Carbonara Nights

Four days ago I had enough provisions to feed an army of 500, fresh from the training field. This morning, with a slight panic, I discovered I’m down to a knob of Parmigianino, one onion, one bunch of broccoli, a head of garlic, and some wilting celery and parsnips. The onion must be saved for tomorrow night’s black bean soup. Forget the parsnips and celery, they just don’t sound attractive to me today.

Tonight, in front of my stove, I am Ricky Bobby; “I ‘wanna’ go fast.” Thank the heavens that I keep a few staples on hand, including both pasta and eggs. By combining my love of Spaghetti Alla Carbonara and Shane’s love of roasted broccoli, I created a pretty sophisticated meal from almost a bare pantry.

Gemelli Alla Carbonara di Brocoletti

Really, you can use any pasta you have in the pantry. I had whole wheat gemelli and linguini. I preferred the gemelli, as the smaller pasta turns this dish into a grown-up version of macaroni and cheese.

Start a large pot of water to boil and ignore it. Slice the top off a head of garlic and wrap in foil. Cut the tough stalks off two small heads of broccoli. Complement the small shape of the pasta by cutting off the stems of the broccoli, and cut heads into florets about an inch or so across. Toss broccoli with a tablespoon or two of olive oil, salt, sweet paprika, and a touch of cayenne pepper.

Roast both the broccoli and the garlic in a 425 degree oven until the broccoli is brown and crispy, and the garlic is soft and mellow. Grate a good chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano into a large bowl; beat in one egg, a generous dash of salt and a good grinding of black pepper. Once the water is boiling and just before taking the broccoli and garlic out of the oven, add about 3 oz or so of pasta to the boiling water. While the pasta cooks, remove broccoli and garlic from the oven, and carefully squish the garlic from its papers. Chop the garlic if necessary. Once the pasta cooks, (mine took a mere 5 minutes), quickly drain the pasta, cooked al dente of course, and immediately toss the hot pasta into the bowl with the egg and cheese mixture. Toss. Keep tossing. Okay, stop tossing long enough to add the broccoli and garlic to the pasta. If you please, toss the pasta mixture again. If there is Parmigianino leftover, sprinkle a bit on top, or save it for a salad. Serve immediately, or as soon as you can pull Shane away from nytimes.com.

This isn’t quite “Shake and Bake”, more like roast and toss, but it’s still pretty fast!

Not Quite Finished

After a week of pure exhaustion and laziness, I decided it was time to perk up our palates and our plates. Many months ago Shane and I concocted a dish that consisted of cayenne dusted scallops and butternut squash risotto. I made notes, hid them from myself, and just last week I ran across our musings. "Ah!" I thought. "This is exactly the endeavour I need to feed my ego, er, I mean pull myself out of a cooking rut."

Convincing Shane that I can cook $15.00 worth of bay scallops should have been the hardest part of my adventure. Being that this was my first time to ever cook scallops, I was a little anxious on how they would cook. Too long, too rubbery. Too short and we may as well go out for sashimi.

The main part of tonight's meal focused on the the risotto, only to accessorize with scallops and a lamb's lettuce salad dressed with balsamic vinegar. In the morning, I so carefully caramelized a large red onion and chopped and skinned a large squash. I have found the easiest way to chop a winter squash is to score the squash a few times and microwave it for about 5 minutes. This will soften the skin a bit and make for easier cutting. Let the squash cool for a few before hacking into it. I bought about a 2 - 2 1/2 pound squash which yielded roughly 6 cups of chopped squash. Now that I look back, I should have hidden about half of the chopped squash in the back of my refrigerator. Nevertheless, that evening I plunged into my risotto, sleeves rolled and determined to create a memorable landscape of orange rice, Italian-style.

As most risottos list white wine as an ingredient, I opted for a Romanian Gewurztraminer we had hanging around in the refrigerator. For $6.99 for 750 ml, it is very drinkable, and I come from the school that advises if you wouldn't drink it, don't cook with it. From the freezer came the homemade chicken stock, roughly 2 1/2 cups, thawed and ready to be soaked by the scant 1 cup of Arborio rice. A good chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated until it reached 1/2 cup, sat in a bowl near the stove. I brought the stock to a boil, added all the squash, and simmered, covered, until the squash was tender. Now, to my credit, there was enough stock for the scant amount of rice, even after I simmered it with the squash.

The previously made caramelized onions were gently reheated with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Along with a carefully spice blend of 1/8 teaspoon each of cinnamon, coriander, nutmeg, and freshly ground black pepper. Like a good little risotto chef, I coated the Arborio with the oil, spices, and onion. Left to itself to sauté for 3 minutes, the Arborio further pick up the flavors of the onion. Without feeling the need to perform quality control, I measured a good glug of white wine, a generous 1/3 cup. It was time to add the stock, now a brilliant orange and somewhat thick. My first ladles of broth produced enough liquid for the rice to absorb. But around the fourth or fifth ladle, the stock started getting a little thicker.

This is when I started having squash reservations.

I wasn't even 10 minutes into the game when I started adding more squash and less stock to the rice. When it reached a point where I was stirring a potion and my rice was absorbing all the liquid it could muster, I made an executive decision to thin the squash-laden stock with more wine. As a marathon runner reaches for Gatorade, my rice sucked the liquid and was still skinny and thirsty. After 15 minutes of trying to plump my grains, they were still crunchy and stubborn. So to bring to a simmer, more wine and a touch of water went into the pan of simmering squash. And another dose, more water less wine. More water. By now I should have had a perfectly simmering pot of creamy, plump rice, ready for me to add the cheese and adjust the seasonings. Instead, I had a thick, orange puree that, instead of slightly bubbling, is instead giving way to mini-explosions. The underside of my stove's hood is now worthy of an art gallery.

Thirty minutes, the rice was almost edible, and it was time to start the scallops. In my giant skillet, over medium heat I warmed 1 tablespoon of olive oil. When the oil was warm enough, I added 3 cloves garlic, smashed and then minced. After a minute, in went the scallops, a dash of salt and a grinding of pepper. It only took 2 minutes per side to allow the scallops to sear and release their sweet smell. I dusted the scallops with a smidgen of cayenne and a few knocks of sweet paprika before I covered the skillet and placed it in the cold oven. By removing the scallops completely from the heat and setting them aside for 5 minutes, they gently finished cooking.

In the meantime, I added the grated cheese to the risotto, plunked a lid on the pot, and tossed a salad made of lamb's lettuce, goat cheese, and toasted walnuts. My ever-so-versatile balsamic vinaigrette melded nicley with the goat cheese and tender lettuce leaves. Everytime I make salad dressing, I make a little extra to store in the refrigerator. Grabbing a jar of homemade dressing often comes in handy when I'm juggling to put supper on the table at a reasonable hour.

When the meal was finalized, after 45 minutes of explosions and stirring to create more explosions, I announced dinner and poured Shane and myself the remainder of the Gewurztraminer.

The spice, sweetness, and creaminess of the squash married well with the sweetness and tender chew of the scallops. However, the texture of the rice was faint, and the nutty taste of the caramelized onions I was expecting was masked by the squash. I could not see nor taste the onions. This left the risotto with less spunk than for what I was hoping.

But this dish is not quite finished. I will spend another $15 on scallops (with more confidence) and try another risotto with less squash and more chicken stock, less squash, and more caramelized onions, less squash and more cheese, and less squash -- about half the amount I used this time. And the half of the squash I don't use? Perhaps I'll simmer it in an open pot and add to the art display underneath the stove's hood.

Not Just Another Tom, Dick, or Harry

As one may conclude from most of my posts, one of my biggest challenges as a cook lies in how interestingly I can prepare vegetables as a main dish. But even more so is how I present the meal to Shane when he asks "What's for supper tonight?". If I answer "lentils and kale" or "sweet potato soup," quite often the lackluster name is greeted with doubt and un-enthusiasm. You mean a plate heaped with gently simmered lentils and grass-green kale doesn't make one's mouth water? What if I said I'm serving both over whole wheat penne? Still, doesn't do the trick, does it? Once the smell of caramelized onions float over the kitchen, once I season tender kale, once I poor the water from the perfectly chewy pasta, once I place a plate of this humble meal on the table, a hungry Shane ignores the bland name. Taste, texture, and sight replace chagrin. "It didn't sound very appetising, but the taste, wow!"

I fancy myself a seasoned vegetarian cook, but I still have issues with making vegetables sound appetising. When I write the weekly menu, sometimes I try to give the dish its proper Italian, French, or Persian name, but this more often is met with a perplexed "huh?", and I have to answer with the crude, American name: butternut squash with pasta; puréed cauliflower soup; eggplant and yogurt dip.

It's not until I place a colorful meal on the table that Shane's interest is piqued. If I've happened to serve chicken next to vividly hued cinnamon roasted carrots or a few shrimp bathing in a spicy curry accompanied by crispy and nutty green beans, the vegetables literally leave the meat cold. And instead of discussing the current political scene or what happened in our individual lives that day, our conversation in steered to how we can develop a meal that focuses only on green beans or carrots.

Ditch the cinnamon. No, keep the cinnamon and maybe some cumin. How about a salad? What about your roasted baby potatoes. Perhaps make some of that lemon tahini sauce with all the garlic. With a side of red lentil soup. What about just making roasted potatoes to dip in a fondue-like mix of melted Gruyère cheese? With some of your roasted cauliflower. That sounds hearty. Would a side salad with toasted walnuts and balsamic vinegar work?

Several years into my game, and it's finally dawned on me. What's in a name? Potato, cauliflower, and carrot fondue? Yawn to yuck. What's in a description? Crisp and tender roasted potatoes and cauliflower with a nutty Gruyère fondue. Mmmm... Is anyone taking notes?

Tired and Saucy

I don’t want to think about chopping, simmering, or much less cleaning dirty dishes. I’m wiped. My limbs are molded from cast iron skillets. I am akin to the leashed Chihuahua whose owner is dragging it over ice and chill in all good intentions to make it doodle and potty Chihuahua-style. I’m shaking, I’m cowering from the cold, so just take me home and I can sleep in my sunbeam (only to growl at the occasional bug that walks across the floor, but that’s just a personality flaw).

And I still have to go grocery shopping.

Anticipating such days of laziness, I have started doubling sauce recipes that I can store in quart-size freezer bags. By squeezing out as much air as possible (without squirting the sauce out of the bag), and flattening the bag, I can stack my sauces in the freezer for lazy days’ quick bites. Of course there are times when I forget to label the bag, and I can’t always tell a beer-ready barbeque sauce from a wine laden Ragù, but what better way to set the stage for adventurous eating than by tossing silky and smooth pappardelle with a smoky barbeque sauce? Learn from me: take the time to label your bags. If your freezer has been around long enough to quote “Where’s the beef?” and you wonder the same as you root through its contents, I gently command you to include the date of freezing on your label.

Besides storing a basic, homemade tomato sauce, wonderful to keep on hand for last minute pizzas, I like to keep a variety of sauces within easy access. Over the past weeks, I have concocted batches of exotically inspired sauces that invite me to share their warmth and destinations. Ginger-infused spicy peanut sauce whose original intent was to dress a cold noodle salad works beautifully in an all vegetable stir-fry. South Indian curry hints of sweet coconut milk and beautifully picks up the briny goodness of shrimp. A scoop of rice (basmati optional) and sautéed green beans round out this light meal. An old favorite, tangy romesco sauce delivers a wallop of chile peppers, toasted nuts, and robust garlic. Two or three bites and I'm hankering for one sangria after another.

Romesco Sauce is a Shane and Emilie Favorite. Normally I toss whole wheat linguini with the sauce and serve with a dozen and a half of quickly sautéed shrimp. But Friday evenings call for something different and something casual – with pizzazz. And with a quart-size freezer bag not even a quarter full of romesco sauce and a smattering of shrimp neither are enough to feed 2 adults without a little stretching. My endeavor has to be creative in order to stretch the remains of both the shrimp and the sauce and make it so that Shane doesn’t need an after supper ice cream fix. Shane will want an ice cream fix, but, by golly, he won’t need an ice cream fix.

Thanks to my vivacious sourdough starter that gives more than I can take, earlier this week I prepared pizza dough, and it’s been sitting in my refrigerator begging for attention. After lugging home a week’s worth of groceries, I heated the oven to a cozy 450 degrees. Knowing the oven would continue to cook the shrimp to a succulent texture, 30 seconds was all it took to just sauté the shrimp. Over 10 inches of stretched pizza dough, I spread roughly a ½ cup of romesco sauce, scattered the sautéed shrimp, and to give the pizza one more depth of flavor (not to mention sustenance) a good dose of goat cheese completed my last minute nosh.

Twenty minutes crisped the bottom of the crust nicely while leaving the edges chewy, but not too soft. The goat cheese was a touch brown. I was afraid to leave it in longer for fear of overcooking the shrimp, but for those who prefer a browner crust and cheese, five more minutes should suffice. To down play the richness of the pizza, a crisp romaine salad dressed with a crumbles of goat cheese, sliced Kalamata olives, olive oil and red wine vinegar garnished the empty spots on our plates and perfectly complemented the flavors of the pizza.

The verdict?

Emilie: absolute bliss.

Shane: we’ve made it far into the evening, and no ice cream has been consumed.

Ooh La La

To lower our sometimes embarrassingly high grocery bill, Shane and I have cut back on our meat consumption, replacing fish, fowl, pork, and beef with lentils, lentils, beans, and broccoli. Can you imagine the contests we have after dinner? I’m almost too ashamed to admit I frequently win. However, this past weekend, we celebrated Shane’s 37th birthday by taking a break from our homely, mostly vegetarian meals

Since I have a knack for searing pork chops, I decided upon creating a French-inspired pork chop à la Emilie. Ooh la la. Pork chops swimming in a crème and port wine sauce with zee rich sauce spilling onto zee potatoes mashed with parsnips, carrots, and thyme and finished with butter and a bit of crème of their own, with zee sides of the zee serving platter garnished with crisply roasted fresh green beans. Ooh la la.

Unfortunately I’m not French (did I fool anyone?), and unfortunately my fake accent cannot coyly excuse the rubbery texture of the green beans and blandness of the potatoes. By leaving the beans in a warm oven while I finished the remainder of the meal, I steamed away their crispness. Lesson learned: green beans need to be roasted at the last minute for peak flavor and texture. And although the mashed potatoes were boosted with the nuttiness of parsnips and sweetness of carrots (not to mention a load of butter and cream), they were ho-hum, at best.

However, the pork chops in their port wine and cream sauce, oh my savior, my meal savior! The only sounds in the room were classical music in the background and Shane’s gorging. Who can waste words when there are pork chops to eat? Juicy, tender, faintly pink on the inside pork chops surrounded by cream and a touch of sweetness from the port. This was simplicity that put to shame the fussy preparation of the potatoes.

Adapted from Gourmet April 2007
2 - 4 servings (Depending on how much meat you want to consume)

For the Pork Chops:
2 8oz boneless pork chops, each chop roughly 1 inch thick
Generous grinding of coarsely cracked pepper
salt
olive oil (optional)

For the sauce:
1/4 cup port, tawny or ruby
1/3 cup cream
salt to taste

Crack pepper onto a large plate or platter and sprinkle over with salt. Press both pork chops into the salt and pepper on the plate and generously sprinkle more salt and pepper over the tops of the chops and press into the chops. Heat a large, heavy skillet (I used cast iron) on a fairly high heat. If necessary, brush the skillet with olive oil before. If it's a well seasoned pan, this may not be necessary. Sear the pork chops one minute on each side. Lower heat, cover skillet, and cook pork chops 4 minutes each side. Remove pork chops from the pan onto a plate, cover with foil, and let rest for 5 minutes. The Pork chops will continue cooking until they are pink in the middle.

Add port to the skillet, increase heat, and bring to a boil. Simmer for 1 minute scraping the bottom of the skillet to release the bits of meat clinging to the bottom. Add cream and any meat juices that accumulate on the plate to the skillet, bring to a simmer, and simmer for 2-3 minutes or until thickened. Salt to taste. Add pork chops and turn off heat. This should gently re-heat the pork chops and only take a minute or so. Serve pork chops topped with sauce.

Proving there’s more to me than seared pork chops and cordials, I ended our meal with an old favorite, Chocolate Stout Cake. I love a good beer! I love a glass of pale ale paired with sharp cheddar cheese, I love a bottle of Mexican lager paired with chicken soft tacos, and I especially love a pint of syrupy, bitter stout paired with dark chocolate to create three thick layers of dark chocolate cake. Each layer sandwiched rich raspberry ganache, and for flair, I nestled fresh strawberries to hide the slight indention in the top layer.

My cakes are often a masquerade with a strawberry here and a bit more icing there. Masks and indentions aside, I love the moist denseness of this cake. There is no harsh or cloying sweetness . The tartness of the raspberries in the ganache complement the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate while toning the richness of the cream. Just a slim slice satisfied this normal chocoholic.

Emilie’s note: don’t bother with fancy cocoa powders. Hershey’s special dark cocoa powder makes (and takes) the cake in this recipe. I also highly recommend using an extra stout beer such as Guinness Extra Stout. Go the extra mile, you’ll need the exercise.