamia-maple sticky bars, and pricey Italian charcuterie to make both this pasta dish and a pizza with pancetta that I'm planning to make tomorrow. It was an odd assortment of items, but the Groupon gave me a chance to experiment with some ingredients that otherwise would have been beyond our budget right now.

Ultimately, I'm really glad that I snapped up that Groupon months ago, because both Justin and I loved this pasta dish. I'm going to start keeping an eye out for prosciutto on sale at our regular grocery store, because we'd both like to make this dish a staple around here. It was incredibly quick to put together -- probably about six minutes of effort all together, outside of boiling the pasta water. The sauce may have been cream-based, but the citrus notes from the orange made it feel light and refreshing. The salty prosciutto was balanced by the acidity and sweetness from the oranges, and the whole dish was mellowed by the presence of cream. It was truly perfect, and an excellent weeknight meal. I can't recommend this one enough!

Fettucine with Prosciutto and Orange

adapted from Bon Appetit

12 oz. fettuccine (preferably fresh)
2 tablespoon. unsalted butter
2 oz. thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into 1" pieces
Zest and juice of 1 orange
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup finely grated Parmesan

Freshly ground black pepper

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Season with salt; add pasta and cook, stirring occasionally, until 1 minute before al dente, about 2 minutes for fresh pasta, longer for dried. Drain, reserving 1/4 cup pasta water.

Meanwhile, melt butter in a large heavy nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add prosciutto; sauté until browned, about 3 minutes. 

Add reserved pasta water, orange juice, half of zest, and cream; bring to a boil. Add pasta; cook, stirring, until sauce coats pasta and pasta is al dente, about 1 minute. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in cheese and divide among warm bowls. Sprinkle remaining orange zest over pasta.

Using Your Noodle...

It's amazing how things slip through the cracks, falling to the wayside in the endless blur that is our daily lives. The recipe I made for dinner tonight, for example, is something that's been on my to-do list for nearly two months, but it always fell off my radar when something else would come up -- an unexpected dinner with family or friends, being too tired to cook, or needing to eat up some leftovers that I hadn't counted on when I did my meal planning at the beginning of the week. This dish kept getting bumped because all the ingredients were already in my freezer and pantry, and I could leave them be for another week while something intriguing went on sale at the grocery store and needed to be consumed in a short window of time.

It's good to have flexible meals like that; something that you could make at any time, but I've been so eager to try this recipe that I was starting to get a little sad that it always got put off. You see, when I read the list of ingredients, I suspected that I would really enjoy the end product, given that it contained spicy sausage, tomatoes, garlic, saffron, and onion -- all ingredients that can be found in my favorite pasta sauce. So this week I made up my mind that I wouldn't let myself get distracted, and that I would finally make this dish happen.

I was glad that I did. The recipe is a spin on fideos -- broken bits of either angel hair or spaghetti, that are used for a variety of eponymous soup and noodle dishes in Spain and Latin America. This particular incarnation fell more into the soup category, and it came together quickly enough to make it a more than acceptable weeknight meal choice. The broth was flavorful and a bit spicy from the andouille sausage (authentic Spanish chorizo is inexplicably difficult to find around here; the grocery stores only seem to carry Mexican chorizo, which is a fresh sausage, not cured, and therefore not a viable substitute.) The shrimp added a nice pop of briny sweetness every now and then.

My only complaint is that the recipe didn't make very much, and we only had a single bowl leftover. When you have two people in the house that need lunches to take to work, tense words are exchanged over who gets the coveted leftovers and who gets another salami sandwich, so in the future, I may opt to double this recipe. It's definitely worth giving it another go, given the convenience of having all the ingredients on hand (what does that say about me, that I keep shrimp and andouille sausage in the freezer, and saffron in the pantry at all times?), and the fact that it turned out to be just as delicious as I had hoped.

Fideos with Shrimp and Chorizo

adapted from Sunset

1 onion chopped fine

4 oz. cut spaghetti

3 garlic cloves, minced

pinch of saffron threads

1 15 oz. can crushed tomatoes

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 lb. Spanish chorizo or andouille sausage, halved lengthwise and sliced thickly

2 1/2 c. chicken stock

1/2 lb. medium shrimp, peeled and deveined 

1. Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large wide pot over medium-low heat. Add onion and cook, covered, until starting to soften, 5 minutes. Add pasta and more oil if it looks dry, then toast over medium-high heat, turning constantly with tongs, until golden. Add garlic and saffron, tomatoes and tomato paste, sausages, and broth.

2. Boil pasta in soup, uncovered, until noodles are tender, about 5 minutes.

3. Add shrimp and cook just until pink and curled, about 1 minute. Season with salt to taste.

Food of the Gods...

Although part of my New Year's resolution was to do more cooking at home, the fact that all of my pots, pans, and other cooking equipment are about to go into boxes is putting that plan on a bit of a hold. I'll be getting back to that goal once we're settled into our new place, but in sort of a last hurrah for my culinary career in my current kitchen, I decided to ring in 2012 with one of my best dishes, the caramelized onion, bacon, and Gruyere pizza that is much-beloved by my mother, and was one of the first dishes I ever wrote about here on "The State I Am In." Though I had made pizza from scratch with Justin last year, I had yet to make my most famous recipe for him to sample, so I figured it was time to stop holding out on him.

Tonight, since he was coming over for dinner again, I decided to prepare for him another recipe that I had been quietly keeping to myself -- mac and cheese Lorraine. After discovering my affinity for flavor combination of Gruyere, bacon, and caramelized onions, I started seeking it out in other forms a few years ago, and I found a mind-blowingly delicious mac and cheese recipe that touched on all three of that pizza's major ingredients. I've sometimes made it as a quicker, less fussy alternative to the pizza version that captures some of the magic of the original without going through the multi-hour effort of making a crust. More often, however, I've made it as a way of using up the leftover caramelized onions from making the pizza (it takes so long to make them, that I typically make more than I need just to have them on hand. They're also excellent in quesadillas with some blackened chicken.)

Justin is kind of an easy sell when it comes to any recipe involving bacon, so I was hardly surprised when he emitted a rapturous "Mmm!" before the spoon even reached his mouth. I was not prepared, however, for the startled exclamation of, "Oh my God, this is REALLY good!!" that came next. I was pleased that he liked it so much, but I don't think I've ever served him anything that was borderline inedible. There were some recipes I've tried in the last year that have been better than others, but overall, my cooking adventures tend to be relatively successful. I guess I should be happy that I can still surprise him at this point.

Now that I'm finally sharing this recipe with you, I think you need to try it. Yes, it's on the heavy side. Yes, it's not exactly New Year's resolution diet-friendly. But it will knock your socks off, and probably those of your significant other as well. Make it for someone who you're trying convince of your skills as a domestic goddess (or god, for that matter), and awe them your ability to produce a bowl of utter deliciousness. Or, do what I did before I met Justin, and make a pot just to pamper yourself. You deserve a tasty surprise too, after all...

Mac and Cheese Lorraine

adapted from Rachel Ray

1/2 lb. pipette or elbow macaroni

4 pieces bacon, chopped

1 onion, thinly sliced

1 1/2 tablespoons butter

1 1/2 tablespoons flour

2 tablespoons chicken stock

1/2 c. milk

1/2 c. heavy cream

1 c. Gruyere cheese, grated

salt, pepper, and nutmeg to taste

1. Over medium-high heat, cook bacon to crisp. Remove to paper towels and drain.

2. To fat, add onions and cook 45 minutes to an hour until deep mahogany and well-caramelized, stirring occasionally. 

3. While onions cook, boil the pasta and prepare sauce.

4. Heat a sauce pan over medium heat. Add the butter, melt, and whisk in flour. Cook one minute, then whisk in stock, milk, and cream, and bring to a bubble. Allow to thicken a few minutes, and season with salt, pepper, and a scant pinch of nutmeg. 

5. Stir in cheese using a figure-8 motion. 

6. Drain pasta, stir in onion and cheese sauce to coat. Top with crispy bacon to serve.

Love At First Bite...

Some foods have magic powers of seduction. Three years ago, I was standing in my cousin Candy's kitchen on Thanksgiving, watching the highly-choreographed ballet of food preparation underway, when I spotted an innocent-looking little cheese plate that Candy had set out for people to nosh on until lunch was ready. Having recently acquired an affinity for goat cheese on a trip to Normandy earlier that fall, I smeared what appeared to be an herbed chèvre on a cracker and popped it in my mouth. It wasn't quite as tangy as goat cheese, and though I wasn't sure what it was, I knew it was tasty.

Embarrassingly, I'd soon eaten almost all of the round piece of cheese, and had to ask the hostess what it was that had just caused me to lose all self-control in the face of an even bigger meal to come. Candy told me it was called Boursin, she bought it at Costco, and she liked serving it when entertaining. Ever since that fateful day, I've been engaged in a full-blown love affair with Boursin, and I don't even want to think about how many foil-wrapped packages I've consumed on crackers since then.

Hence, when I was scouring the web looking for compelling recipes to satisfy my New Year's resolution of experimenting more in the kitchen and I came across a recipe for macaroni and cheese employing Boursin, it skyrocketed to the top of my to-do list. In my years of Boursin consumption, it had never once occurred to me to use the cheese as a cooking ingredient, or anything more than a snack, so I was curious to see how it would work in a different context. I recruited my favorite sous-chef, whose impeccable cheese grating skills rescued my manicure, and we made quick work of this mac and cheese recipe.

Both Justin and I really enjoyed this recipe, which was creamy and luscious, though the herbs and garlic included in the Boursin were what truly made the dish spectacular. It wasn't as good as my favorite mac and cheese recipe, which includes bacon, gruyère cheese, and deeply caramelized onions, but it also took significantly less time to prepare, making it a more viable weeknight dinner option. I'll definitely be making this dish again (though probably not anytime soon, as its caloric content must be truly formidable), though I would bake it longer than the 5-10 minutes suggested in the original recipe, as my breadcrumbs did not brown in the slightest. Based on other recipes I've consulted online, I've adjusted the baking time to 25-30 minutes instead.

Boursin Mac and Cheese
adapted from Kitchen of Friends

1 pound short pasta, I prefer pipette
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour
2 c. milk
1 package Boursin cheese, Garlic and Fine Herbs flavor
3/4 c. sharp cheddar cheese, grated
1/2 c. parmesan cheese, grated
1 c. panko breadcrumbs

Preheat oven to 400.
1. Melt butter in a saucepan over medium heat, add flour and whisk it constantly until it forms a paste. Gradually add milk and turn up the heat to high, continuing to whisk. When mixture boils, turn down the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Turn off heat and add Boursin, cheddar and parmesan.
2. Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions and drain. Combine in a large baking dish with cheese sauce, and cover with breadcrumbs.
3. Bake 25-30 minutes, until breadcrumbs are browned, and sauce is bubbly.

Cin City...

One of the joys of knowing how to cook, and being in control of my own meal planning, is that I can now make the special occasion dishes I once enjoyed as a child whenever I damn well feel like it. Growing up, I always enjoyed Mom's Cincinnati-style chili (a dish consisting of an unusually-spiced sauce served over spaghetti and several optional toppings), but I could probably count on one hand the number of times she made it. Usually, it was something she would prepare if she was having a soup buffet dinner party for guests, or for a special occasion such as a birthday, if someone made a request. However, it was never something in the regular dinner rotation, because it required lengthy simmering and the preparation of an array of condiments. Regular chili, or spaghetti, was a a more convenient choice.

When I was in college, and teaching myself how to cook, I copied the recipe into my newly-purchased cookbook when I was transcribing all my favorite family recipes. Now I could have it whenever the craving struck, and although I still don't prepare it often, I still enjoy it several times a year. This week, I prepared a batch for a weekday dinner with Justin, and much to my satisfaction, he enjoyed the unique flavor combination. If you're looking for something a little out of the ordinary to infuse some excitement into your dining routine, I'd seriously consider giving this recipe a try.

Cincinnati Chili

from Mom

2 lbs ground round

3 cloves of garlic

1 large white onion, minced

15 oz can beef broth

2 8 oz cans tomato sauce

2 8 oz cans water

2 T. semisweet chocolate chips

2 T. chili powder

2 T. cider vinegar

2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tsp. seasoned salt

1 tsp. ground cumin

1/2 tsp. ground allspice

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1 bay leaf

1. Cook ground beef with garlic and minced onions.

2. Drain fat with paper towels.

3. Stir in remaining ingredients.

4. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat.

5. Cover, and simmer 1-2 hours, stirring occasionally.

Serve with spaghetti, warmed and drained kidney beans, chopped onions, and shredded cheddar cheese.

A Hot Mess...

Sometimes I think I have some sort of kitchen-specific form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I get the inspiration to try a new recipe, and I cannot purge the idea from my mind until I follow through. For the past couple weeks, it has been lasagna that has been dominating my food-related thoughts.

Considering how much I like Italian food (you can't fight genetics), lasagna is a relative newcomer to the pantheon of things I'm willing to eat. I only started eating it in earnest when I was in college, and that was solely because my roommate Katherine would make it for me from scratch when I was having a bad day, or she just wanted to do something nice for me. To this day, there is only one restaurant at which I will order lasagna -- La Scarola, on Chicago's Near West Side.

The problem? Ricotta cheese. I loathe ricotta cheese -- both its flavor and its texture. But ricotta is one of the quintessential components of lasagna; just about the only way to avoid it is to make it yourself. Katherine would leave the ricotta out of the lasagna she would make for me, substituting extra mozzarella instead, and that was the only way I was able to enjoy the layered delicacy. But, without Katherine as my roommate, my life has been sadly bereft of homemade, ricotta-free lasagna for the past three years.

I could only hold out so long before I was forced to learn the art of lasagna-making on my own. The idea had been percolating for a couple months before I finally garnered the motivation to take on a cooking project of such a scope. After viewing scores of lasagna recipes online, none had stood out as particularly compelling to me, so I decided to take an extra risk and improvise my own rendition. For a sauce, I looked to a tomato-saffron sauce that I've been a little obsessed with of late, having made it five times since I first tested the recipe last fall. I added spicy Italian sausage, fresh mozzarella cheese, grated pecorino and parmesan cheeses, and some no-boil lasagna noodles to round things out.


Given that it was my first attempt at lasagna, I think the dish turned out reasonably well, flavor-wise. My only complaint was that I should have purchased more cheese, because my end product was a little light on the mozzarella. However, during baking, I experienced a bit of a disaster, when I could smell the distinct aroma of burning food wafting from the kitchen. I ran to check on the oven, discovering that the lasagna was bubbling over the side of the dish, leaking melted cheese and tomato sauce all over the oven floor. I threw a cookie sheet under it to catch the remainder, but the damage was already done -- I had to run the oven on its self-cleaning cycle the next day. Trust me, the fumes released from a self-cleaning oven are in no way pleasant!

As an aside, if you are interested in adding a bit of luxury to your weeknight pasta dinner, I thought I would pass along the recipe for the tomato saffron sauce. Saffron might be the world's most expensive spice, but it goes a long way, and it definitely adds a certain je ne sais quoi to tomato sauce. Its earthy pungency is a perfect complement. Even better, if you skip the lasagna route, and just sauce some pasta and top with some grated parmesan cheese, you can have dinner on the table in under an hour. Take that Rachel Ray!

Tomato Saffron Sauce with Sausage
(adapted from SeriousEats)

1 small onion, minced
2 cloves fresh garlic, minced
1 lb. spicy Italian sausage, casings removed
1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes
generous pinch of saffron
10 fresh basil leaves, cut into a chiffonade
1 lb. short pasta (I like campanelle for this dish)

1. Saute the onion in a few tablespoons of olive oil, until softened. Add the garlic and saute for one minute. Add the sausage and saffron to the pan and cook until meat is no longer pink.
2. Add tomatoes, half of the basil, and salt to taste. Simmer until slightly thickened and the flavors have had a chance to meld. Test for seasoning, and add more salt if necessary.
3. Add the pasta to boiling water, and cook according to package directions while the sauce simmers.
4. Combine the cooked pasta with sauce and remaining basil. Serve with grated parmesan cheese.