pasta with greens and prosciutto

My own unwillingness to do the things that I know that I should and want to do continues to amaze me.
Every day, I feel like I have to start again. I walk through the work and interactions of my day, and, for the zillionth time, I gently remind myself of those aspects that someday, maybe possibly will become habit.

Think before you speak, honey. Weigh the meaning in your words. Make every interaction meaningful. Remember that everyone is going through their own stuff today. Have compassion, and even empathy. Don't talk too much when you get nervous. And don't be so hard on yourself either. We're all going through it.

When everyone is complaining in the kitchen at 5:00, give them all kisses, especially the husband.

When the girls ask to be read to, say yes. Time is not there, it is created by you when you decide it is needed. Don't worry about the mess in the living room. Take a walk. Then, lie down on the floor for a few minutes.

Tell people how much you like them. Don't use the word "but" in the middle of a sentence. Stand up straight. Don't speed. Be on time because you made enough time to get there. Don't even touch your cell phone when you are driving.

Eat greens for breakfast. You don't need coffee at 1 in the afternoon. Plan meals. Take meat out of the freezer two days ahead of time so that you don't have to soak it in water. Make pie for dessert.

There is time to make real food. Roll out pasta, regularly. It's better than the boxed stuff, and a lot more fun.


I guess if there wasn't so much work to do, life wouldn't be so exciting, right? As hard as I work, I seem to be heading more and more towards utter imperfection. Let's call it something else. Let's call it rustic! That sounds a little better, I think.

You wouldn't know it to look at those hard little "noodles" in the box, but pasta making in itself is a messy and imperfect process. Pasta making is the finger painting of cooking.

Chasing an egg around the counter with a bench knife--now that is a mess. As long at it doesn't hit the floor, you're golden. And as you cut the egg into the flour, the miraculous incorporation will soothe and amaze. But the kneading of the hard and impermeable dough? All your strength will be needed to soften that one. As you toss that dough against your counter, be rough on the dough but not yourself. Pasta dough is never perfect. Don't even try.

So, flour in my hair and dough encrusted in my wedding band, I roll the pasta through my pasta roller. Every sheet is a different length, and I hang them all over the kitchen, wherever I can find a perch for them.

My friend Eilen bought me this shiny little pasta roller for my birthday a few years back. Here and there in the midst of her travels, we have had the opportunity to make pasta together. She really is the one who taught be about the joy of a messy moment in the kitchen in the first place, and I like working this machine with her. She is one of those people who plans a dinner party with 17 different courses that she picked out of the latest Bon Appetit, and then she starts cooking at 4, and just laughs when she looks at the clock. By the end, it's 10:00, and it's just soup and homemade rolls and some little fancy thing to start--everything else has been abandoned over the course of the afternoon. Eilen stays calm and full of laughter and she's my hero for that.

The mess always turns into something that tastes good.

So, I keep reminding myself to laugh when I look at the clock, and to discard the menu items that just aren't happening. If at the end of all this, I've got soup and homemade rolls, that's enough.

Pasta with Greens and Prosciutto

For the pasta:
1 3/4 cup (9 oz) all purpose flour
scant cup (5 oz) semolina flour
pinch of salt
4 medium eggs

For the topping:
4-5 tablespoons olive oil
4 cups thinly sliced onions
1 cup dry white wine
1 pound kale or swiss chard, cleaned, de-stemmed and thinly sliced
4 oz. prosciutto, in 1-inch strips
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
salt and pepper, to taste
parmesan cheese

Make the pasta dough: Mix the flours and salt and make a well directly on the counter. Pour the eggs into the well, two at a time. With a bench knife, incorporate the egg into the flour. When you have a loose dough, knead firmly for 10 minutes, or until the dough becomes smooth. It might seem like this won't happen, but stick with it- you'll get there. With the bench knife, cut the dough into 6 or 7 balls. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rest for 30 minutes.

In a large sautee pan, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil. Add the onions and cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally, until caramelized, about 30 minutes. Remove the onions from the pan and add the white wine. Bring to a boil and scrape any lovely brown bits off the surface of the pan. Let boil for about 3 minutes, then pour liquid over the onions.

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Set up your pasta roller and make your pasta. Add the greens to the water and boil for about 4 minutes- then remove with a slotted spoon, squeeze out excess water, and add the greens to the onions. Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook for 2-3 minutes or until just cooked. Drain and rinse. Toss the pasta with remaining olive oil in a large bowl. Add the greens and onions and a bit of salt and pepper to taste. Top with prosciutto, shavings of parmesan, the red pepper flakes, and a final drizzle of olive oil.

tagliatelle with fresh tomatoes and balsamic vinegar

It's raining again today. We had a few days of summer this week, complete with dark and heavy humidity, but the storms keep coming, and it seems that there are more emergency weather announcements on the radio than anything else that NPR has to offer. That strange radiohead-ish animated voice that comes on gives me a swirly feeling in my stomach, perhaps because the announcements are filled with morbid catch phrases every time- "lightning is a killer!" or "most flash flood deaths occur in cars. Don't drown! Turn Around!"
Yes, I'm particularly stirred by violent weather, but it just seems to be the tone of the week.
I got news the other day that a really wonderful man I know has had his brain overtaken by a tumor. He is such an evolved, wise and kind person, and father to three young boys. The doctors are going in there next week to try to get the tumor out, and the best case scenario will be that he'll lose some sort of brain function. In the same hour, I found out that another mother that I know has breast cancer. Another one. This summer has been especially stormy. Joey's best friend lost his father, the most gentle aging rocker you would ever meet, to cancer earlier in the season. It's hard to take all this in, and to explain it to the girls when we have to. To tell them that we won't go away and that we will stay healthy. Sadie has gotten to the point where she hears the word cancer and starts with her death questions again.
There are good stories too, though. My dear and lovely friend Denise, who kicked cancer's ass this year, and is back in a world that missed her so much while she was sick. She's recovering from this year, and palpably glowing with optimism.
I know that we have a lot less death around us on a daily basis than people on some other parts of the planet. But maybe because illness and premature death are so blessedly rare, it seems that my first reaction is often fear. Narcissistic as it may be, my empathy turns into something else, the lines start to feel blurred, and one friend's mortality is my own as well, or my child's. But there's a strong value to the awareness of mortality in that, cliche as it may sound, life is too damn short to choose unhappiness. And more importantly, best not to take for granted the lovely things that happen every day, don't you think?
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the early tomatoes coming from Al and Elizabeth's miraculous greenhouse. They grow the first tomatoes of the season around here, and those greenhouse tomatoes carry us through, maybe one or two per week, until the tomatoes start to pour out of the farm and our own gardens like water. Whatever my own garden doesn't produce, I buy from the farm in cheap 20 lb. boxes, slaving through the night to make sauce and slow roast those beauties for the freezer. As I spoke of last week, this perfect tomato cycle is one arch of desire that is essential to the experience of August around here.
But last week at the farm, the endless tomato plants in the fields waiting to take over when the greenhouse had finished its turn caught the dreaded late blight. This is the big-box store bred special blight (big surprise). It is the same fungus that caused the great potato famine in Ireland, and tomatoes are dying all over the Northeast. A few days after the blight hit the farm, my tomato plants started to yellow, and Joey and I took every blighted leaf we could see at 9:30 at night and bagged them up. I'm still not sure if my tomatoes have just regular late blight or scary nightmare walmart blight, but I don't have high hopes. But as Elizabeth stoically announced to all of the CSA families that there would be no boxes of tomatoes this year, I thought about all of her work in creating those tomatoes, and how much they depend on that crop, and blight became a dirty, stomach churning word this week.
I know, blight equals cancer? Feel free to rail on me for that. But I'm not creating an equality here, I'm just thinking about how much I appreciated my two greenhouse tomatoes this week. And how truly wonderful and worth their weight in gold they were. Really good food can give such an opportunity for the thought, "I might never eat something this good again." And the last tomato you'll ever eat should be savored, enjoyed, and celebrated, I think.
So I'm hoping to make a few of my favorite tomato recipes with these perfect and rare tomatoes. I think that this one might be at the top of my list.

Tagliatelle with Fresh Tomatoes and Balsamic Vinegar
adapted from Lynne Rossetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

This recipe is truly perfect when made with fresh pasta, but if you've only got 15 minutes, dried is fine too.

1/4 cup good quality balsamic vinegar
4 cloves garlic, minced (note: right now, if you're lucky, you can get fresh garlic that has just been pulled. Use it here)
1 medium red onion, cut into 1/2 inch dice
2-3 fabulous and wonderful tomatoes, cored and cut into bite-size pieces
2/3 cup tightly packed fresh basil, minced
generous amount of freshly ground pepper
1 recipe fresh tagliatelle, or 1 lb dried (see recipe below)
salt to taste
1 1/4 cups parmesan, shaved with a vegetable peeler
1/4 cup olive oil

Measure the vinegar into a medium-size glass bowl or large measuring cup. Add the garlic and onion. Marinate about 15 minutes. Set a large pot of salted water to boil. Fold the tomatoes, basil, and black pepper into the vinegar mixture and let stand for another 10 or 15 minutes. Cook the pasta to just barely done. If it is fresh, this will take 1-2 minutes, dried will take longer. Drain, toss with the olive oil, then gently toss with the tomato mixture. Top with the shaved cheese and more pepper.

Fresh Pasta

14 oz. flour
4 eggs
pinch of salt

Put the flour directly on the counter in the shape of a volcano. Break the eggs into a bowl, add the salt, and then slowly pour the eggs into the center of the volcano with a bench knife ready in your other hand. As the eggs spill out of the volcano, push them back in with the bench knife, mixing the egg and the flour with a chopping motion. Chaos will ensue, but it's okay. Keep chopping with the bench knife until the eggs are incorporated into the flour. Then knead the dough with the palms of your hands for ten minutes. The dough will be fairly stiff, so this is a good moment to get some aggression out, if you happen to have any. Then cut the dough into 5 equal balls, cover the whole thing with plastic wrap, and let it rest for 20-30 minutes. Then you can put the dough through your pasta maker, or roll it out and cut it if you have all day and no pasta maker. Hang to dry on a drying rack for a few minutes before it goes into the water.

The Daring Lasagne

OK, let me just say here once and for all that I am one daring kitchen ninja. Over and over I takn the daring baker's challenge like a good little blogger, and then I make it at the last minute, inevitably and usually when I am about to throw a party. It makes sense right? I mean, I need people to eat the challenge after I make it, so I invite them over. But I always tend to get in a little over my head.
This month was no exception. Posting date (for which I am late, sorry a million times) was Joey's birthday, and when I discovered that the challenge was for a traditional Northern Italian lasagne, I knew that the stars were aligned. Because the thing is, Joey feels kind of spiritual about lasagne. And he was going to be thirty and it was all going to be perfect.
But you hear the tone of doom in my voice, right? Because then I decided to surprise him with some friends from out of town, and before I know it, it's Friday morning, and I'm making two traditional Northern Italian lasagnes, and two cheesecakes, and four loads of laundry, and lots of table setting, and I'm making up new cocktails and drinking them too just to calm my speeding heart as I run, yes run around the house.
But of all of these things, the lasagne is the thing that I am most cocky about, because although making fresh pasta might be intimidating for some people, I make it a lot, and I am not scared in the least.
I have this fabulous little crank pasta maker that my friend Eilen gave me for my birthday last year, and it's so fun and easy, I make pasta once a week. So why should I be scared?
OK, I'll tell you why.
1. I am throwing a suprise dinner and making lasagne at the last minute. Disastrous already.
2. This lasagne involves a ragu sauce which takes a lot of time, in fact, about as many hours as there are kinds of meat involved.

3. The lasagne uses a bechemel sauce instead of ricotta, and I tend to have a hard time thickening bechemel sauce. This is one irrational reason (among several rational ones) that I want to go to culinary school.
4. Two words: spinach pasta.

Spinach pasta is different than non spinach pasta. The moisture content is not what I'm used to, but somehow, I wrestled it into a ball.

And this brings us to 5:15 last night, a half an hour before Joey is supposed to arrive. My kids are crying for some reason beyond me. My ten-year-old sister, who I have put in charge of the girls while I make this lasagne, is finally shouting "Go on cry! Cry about how bad your life is!" This stops the crying, and my sister is my hero. I am diligently trying to run the little balls of spinach pasta through the machine, and I swear the thing is pooping out these little sticky balls of stuff, and it's all just falling apart. This has never happened to me. And I have made a double batch of spinach noodles and there is mushy spinach dough everywhere. And then I start to panic. My friend Meg arrives, and I'm holding back the tears and I'm thinking maybe I should just order pizza. And she says, screw the pasta maker, use the rolling pin. This works better, and I'm assembling as I go. I've made lasagne with fresh noodles before, and I always skip the drying and cooking of the noodles and I like the result. So I'm assembling, and my bechemel is pretty runny, and the ragu is all milky, and the noodles are all holey and awful looking, and this whole thing is just, well, as Joey would call it, "lasagne fail".
I'm not giving up now though, and I bake the thing, and people are arriving and I'm now really drinking because boy do I need it, and I'm just trying not to think about the horrible disaster in the oven.
Everything else is going well, although the white bean stew burns and I drop one of the cheesecakes on the floor, but it ends up on the right side.
Joey comes, and everyone says surprise and I'm still running around and I take the lasagnes out of the oven.
And they don't look so bad, although we're definitely going to need bowls. I have created a new dish: lasagne soup.
But then something miraculous happens. It sets up. And awestruck, I put it on a plate.

And it's friggin' delicious. I mean so good, every part of it. A masterpiece.
Told you I was a kitchen ninja. Did you really think it was going to end poorly?

And you too can be a kitchen ninja. And make sure you check out all the exciting accounts of daring lasagnes from the fabulous daring bakers. Here are the details:

The March 2009 challenge is hosted by Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande. They have chosen Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna from The Splendid Table by Lynne Rossetto Kasper as the challenge.

Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna (Lasagne Verdi al Forno)
(Serves 8 to 10 as a first course, 6 to 8 as a main dish)

Preparation Time: 15 minutes to assemble and 40 minutes cooking time

10 quarts (9 litres) salted water
1 recipe Spinach Pasta cut for lasagna (recipe follows)#1
1 recipe Bechamel Sauce (recipe follows)#2
1 recipe Country Style Ragu (recipe follows)#3
1 cup (4 ounces/125g) freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Method
Working Ahead:
The ragu and the béchamel sauce can be made up to three days ahead. The ragu can also be frozen for up to one month. The pasta can be rolled out, cut and dried up to 24 hours before cooking. The assembled lasagne can wait at room temperature (20 degrees Celsius/68 degrees Fahrenheit) about 1 hour before baking. Do not refrigerate it before baking, as the topping of béchamel and cheese will overcook by the time the center is hot.

Assembling the Ingredients:
Have all the sauces, rewarmed gently over a medium heat, and the pasta at hand. Have a large perforated skimmer and a large bowl of cold water next to the stove. Spread a double thickness of paper towels over a large counter space. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit (180 degrees Celsius). Oil or butter a 3 quart (approx 3 litre) shallow baking dish.

Cooking the Pasta: (note: I didn't do this)
Bring the salted water to a boil. Drop about four pieces of pasta in the water at a time. Cook about 2 minutes. If you are using dried pasta, cook about 4 minutes, taste, and cook longer if necessary. The pasta will continue cooking during baking, so make sure it is only barely tender. Lift the lasagne from the water with a skimmer, drain, and then slip into the bowl of cold water to stop cooking. When cool, lift out and dry on the paper towels. Repeat until all the pasta is cooked.

Assembling the Lasagne:
Spread a thin layer of béchamel over the bottom of the baking dish. Arrange a layer of about four overlapping sheets of pasta over the béchamel. Spread a thin layer of béchamel (about 3 or 4 spoonfuls) over the pasta, and then an equally thin layer of the ragu. Sprinkle with about 1&1/2 tablespoons of the béchamel and about 1/3 cup of the cheese. Repeat the layers until all ingredients are used, finishing with béchamel sauce and topping with a generous dusting of cheese.

Baking and Serving the Lasagne:
Cover the baking dish lightly with foil, taking care not to let it touch the top of the lasagne. Bake 40 minutes, or until almost heated through. Remove the foil and bake another 10 minutes, or until hot in the center (test by inserting a knife – if it comes out very warm, the dish is ready). Take care not to brown the cheese topping. It should be melted, creamy looking and barely tinged with a little gold. Turn off the oven, leave the door ajar and let the lasagne rest for about 10 minutes. Then serve. This is not a solid lasagne, but a moist one that slips a bit when it is cut and served.

#1 Spinach Egg Pasta (Pasta Verde)

Preparation: 45 minutes

Makes enough for 6 to 8 first course servings or 4 to 6 main course servings, equivalent to 1 pound (450g) dried boxed pasta.

2 jumbo eggs (2 ounces/60g or more) (note, I used four eggs, but this number with vary greatly depending on the size of the eggs and the humidity of the day)
10 ounces (300g) fresh spinach, rinsed dry, and finely chopped; or 6 ounces (170g) frozen chopped spinach, defrosted and squeezed dry
3&1/2 cups (14 ounces/400g) all purpose unbleached (plain) flour (organic stone ground preferred)

Working by Hand:

Equipment

A roomy work surface, 24 to 30 inches deep by 30 to 36 inches (60cm to 77cm deep by 60cm to 92cm). Any smooth surface will do, but marble cools dough slightly, making it less flexible than desired.

A pastry scraper and a small wooden spoon for blending the dough.

A wooden dowel-style rolling pin. In Italy, pasta makers use one about 35 inches long and 2 inches thick (89cm long and 5cm thick). The shorter American-style pin with handles at either end can be used, but the longer it is, the easier it is to roll the pasta.
Note: although it is not traditional, Enza has successfully made pasta with a marble rolling pin, and this can be substituted for the wooden pin, if you have one.

Plastic wrap to wrap the resting dough and to cover rolled-out pasta waiting to be filled. It protects the pasta from drying out too quickly.

A sharp chef’s knife for cutting pasta sheets.

Cloth-covered chair backs, broom handles, or specially designed pasta racks found in cookware shops for draping the pasta.

Mixing the dough:
Mound the flour in the center of your work surface and make a well in the middle. Add the eggs and spinach. Use a wooden spoon to beat together the eggs and spinach. Then gradually start incorporating shallow scrapings of flour from the sides of the well into the liquid. As you work more and more flour into the liquid, the well’s sides may collapse. Use a pastry scraper to keep the liquids from running off and to incorporate the last bits of flour into the dough. Don’t worry if it looks like a hopelessly rough and messy lump.

Kneading:
With the aid of the scraper to scoop up unruly pieces, start kneading the dough. Once it becomes a cohesive mass, use the scraper to remove any bits of hard flour on the work surface – these will make the dough lumpy. Knead the dough for about 3 minutes. Its consistency should be elastic and a little sticky. If it is too sticky to move easily, knead in a few more tablespoons of flour. Continue kneading about 10 minutes, or until the dough has become satiny, smooth, and very elastic. It will feel alive under your hands. Do not shortcut this step. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap, and let it relax at room temperature 30 minutes to 3 hours.

Stretching and Thinning:
If using an extra-long rolling pin work with half the dough at a time. With a regular-length rolling pin, roll out a quarter of the dough at a time and keep the rest of the dough wrapped. Lightly sprinkle a large work surface with flour. The idea is to stretch the dough rather than press down and push it. Shape it into a ball and begin rolling out to form a circle, frequently turning the disc of dough a quarter turn. As it thins outs, start rolling the disc back on the pin a quarter of the way toward the center and stretching it gently sideways by running the palms of your hands over the rolled-up dough from the center of the pin outward. Unroll, turn the disc a quarter turn, and repeat. Do twice more.

Stretch and even out the center of the disc by rolling the dough a quarter of the way back on the pin. Then gently push the rolling pin away from you with one hand while holding the sheet in place on the work surface with the other hand. Repeat three more times, turning the dough a quarter turn each time.

Repeat the two processes as the disc becomes larger and thinner. The goal is a sheet of even thickness. For lasagne, the sheet should be so thin that you can clearly see your hand through it and see colours. Cut into rectangles about 4 by 8 inches (10 x 20 cm). Note: Enza says that transparency is a crucial element of lasagne pasta and the dough should be rolled as thinly as possible. She says this is why her housekeeper has such strong arms!

Dry the pasta at room temperature and store in a sealed container or bag.

#2 Bechamel

Preparation Time: 15 minutes

4 tablespoons (2 ounces/60g) unsalted butter
4 tablespoons (2 ounces/60g) all purpose unbleached (plain) flour, organic stone ground preferred
2&2/3 cups (approx 570ml) milk
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Freshly grated nutmeg to taste

Using a medium-sized saucepan, melt the butter over low to medium heat. Sift over the flour, whisk until smooth, and then stir (without stopping) for about 3 minutes. Whisk in the milk a little at a time and keep the mixture smooth. Bring to a slow simmer, and stir 3 to 4 minutes, or until the sauce thickens. Cook, stirring, for about 5 minutes, until the sauce thickens. Season with salt, pepper, and a hint of nutmeg.

#3 Country Style Ragu’ (Ragu alla Contadina)

Preparation Time: Ingredient Preparation Time 30 minutes and Cooking time 2 hours

Makes enough sauce for 1 recipe fresh pasta or 1 pound/450g dried pasta)

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (45 mL)
2 ounces/60g pancetta, finely chopped
1 medium onion, minced
1 medium stalk celery with leaves, minced
1 small carrot, minced
4 ounces/125g boneless veal shoulder or round
4 ounces/125g pork loin, trimmed of fat, or 4 ounces/125g mild Italian sausage (made without fennel)
8 ounces/250g beef skirt steak, hanging tender, or boneless chuck blade or chuck center cut (in order of preference)
1 ounce/30g thinly sliced Prosciutto di Parma
2/3 cup (5 ounces/160ml) dry red wine
1 &1/2 cups (12 ounces/375ml) chicken or beef stock (homemade if possible)
2 cups (16 ounces/500ml) milk
3 canned plum tomatoes, drained
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Working Ahead:
The ragu can be made 3 days ahead. Cover and refrigerate. It also freezes well for up to 1 month. Skim the fat from the ragu’ before using it.

Browning the Ragu Base:
Heat the olive oil in a 12 inch (30cm) skillet (frying pan) over medium-high heat. Have a large saucepan handy to use once browning is complete. Add the pancetta and minced vegetables and sauté, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon, 10 minutes, or until the onions barely begin to color. Coarsely grind all the meats together, including the prosciutto, in a food processor or meat grinder. Stir into the pan and slowly brown over medium heat. First the meats will give off a liquid and turn dull grey but, as the liquid evaporates, browning will begin. Stir often, scooping under the meats with the wooden spatula. Protect the brown glaze forming on the bottom of the pan by turning the heat down. Cook 15 minutes, or until the meats are a deep brown. Turn the contents of the skillet into a strainer and shake out the fat. Turn them into the saucepan and set over medium heat.

Reducing and Simmering: Add the wine to the skillet, lowering the heat so the sauce bubbles quietly. Stir occasionally until the wine has reduced by half, about 3 minutes. Scrape up the brown glaze as the wine bubbles. Then pour the reduced wine into the saucepan and set the skillet aside.

Stir ½ cup stock into the saucepan and let it bubble slowly, 10 minutes, or until totally evaporated. Repeat with another ½ cup stock. Stir in the last 1/2 cup stock along with the milk. Adjust heat so the liquid bubbles very slowly. Partially cover the pot, and cook 1 hour. Stir frequently to check for sticking.

Add the tomatoes, crushing them as they go into the pot. Cook uncovered, at a very slow bubble for another 45 minutes, or until the sauce resembles a thick, meaty stew. Season with salt and pepper.