I woke up this morning and thought–”Oh no! I hope I’m not too late to remind you to NOT throw away your turkey carcass from Thanksgiving!” If I’ve caught you in time, I’ll try to make it quick! And, if you haven’t thought about it and are still picking the meat off the bones–today is also the day to remind you that TODAY is the last day it could possibly be good.

(But before I continue, let me first say that not all Jewish mothers enjoy instigating guilt–although most of us mothers, Jewish or not, will do it happily when it serves an important purpose–and what I’m about to say about making turkey stock certainly does–so listen up! )

Throwing out a cooked turkey frame should make you feel bad—awful–like dumping out a vat of ice-cold, crystal-clear water in the middle of the sun-parched Sahara desert. (Don’t worry, if you’ve still got the carcass, there’s still time to save yourself.)

Turkey bones make the most fabulous broth!–Especially if you add some raw poultry parts, which will augment the taste substantially–See–it’s the bones (cooked or not) that lend texture (a discernible physical dimension) to stock that will make it seem almost thickened, yet still esthetically clear–This “thickness” comes from both, gelatin (contained in bones) and the breaking down of cartilage which, after enough simmering, creates a liquid with more depth. The fact that the bones have been initially cooked –provides a “browned” part–and it’s this that offers not just an amazing depth of flavor but also a noticeably rich color that is simply not attainable when using all raw components. So, when you add raw poultry–you are bringing the sweet, pure taste of virgin skin and meat to the table (to the pot) and, adding something cooked adds the flavor and color benefits (coming from a special kind of brown-color compounds– from caramelization). Each offers a completely unique set of attributes to your finished stock.

So, today, since Thanksgiving just passed–the star “cooked component” is the turkey carcass.

And making stock is so easy!

Instead of throwing the cooked carcass into the garbage, toss it into a big pot with aromatic vegetables.

(Cut up lots of carrots, celery, onions, cleaned and sliced leeks–and what you don’t use today, simply freeze in a doubled freezer bag.) I also add some whole cloves of garlic and a bushy bunch of Italian parsley–stems and leaves), whole black peppercorns along with some other chicken parts that I’ve always got stashed in the freezer. I usually keep a whole chicken or two frozen-as well as some boney wings, necks, backs, etc. (To see me cutting up a chicken in a way that will forever help you to replenish your supply of boney poultry pieces, click here.)

Then cover the contents with cold water (not hot, which is oxygen-deprived and isn’t as fresh-tasting) and add some whole black peppercorns. Bring the whole lot to a bubble, skim off any gray, bubbly scum that rises to the top, which is the impurities from the bones leaching out.

Here is a skimmer…

Here’s how to use it…

(This stuff won’t kill –it’s just not appetizing.)

Then, let the contents of the pot bubble gently, with the cover ajar, for a few hours–

Occassionally adding more vegetables, if you like.

After that, remove the pot from the stove and place on a sturdy wire rack, which will help facilitate cooling. Allow the solids to cool as long as you can, then use a large ladle or a big liquid measure, to strain the solids out of the broth (into a large sieve positioned over a large bowl).

Here (below) is something you never would have had if you threw out the turkey carcass!

Now–you can finally throw away all those solids.

But make sure to close the lid of the garbage!

Be careful–your dog will have an entirley different set of reasons why making stock is extremely valuable!

Now, chill the stock and allow the fat to rise to the top.

Skim off the fat–then ladle the pure stock into freezer containers and store in the freezer.

Now…whenever you or someone you love needs it bad, you can easily make a nurturing soup!

With or without matzo balls.

To watch me make chicken stock, click here. To learn to make an amazing pot of chicken soup, click here.

The Point: Thanksgiving gives us many reasons and ways to celebrate some of life’s most humble, albeit valuable, offerings like love, family, hospitality and friendship. And, choosing to make stock–whether from the bones of a holiday turkey or a weeknight roast chicken is one simple, yet far-reaching way to, at whim, provide more of these same offerings–especially needed and appreciated during the cold winter months. It’s also a way to revisit (and to teach to our 21st century children) the importance of being resourceful–and of living each day on purpose.

Tags: chicken soup, chicken stock, easy turkey stock recipe, how to make turkey stock, what to do with a cooked turkey carcass

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Although leaving summer is depressing for some, each year I’m always eager to see this seasonal shift. Like how the first buds on spring-time bushes signify the promise of eventual heat, seeing firm apples either draped on bowed tree limbs, or heaped in paper bags at local farmer’s markets, nudges cooks of all levels to turn the culinary page and embrace an entirely different kind of cinnamon-scented warmth. 

You see, regardless of the time of year, I’ve usually got something in-route to crispness in the oven and/or blipping its way to succulence on the stove–Yes, I make stock, fresh breads, duck confit, stews and homemade pasta–even during the dog-days of summer! Trust me, this is not to be a brat–although I do! get an occassional adolescent surge of defiance when I feel the professional tug to comply with what’s expected–with what’s considered “normal summer cooking.”

But when it comes to apples, things are different. Cooking apples in the fall makes me (and apparently a lot of other rebellious types…) happily comply with a culinary calendar–And it’s this ingredient that, more than any other, for many, initiates the cuisine of autumn. Anyway, since I rarely cook by a strictly-seasonal book –and since this can sometimes make me seem brazen– I think that’s one of the reasons why I feel so happy when the apple-abundant season of fall rolls around. Because “now” –almost everyone that loves to cook and bake seems to be on the same page. (Believe me, wanting to kvell about the many life-enhancing benefits of waking up to the insane aromas from an herb-stuffed pork belly (porchetta) after slow roasting all night long–in August–Well, let’s just say, it can get a little lonely over here…)

Anyway, in the spirit of unity, I thought I would give all you apple-lovers a few things to do in the kitchen…

If you love to bake, THIS APPLE TART IS A MUST….

A Crisp, Apple-Cinnamon Galette

Or, if you’re looking for something savory to slurp, here’s a hearty, yet elegant soup…

An Apple-Scented, Curried Butternut Squash Soup sprinkled with toasted pepitas (so delish!).

Or if you’d like to make a gorgeous, chock-full of chunk, applesauce to serve with your roast chicken…

Here you go…

Here’s what my daughter Jessie requested for breakfast, after waking up to the scent of a fresh batch of applesauce.

Warm applesauce, served alongside oatmeal.

Last weekend’s batch.

And, if you want something smooth and luscious to serve along side a platter of potato latkes…

This version of applesauce (above) is perfectly smooth and made from a wide variety of apples after an amazing day of apple-picking. Here’s my blog that gives a step-by-step illustration of how I made that particular batch, which was probably my best one yet–I also share what I learned,  that day, about the bigger picture of life….And, if you want to learn all about the many different types of apples and also get recipes that celebrate each types uniqueness, here’s a new book, all about it.  

The Point: To me, the sudden appearance of mounds of apples in September signify more than a seasonal change. Their comforting look, smell and taste remind me of their most valuable quality; their simplicity.  People like to complicate and label things–we especially like to label ourselves and others. In terms of cooking, we deem ourselves to be either “good, so-so, brave, scared, lousy, brilliant, brazen or conformist.” We often either claim to “cook but don’t bake” or it’s the other way around.  But, in the world of apples, things are simple.  Though each variety has specific nuances that highlights their individuality–there is a very distinct and common thread that ties them all happily together. 

Whether we leave apples whole and take a shiny bite, or peel, slice and bake them buried in a pie, or simmer them vigorously and mash them to a pulp–all apples are valued for exactly what they are; an entity that has the potential to bring deliciousness to the world. So, no matter what type of apple you are, I want you to know that you’re also filled with delicious potential. (And, if anyone reading wants to share notes about the gorgeous “crackling” song-sung as a  fresh, crusty loaf cools, we must be from the same heap. I’m just an email away!…)

Tags: apple tart, apples, applesauce, books about apples, butternut squash soup, cooking apples, latkes and applesauce

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Jon and I were coming back from our usual morning walk with Mango and as we approached our house we smelled a wood-fire burning.

Now, I know, I know….most people would be more than a bit un-nerved, seeing that we were out of the house and, when we left, our grown kids were sleeping on a lazy Labor Day morning. 

But that’s not how things seem to work in our house.

Anyway…instead of going into the house through the usual front door, we followed the scent–and went into the backyard through the side.

And…low and behold (not surprisingly) there he was!

My son Benjamin was standing in front of a fully fired up grill–

He was roasting a bread fruit over direct flame (no–actually– IN the flames) in our barbecue, using hardwood (at 10 am in the morning!).

When I saw him I remembered that, the day before, Ben brought this–this odd looking thing into the kitchen. I actually took a picture of it because I had never seen it before.

See, my son Ben loves everything about Jamaica–especially their cuisine–so he’s always shopping at West Indian markets so he can cook their native ingredients. To say he loves to cook is an understatement–and his absolute favorite way to cook is using wood, over open flames.

Maybe it’s partly because he evolved in a home where he experienced cooking as anything but a wussy sport! It wasn’t uncommon for my kids to come down the stairs on a random winter day and see me basting chickens as they would roast (in the fireplace!), using a home-made, slow-twirling, string-spit-concoction. SO MUCH FUN!

And here (below) I’m tending the fire in our wood burning oven….(Truly an athletic experience!)

And just this weekend, on Saturday night, Ben helped me maneuver a 2 foot wide paella pan (no joke–the pan covered four burners!).

The next night (Sunday) I cooked polipo (young octopus). I bought them at Randazzo’s my favorite seafood market on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.

Aesthetically-speaking (be forwarned) polipo is certainly not for the faint-hearted, but this has never bothered Ben.   

Here they are, after cooking at a brisk simmer (covered) in a pot of vegetable broth for 45 minutes–they then were allowed to cool in the broth…Oh, and don’t panic–The poaching liquid is supposed to turn dark purple.

I drained them…  

 Then I used paper towels to gently pull off the outer skin and fat layer (this takes several paper towels). Expect many of the suction cups to come off, too. (This is good.)

Then I cut up the flesh which is now so tender…

See–it doesn’t look so scary anymore!

Then I added some chopped vegetables…

(Celery, jicama, sweet onion, roasted red pepper, pitted oil-cured olives, chives and jalapeno)

And tossed the whole thing with a perky vinaigrette –and then stuck it in the fridge to chill.  

That same day, Ben came into the kitchen and saw that I was about to wrap whole red snappers in leaves from our fig trees.

 The fish are seasoned with extra-virgin olive oil, minced garlic, fresh herbs (thyme, oregano, chives and Italian parsley) and Kosher salt and fresh black pepper).

So, Ben requested that I put some chopped scallions, hot finger peppers and a squeeze of fresh lime juice underneath and on top of each fish (before enclosing them in the leaves)…So, I did!

Ben helped me tie the leaves around the fish with kitchen twine. (He rinsed the strings in water first, to keep them from charring on the grill–such a smart young man…) I chilled them –and took them out of the fridge about 30 minutes before they would go onto the grill.

I filled two chimney starters with hard-wood charcoal and stuffed the bottom with crumpled newspapers (I don’t stuff too tight or it becomes too hard for the paper to ignite the coals–there needs to be some air in there to help feed the fire once you light the paper on fire).

Once I saw flames at the top of the starters, I dumped the coals out onto the grill (underneath the grate)–this usually takes 15 to 20 minutes after fully igniting the paper. I put the grate down and allowed it to get good and hot–then I waited for it to calm down a bit (about 30 minutes after lowering the grate over the hot coals, I was ready to sear the fish).

Just before laying the fish on hot grate, using long tongs, I swabbed the grate liberally with a towel dipped in some vegetable oil (I used a towel that I don’t care about–for obvious reasons). 

I seared the fish over direct heat (the outsides of the leaves should also be brushed with some of the same seasoning mixture used for the fish).

The fish sear for a few minutes, then they get turned (brush some more of the seasoning mixture on top before turning)…

Then they sear well on the second side, then get moved to a cooler part of the grill (to now be cooked using in-direct heat). Yes, the leaves are supposed to become nice and charred –this is what releases their unique flavor onto the fish (and into the air!).

Once the fish are repositioned, the lid goes down–but not all the way. (I stick a piece of wood under the lid so that it doesn’t close fully–it should have an opening that’s about 2 1/2 inches–

If you have vents, just open them, forget the wood).

This next part is determined by the size of the fish, the intensity of the heat and the internal temperature of the fish when it goes onto the grill…This time, for me, after searing on both sides, was about 15 minutes (covered) –They were perfect…

Ta-dah!

Beyond delish–At the table, we  cut off the strings, divided the fish (each one was between 1 1/3 to 1 1/2 pounds–three fish fed the 5 of us-generously (especially since I also served the polipo salad and some other stuff)–6 would be fed adequately).

We just peeled back the leaves, which revealed the most succulent fish flesh–loaded with flavor! And, Ben was right! The added aromatics made both the taste and texture more savory and diverse.

So, back to Ben in the back yard, cooking a bread fruit over a wood fire (not sure if I need to remind you that it’s 10 am on Labor Day…)

We looked closer to see what he was up to…

He started here…

He nestled the fruit in the fire …and he let it cook.

And cook…The entire cooking process took about 1 1/2 hours–He kept turning it with tongs until completely blackened and the fruit became tender, which is what makes it edible.

I’m talking really BLACKENED!

Once Ben deemed it “done” he took it off the grill and threw it onto the grass until it was just cool enough to handle, then he hacked it in half with this “major” knife.

 He brought it into the kitchen and cut it–removing the blackened skin and nudging the flesh off the central pit.

Ben tasted it while still hot….Just look at him work that knife!

I tasted it too–It was really good! The taste is a combination of a potato and a chestnut (delicious)–with a consistency that’s a bit like home-insulation (that last part I could do without).

Here, we’re making pasta together….Dat-sah-my-boy!!

The point: I’ve never pushed cooking on my children. I always trusted that if I cooked and baked from a genuinely loving, playful and curious place–then they would naturally gravitate toward the kitchen; toward the ability to create joy. Now, as a mother, seeing Ben (my eldest) so happily and so deliberately shop, schlep, chop, knead, sear, simmer and bake–my love and gratitude for my kitchen has deepened. This special room has helped my grown children to nurture themselves and those that they bring into their own homes and hearts, as adults. As a parent, there is nothing that could make me happier. (Well…maybe a wedding??…)

Tags: bread fruit, cooking bread fruit, cooking octopus, cooking polipo, grilled red snapper recipe, hearth cooking, polipo recipe, whole red snappers wrapped in fig leaves

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I was literally aching to make challah this weekend. I skipped a few weeks and I was craving the eggy, buttery, milky, yeasty aroma and taste. So, since I knew the kids would be around, I decided to shape my usual dough into three 8 x 4 inch sandwich loaves instead of my more usual braided loaves.

I wanted to make two loaves with seeded tops (for toast and for sandwiches) and one specifically for French toast (no seeds). The fully risen loaves that  get seeds first get swabbed liberally with an egg-wash (before the seeds go on top)–And the one for French toast gets slathered, both before and after baking, with melted butter. Yum.

In case you’re wondering…

Buttering a loaf before and after baking is the way to get a really nice supple (soft and tender) yet still golden crust. Using a beaten egg (with an extra yolk or two) will give the tops a rich, crisp, shiny finish–especially when the egg is given a small splash of water–Adding milk to the egg, on the other hand, will create more of a matt finish–Adding an extra yolk will create an even deeper outer hue. The glaze also acts as a glue for a seeded top. It’s all great –just personal preference.  Anyway,  when using an egg glaze, I suggest straining it after combining the egg with your choice of liquid. This helps to homogenize the two textures (the white and the yolk) making it less gloppy, thus easier to apply with a pastry brush. Allowing the glaze to sit out at room temperature for a while also helps.

Here are two of the loaves just before baking–One glazed with egg plus 2 yolks and a small splash of water…

Above, one loaf is glazed and then striped with sesame and poppy seeds. The other one is brushed with melted butter).

Just out of the oven…Can you detect the subtle differences in the color of the top of these?…Most of the difference is experienced as textural.

Here’s a broader view…

I’m sure you can see why I was craving this amazing bread…My kids love it–Jon loves it and I’m sure if Mango could get her paws on a loaf, she would love it too… 

The Point: My ache to bake is not just about taste. Knowing that the people I love have enjoyed this bread for so many years helps me, as a nurturer, to be the one that connects my family to a wonderful part of the past–while at the same time, making our “present” so special! Plus, the entire bread-making process is  just so much fun…truly.

So, if you’ve never made bread before, I truly hope you’ll make challah your first!–You certainly don’t need to go very far to get the recipe since it’s right here!  You’ll learn how to make both sandwich loaves and a beautiful 6-strand braid like this…

And, to watch the entire process, my new baking series for TV is about to be born (coming this fall!!)–Stay tuned…

Tags: challah bread from scratch, challah bread recipe, challah dough, challah recipe, how to make an egg glaze, making braided loaves, making homemade bread, sandwich loaves, shaping sandwich loaves

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So sorry to have been so non-communicative! But, it’s been for good–no GREAT reasons. I just finished shooting a new television series called “Baking Made Easy with Lauren”…(more details to follow). I’m typing slow at the moment because (wouldn’t you know), a few days after we finished shooting, I burned my hand making corn fritters! Had to make a trip to the emergency room–Don’t panic (although we did) -I’m very lucky…the doc says I’ll heal perfectly, just need a week or two of MINIMAL cooking or baking (a fate almost worse than death to me). My guess, I’ll be trying to get back to my old cooking ways by tomorrow–Jon, of course, will meet me at the door to try to block my entrance, but I have my ways!

Oh..by the way, if you didn’t know this (I obviously didn’t)..when making corn fritters, the whole kernel corn (those closest to the outer surface of the batter), when in the hot oil,  they act like popcorn!! So, even though I used a spatter shield on top of the pot, when I lifted it to turn the fritters, the corn “popped” carrying with it the hot oil–which is what caused several burns on the outside of my right hand.

The Point: Although I’m bummed that my paw is wounded, I’m so happy that I get to help you to avoid the same fate. So (unless you have a full body shield), if making corn fritters, it’s best to chop the corn before adding it to the batter (chop enough to get to the same amount of whole corn asked for in your recipe).  My recipe uses delicious sautéed corn with red bell peppers and onions (BTW: the best corn fritters I’ve ever had…sans the drama, of course.) I’ll get you the recipe asap.

Oh, I’ve missed you! I can’t wait for you to see the series!!! (Coming this fall…)

Laur..

Tags: corn fritters, frying in hot oil, saftey tips in the kitchen, saftey tips when making corn fritters, tips for frying

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Because vitello tonnato is a specialty of the Piedmont region, this dish was on every menu in every restaurant we visited all through our trip. Having said that, it was only one extremely random and casual eatery that had me driven to make it myself as soon as I got back home–so random that I don’t remember the name of it–bummer. Anyway, I’ve made Vitello tonnato lots of times in a very short time since I’ve been back and so far everyone goes crazy for it–I hope you will, too!

 Vitello tonnato is roast veal that’s chilled, sliced paper thin–and served surrounding a generous dollop of tonnato sauce, which is made mostly from canned Italian tuna (packed in olive oil), anchovies and a homemade mayo. After that–each person has their own rendition–adding things like capers and minced fresh garlic. I’ve made mine with those additions–as well as a few others–that makes this sauce extra savory and delicious.

Here is what the dish looks like –and it’s the picture of the first time I made it (the day after getting home from Italy!).

Quite the home-run, if I do say so myself–(although, since this first time, as already mentioned, I’ve added a few savory accoutrements–but we’ll get to that in a minute).

Let’s start with the meat. In Italy, the cut is different than what I can get here in NY. The meat used by many of the restaurants (in Monforte d’Alba) is from a small shop run by a fabulous butcher named “Bruno Ruddolo”–he’s one of the absolute sweetest men I’ve ever met.

Here’s Bruno…

 In addition to being a very trusted (busy) butcher, he’s also an artisan cheese maker–

This (above) is Bruno’s delicious cheese –one of the ones he’s most proud of–it’s made with Barolo wine, from the Nebbiolo grape, which is native to Piedmont.

The meat used for vitello tonnato, in Italy, seemed to be a much larger slab–than the more petite veal tenderloins I use in NY. But Bruno’s meat was impeccable –Here is the meat from Bruno’s shop.

Below is a picture of what veal tenderloin that I get in the US –On this particular night, since I was cooking for a crowd, I needed two. These (below) are about 2 pounds each, and each which will feed 6, when sliced very thin.

Unless you have an ethnic Italian neighborhood near you, you’ll need to special order veal tenderloin. I get mine at Peter’s Meat Market, on Arthur Avenue, in the Bronx. They freeze well so it’s a great thing to have on hand–just thaw it in the refrigerator overnight.

So, (drum roll pleeese….!) here’s my rendition of vitello tonnato–which, I really do think is the best version yet!

Line a baking sheet (two if making two fillets) with aluminum foil, then top the foil with a sheet of parchment paper (preferably unbleached parchment). Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

 Season the veal with salt and pepper–then rub the seasonings into the meat with some extra-virgin olive oil. Add a couple of tablespoons of olive oil into a large skillet and heat the pan, over high heat.

Sear the veal on all sides, turning it with tongs, then remove the meat to a plate. Dump out any oil from the pan, then put it back over high heat and deglaze the pan with 1/3 to 2/3 cup of red wine–use 1/3 cup wine for each fillet being seared (a Dolcetto or Nebbiolo is a great choice!) and reduce it to half it’s original volume (it will be syrupy). Place each seared fillet on the prepared baking sheet and drizzle the reduced wine over the fillet–along with any accumulated meat juices from the plate.

Place the veal into the preheated 325F oven and roast until an instant meat thermometer reaches 130F (stick the stem of the thermometer into the top of the thickest spot –until the tip reaches the center–the dial will quickly register the temperature), around 30 minutes, after the initial sear–but start checking at 25 minutes. (The roasting time will depend largely on the girth of the meat and the initial temperature of the meat before searing. Avoid overcooking!)

Remove the meat from the oven and, soon after (while still warm), roll the meat up (with any juices) in the paper and foil, then chill for at least 2 hours–to make the meat easier to slice. (Roasting can be done a day ahead of serving)

While the meat cools, make the tonnato sauce, which combines ingredients that are just to die for! (As, Rudston, our wonderful guide would say ”la morte sua!!”)

For the tonnato sauce, you’ll need:

• 3 extra-large egg yolks, made tepid (Submerge the whole egg in the shell in a bowl of hot tap water for 15 minutes. Separate the yolk from the white and reserve the whites for another purpose.)
• 2 tablespoons strained fresh lemon juice
• 1  to 1 1/2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 4 anchovy fillets, drained and chopped (if salted, rinse well and pat dry)
• ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
• Vegetable oil (flavorless) as needed to reach 2/3 cup (after first adding the extra-virgin olive oil to the cup)
• One 5-ounce can Italian tuna, packed in olive oil, undrained
• 3 scallions, chopped (remove roots and use all of the white and only 1 ½ to 2 inches of the tender green)
• 1 tablespoon drained capers, chopped, plus more for garnish, if desired
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• Extra sliced scallion greens, or chives, for garnish

Put yolks into the bowl of a food processor with the lemon juice, mustard, garlic and anchovies. Process until homogeneous. Slowly, while the machine is on, drizzle in the combined oils. When done, the mixture should be emulsified and should look like a soft mayo.

Add the tuna with the oil from the can, the scallions, capers and black pepper. Process, by pulsing, until smooth. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

To serve, lay the thinly sliced meat (very thin) on the sides of a plate (so it looks like carpaccio) and spoon some of the sauce into the center. Place some thinly sliced red and yellow roasted peppers on the open sides of the plate (sometimes I’ll add some sliced, pitted calamata or oil-cured olives and a little extra-virgin olive oil to the peppers). Garnish the sauce with some snipped chives or scallion greens and a few more whole capers, if desired. (If you want a thinner sauce, you can stir in a tablespoon or so of water–but the consistency I’m showing you is how it’s done in Piedmont and how I like it best.)

Ta-dahhhh! (Leftover veal stays good for several days in the fridge– Try to slice only what you need since unsliced meat always keeps better (for longer). Also, leftover tonnato sauce is a great dip for raw vegetables and hot, freshly broiled slices of garlic toast.

Tags: authentic Italian recipes, canned tuna recipes, cooking with Italian canned tuna, veal tenderloin recipe, vitello tonnato recipe

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See, I told you I’d be back soon! 

Ok–We flew, from JFK International airport and landed in Malpensa, the airport in Milan.  Our first two nights were at Relais San Maurizio, a gorgeous spa/hotel (that is a converted Monastery) that’s in the area of Piedmont –a  2 hour car ride from the airport.  Going to a spa was a great way to soften the effects of jet-lag while also breaking up a long trip from the city to the country side, which is where we would spend most of our trip. 

Our first dinner in Piedmont was in the hotel–and it was AMAZING. Ristorante di Guido da Costigiole is a wonderful family-owned restaurant, located in the cellar of the hotel and is still used for wine making and ageing. And, it was here that Jon and I, for the first time, got our first real whiff (and taste) of gorgeous white truffles–And trust me, this was the first of many on this yummy trip. 

The next day, with Rudston Steward (our wonderful guide from Trufflepig) we had a tour of the town of Alba, where we got to go to the very famous truffle market. 

Here are both white and black truffles, displayed in long rows of glass cases, for people to examine, select, weigh and purchase. 

This guy (the big one) had, to me, the best specimens… 

This is me and Rudston (our guide)– 

Can you believe the size of these truffles?! 

Piedmont (Alba) is also known for Hazelnuts–This is where Nutella was born. 

Every place we ate they served a specialty of this part of the world–Tajarin (a thinner version of a tagliatelle) with butter (sometimes sage) and a big fat pile of thinly shaved white truffles. 

This pasta dish isn’t just popular in restaurants–Below is a common “Sunday” activity. Pasta making in the town square! 

And whenever we ate–whether in a person’s home or in a restaurant, we were always presented with a bowl of white truffles to sniff, choose and have shaved on our pasta. Before you think I’m rolling in money…truffles are a fraction of the cost here–This was at lunch–I think–I actually don’t remember because, although the size of the truffles (and my clothing) varied, this picture could have been me at every meal! 

After one night at a hotel in the heart of the city of Alba, the next morning, we drove deep into the countryside, to the heart of Piedmonte, and stayed at a truly magical place, the Villa Beccaris, in Monforte d’Alba. These next three days were so much fun, I could barely catch my breath …and were truly transforming for me as a cook. 

Before leaving for Italy, I had described what I wanted to experience to Rudston (our guide). I said something like this: “I want to be in the kitchen with anyone that really loves and owns the craft of cooking and baking–I didn’t care where. I said “Rudston, please don’t get stuck in “chefdome”–I want to be with mammasitas, balaboostas, grandmas! —Anyone that lives to cook  and bake delicious things!! ” I also said that I want to go truffle hunting. 

Well, to say I hit the “mother load” is quite the understatement. 

Rudston had arranged for us to spend the day cooking (and eating) in the home of Bruna Alessandria, who several years ago was one of the famous “Mothers” at the Restaurant “Le Madri.” She lives in a small farm-house in Monforte d’Alba. Here she is… 

And here (below) is Bruna’s mother, Maria, who just turned 90! Bruna lives with her mother in the same house where she was raised. 

But that’s not all–Bruna also lives with her two brothers Aldo and Flavio–who are both truffle hunters! Below is a photo of me and Aldo–and he’s holding a photo of one of his beyond amazing truffles!  

And, in addition to the the cat and a couple of dogs (and chickens), there was Mickey–an eleven year old Lab. who is their star truffle hunter! 

Mickey and Aldo are a great team!….I’ll write more on our truffle hunt in an upcoming blog. 

This day was all about cooking with Bruna. 

The first thing Bruna got started was the Bagna Cauda, a hot, garlicky dip, to serve with raw and cooked vegetables.  

Bruna’s Bagna Cauda starts with A LOT of thinly sliced garlic… 

The garlic was covered in water and boiled for 4 minutes, then drained (to remove some of the strong taste–you can see why, when using so much garlic). 

Then Bruna covered the garlic with olive oil (pure not extra virgin, which Bruna says is too heavy and strong) and slowly brought it to a simmer, over low heat.  She let this cook approximately 30 minutes, then stirred in some anchovy fillets (only a fraction of the amount of anchovies to garlic.)  

Rudston would translate for me since I don’t speak Italian. 

Then, she cooked this very, very gently, stirring frequently so the anchovies and garlic don’t scorch–Stirring was Mama Maria’s job for most of the day–who stayed glued to the best spot in the house (it was a cold, rainy day)–next to the wood burning stove. 

While the bagna cauda simmered–Bruna got started on the carne cruda (raw veal (extremely lean and of high quality) sliced and chopped (by hand!). 

First the meat is sliced 1/3 inch thick. 

Then the slices are cut into small cubes. 

Then the cubes are chopped (“CHOP, CHOP, CHOP”)– This is not like chopping vegetables where the handle of the knife comes up but the tip of the blade stays down…no, here, the entire knife is lifted up and the heavy blade is dropped down repetitively in one direction, then back to the beginning–to “CHOP, CHOP, CHOP”). She did this (for quite some time) until the meat was chopped small but still had integrity–this is a rhythmical process–the sound was like music (to someone like me, anyway…). 

Brava, Bruna! 

Then the meat gets chilled–so it can relax–until it gets seasoned and promptly served.  

To season the meat, Bruna added a generous amount of olive oil (again, she used pure oil for it’s neutral taste). She would fork the oil into the meat gently–to keep the texture light–she would squeeze in some fresh lemon–and a little salt–then taste–then add a bit more oil–a bit more lemon–a bit more salt–then fork it in and taste again and finally (when not dry but not wet–when you taste just a bit of lemon–and just the right amount of salt–she deemed the mixture “perfecto!”– 

Bruna took a round biscuit cutter and used it to fill with the meat mixture to create uniform servings–actually (since this was the first time I ever had carne cruda and wasn’t sure if I’d like it–I asked for a small portion–So she took out a smaller cutter… 

 Mine is the baby in the middle. 

To serve, the meat was showered with shaved truffles. Shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano is what to use when there are no truffles to be had. 

Geeze, I could get used to this! I couldn’t believe how delicate the flavors were–and how light and gorgeous the texture. I had seconds! 

Before we ate (while the chopped meat was chilling–Mama Maria continued to stir the bagna cauda (with the cat on her lap)–Flavio was on the couch and Aldo was dealing truffles…) 

Bruna put two large boards over the dining table. She lugged out the pasta machine– 

And she went to work on her pasta dough… 

She used the machine to cut the dough into tajarin (long, thin, yellow strands), which she served tossed with yummy butter and… (what else?) MORE shaved white truffles! I’ve made this wonderful pasta, and several others, many times since I returned from Italy. I will show you how to do this very soon. 

After we ate the carne cruda, the tajarine w/ tartufo bianco, then Bruna came out with the bagna cauda –hot–accompanied bya big platter of assorted vegetables (raw bell peppers, endive, cooked potatoes, beets and crusty bread)–Grissini (long bread sticks, which are another food native to Piedmont) were also on the table–and were on every table we ate at during our trip–a recipe is coming. 

Then came dessert–Hard winter pears that Bruna poached for hours in Nebbiolo wine with some cloves, a broken cinnamon stick and a little sugar (a grape native to Piedmont). 

For me, this was one of the highlights of the meal and, when I got home, I quickly wanted to recreate it–So, tomorrow, I will share a recipe that I adapted, in honor of Bruna. 

What a delicious amazing day! 

 I love you Bruna, Maria, Aldo, Flavio, Mickey and…el ghatto! Grazie mille!! 

Tags: bagna cauda recipe, bruna alessandria, carne cruda recipe, Italian food vacations, Piedmont, Piedmonte, tajarin, tartufo bianco, truffle trips, trufflepig

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Did you ever experience something that you felt was really personally transforming–and then wanted to share it (talk about the experience) with others but the thoughts and feelings felt so big–too big to begin? Well, that’s how I’ve felt about my recent trip to Piedmont, Italy–which was just before Thanksgiving (thus the reason why you haven’t heard a peep from me since my last blog about making duck confit!).

So, first, I want to apologize–I’ve recieved many sweet, kind (and concerned) emails asking me “where are you??” Please know that I’m never “missing” because I don’t want to connect–I just sometimes become very filled with what’s going on around me and, quite honestly, ever since this past trip (and then with the holidays), I’ve had an incredibly hard time getting out of my kitchen –not a bad thing–it’s because I’ve been having so much fun (no joke)!  I will admit, though, that the continual nagging question “should I or shouldn’t I tell you every little thing about my fabulous trip to Italy?” has helped to keep me in a continual state of procrastination with this blog. Sorry about that.

First of all, I’d like to share why these kinds of journeys are so special to me.

When I travel to Europe, I don’t shop. My goal is to get under the skin of a culture by exploring, in depth, the unique cuisine of a particular region. Why? Because that’s how I get to keep it all alive–When I get home and bring to life the cooking techniques that I’ve learned, this enables me to make (and keep) cherished scents, sites and tastes an integral part of my everyday existance–This way, all my cherished experiences in far away places can continue to color my life and, ultimately, to create the feeling of joy–and not just for me.  I’ve found that learning authentic Old World cusine (for modern folks like you and me) is a wonderful way for me to”get” and then, by teaching others, I also get to “give.” I love that. 

So, because this particular 8 day trip was so extensive and so valuable to me (and kept Jon and I so busy that we could barely breathe–in a GOOD way) …and because it would take the length of many blogs to convey every single step–I’ve finally decided to take you, one experience (and recipe) at a time, through my amazing journey.

But, before I do anything, I need to tell you about the fantastic company that designed this trip of a life time, for Jon and I.

Late last spring, when I started to think about where Jon and I should go on our next trip, I started to think about the best meal I ever had, which was last December, in a restaurant in Barcelona. (If you read my blog called “My birthday in Barcelona” you know that I (as are most sane people) am in love with white truffles.” So, I waited for the right moment and said to Jon …Honey, why don’t we go truffle hunting in Italy next fall?” I immediately got really quiet and waited to hear him laugh. (No laughing –Yay!!)

A few weeks later, Jon came home and told me about a company that he heard about from a friend called Trufflepig (There’s no space in-between truffle and pig–just one glorious word.) Now, before you get the wrong idea, despite their name, this company, that’s based in Canada and Paris, “truffles”are not their specialty–The name Trufflepig is actually meant to convey their metaphorical specialty, which is to sniff out all the sources to create a custom-made, dream vacation for their clients (sniffing– truffles– pigs, get it??) It just so happens that my absolute dream vacation would test their ability to provide both, a literal and figurative translation, which they did so perfectly–so beautifully. (BTW: this company is certainly not limited to do “foodie” vacations–they do custom trips that aim to float the boat of clients with a wide range of interests and they do it all over the world, not just in Europe.) Jack Dancy is who you want to talk to at Trufflepig (tell him I sent you)–and Rudston Steward was our more-than-amazing guide, who planned everything from the hotels, to the restaurants, to the very specific people and places that we went in order to build us a trip that was not just dripping in truffles but also filled with culinary adventure, real learning and also resulted in many new friends.

 By the way, when in season (which this was) truffles in this part of the world are like chocolate in Hershey Pennsylvania—There will be more about that to come…)  

So, to begin to finally share with you my culinary growth spurt–I want to start at the beginning with my first request for Trufflepig–before I even left for Italy. Since I wanted to use this trip to learn about the foods of northern Italy–not just about truffles–I did some research. When reading a recent issue of La Cucina Italiana, I saw a book that they recommended that was all about the foods of northern Italy, called “Italian Farmers Table“–which I promptly bought on Amazon.com. (A fabulous book!!!)

In this book, one of the recipes that immediately caught my attention was for “Croxetti” also called “corzetti”–coin shaped pasta that’s embossed on both sides with an ornate design–usually a family crest. When I tried to find an online source for the wooden stamps, I learned that only a very few artisans make them–all in Liguria–which, although it’s not Piedmonte, it was in northern Italy and I was hoping that Rudston (our guide for our upcoming trip) could help “sniff out” an artisan who could make me a custom-made (corzetti) stamp. Rudston went to work and, of course, he came through!–and this was just the very first thing he did to help my dreams come true on this fabulous trip.

Now, it’s time to share with you what I learned! First of all, since I’m sure (if you love to cook) I’ve stirred up your curiosity about croxetti pasta–So, let me give you the name and contact of the wonderful artisan who made me my stamp and sent it from Liguria, Italy. His name is Franco Casoni and his email is: studio@francocasoni.it As soon as I got home from Italy, I emailed Franco the artwork and my stamp arrived about three weeks later. The cost, all in (with postage) was about $65.00)

This is what my stamp looks like when put together (raw rounds of pasta dough get sandwiched in between the top and the bottom):

 Here’s the stamp opened revealing the concave side that cuts coins (rounds) out of the sheet of pasta dough (the other side of this part has my LGK logo embossed on it). The other part has a floral design embossed.

 Below (although it’s hard to see) is the other side of the part that cuts the dough into coins (showing my logo).

So, first you need a nice and firm-yet totally supple– pasta dough… (2 cups OO flour, 2 extra large eggs, 3 extra-large yolks, 1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt).  

After dividing the dough into pieces, you’ll roll it out using a pasta maker only through the second setting (but do it three times!). (Although I love rolling pasta by hand, you won’t be able to get smooth coins out of scraps of dough–so it’s best to use a machine, whether hand-cranked or electric). So, divide the dough into quarters and, working with one piece at a time, flour the piece and roll it through the first (widest) setting four times, folding and flouring in between–this strengthens it. Then, go to the second setting and roll it through three times, flouring when the dough feels at all sticky. Then, lay the sheet out and cut out coins (rounds), using that side of the stamp.

Now, take the rounds of dough and place them over the inverted side that you used to cut. Place the other part of the stamp on top of the round of dough and “press” to emboss it with both, your insignia and the design that’s on the other side (By the way, all of this design stuff is all up to you–you design it, Franco makes it and sends it!

After lifting off the top part,  you can see the floral design on the top of the dough. The bottom side of the dough has my LGK logo

Here are my little bubalahs drying…don’t you just love them?!

Place the coins onto a floured sheet pan (I place a silicone mat on a baking sheet and rub some flour into it). Leave them out to dry for 1 hour or longer before cooking them in plenty of boiling, salted water for anywhere between 10 to 15 minutes. This will depend on how long you’ve let them dry before cooking them.

Before putting the coins in boiling water, have your sauce started…

Melt some butter in a 3 1/2 quart, wide, sloped saucepan. Add a good handful of pine nuts (pignoli) and, saute the nuts, stirring frequently, until both, the milk solids in the butter and the nuts turn a toasty brown (not black–just nice and golden brown).  Remove the nuts with a slotted spoon to a bowl. Add to the browned butter, 2 cloves of garlic (minced or pressed through a garlic press), a generous splash of cream, a double generous splash of good homemade chicken stock and a tablespoon or so of chopped marjoram (use fresh oregano, as a substitute–a couple of chopped sage leaves (called “salvia” in Italian) is also good. Heat the liquids and butter together to release the flavors of the herbs and to get things piping hot–then add the cooked pasta coins (make sure they’re tender first!) and, if needed, thin the sauce with pasta water.

Once the pasta is added, stir in the toasted nuts and a good handful of freshly grated parmesan…

Shimmy the pan to help everything dance together well, then hurry up and eat! BEYOND DELICIOUS! (Serve with extra grated Parmesan and a competent pepper-mill passed at the table…)

So, although I couldn’t meet the artisan Corzetti stamp maker (Franco Casoni) when in Italy, that didn’t mean that I couldn’t eventually cook using an authentic, hand-made tool–by him,  just for me. 

The Point: Although I know that it probably seems very odd to start a blog all about the best parts of a trip –with something that happened once I got home (and not even from the exact territory where I traveled)–but I want to illustrate how this amazing company, Trufflepig, not only respected my desires but made it their mission to create the experience of a lifetime–And I just couldn’t go into all the wonderful things about this trip without saying a big fat public THANK YOU to those at Trufflepig!

The next blogs will be all about truffles, (including truffle hunting), tajarin, carne cruda, grissini, vitello tonnato, agnolotti dal plin, candied poached pears, hazelnuts–So many delicious, gorgeous experiences–with interwoven recipes all inspired by this trip to Piedmonte, Italy. I’ll be back (very soon)! (Yay, my blogging slump is officially over!)

Tags: corzetti stamp, franco casoni, homemade pasta, homemade pasta recipe, how to cook corzetti pasta, how to cut corzetti pasta, Italy, Piedmont, truffles, where to find a corzetti stamp

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As a cook (and as an eater), I’m very passionate (ok opinionated) about certain foods–For instance, I feel the texture of matzo balls must be extremely light and tender and literally swollen with flavor. Then there’s roast chicken, which should be incredibly crisp and well-seasoned with cooked flesh that’s perfectly succulent (even the white meat). Ethnic, artisan breads (the large round and/or oblong kind) need to be externally VERY crusty–actually cracking in places– The color of the crust should be deep and dark–which indicates a caramelized, slightly charred taste–and the inner crumb needs to be soft–tender, yet chewy–but never tough. (FYI: Some recipes that aim for “big holes” in the baked flesh sacrifice tenderness–so home-bakers beware!) I like gravies that cling without being gloppy, tarts that celebrate the crust as much as the fruit and muffins that are so good that you eat the whole thing–not just the tops.

I’m also very particular about my meatballs. First inspired by Mabel, a large, round, southern woman-of-color (who had a gold front tooth), she worked for my parents when I was growing up in Long Island. Mabel was–how should I say it?–She was on the mean side–but she also made a mean meatball, which were almost base-ball sized, very tender and always gurgling in red sauce. (I think her sauce of choice was “Ragu”). I loved her meatballs so much that just smelling them simmer made me like her –even though she had absolutely no personality–except when being mean.

Since I didn’t grow up cooking (along side the meanie) I just would sit and ponder how making my own meatballs someday might make my children feel–My initial reaction to Mabel’s meatballs is actually quite integral to why I became so committed to “the power of cooking”  for my “someday” family–I would fantasize about how my kids would walk into our home (after school) and feel immediately kissed –completely bathed in sensory deliciousness–and I would be at the helm.  From the time I was the ripe-old-age of seven, I knew, for sure, that being the creator and orchestrator of such a satisfying dimension to life would be something to be very proud of–I still do. I also felt that doing so would be very healing for me–it was and still is.

So, you see, great meatballs are a big deal to me and growing up in a house that didn’t actually teach me how to make meatballs–I’ve had several twists and turns along the way to being able to make them successfully and (now)  to teach them to you.

Meatballs after Mabel…

As soon as my two older brothers were secured in college,  my parents decided to fire Mabel, give away Peter, my Maltese dog, and to sell our house in Long Island. Since I was only 15, they were stuck with me. So, the three of us (me and my parents) moved to NYC, where I finished high school. They employed a Chinese couple, the female (named MiMi) cleaned and the male (pronounced “I-O” as if saying each letter alone) –he cooked. I would try to watch I-O cook–He was very good at making Chinese food (duh..)–His food was more refined, though, and more of a French-Chinese fusion cuisine—So (I know) I should have thought twice before I adopted his “meatballs” as my own, especially considering they didn’t speak to either his Chinese heritage or his French-Chinese specialty…But, then again, I learned early on that sublime-ness can be found in the most unexpected places (remember who my original inspiration was (!) Don’t get me wrong–it’s not that I-O’s meatballs weren’t tasty–they were–and tender, too (although much smaller, they were almost as good as Mabel’s).  But, his ingredients would make any Italian worth a dime gag.  Listen to this: He reconstituted crushed cornflakes in milk and added this to the ground meat–See, I told you.

So, although these, my first stab at making homemade meatballs, were a good start, (I actually came up with a pretty good concoction and put that recipe in my first cookbook) they weren’t close to the meatballs that I make now –which I do believe are simply perfect.

The night I heard how to make real meatballs…

One night, a few years back, Jon and I were out to dinner, at an Italian restaurant.  Because it was crowded, we decided to eat at the bar–which we actually choose to do often, since we’ve met some very nice, interesting people that way. This night, the conversation (amongst the bar-tender and several women at the bar) turned to meatballs. As they talked, my life in Long Island (and my passion for meatballs) flashed before me–I became totally quiet and, with an intensity in my eyes that my husband knows well,  I looked at Jon with that “oh my God, I’m going to finally hear how real Italians make meatballs” look. I was determined to hear every word. 

Like all Italians that cook innately, they don’t measure anything –they just talk about food as if a dish would appear simply by uttering the words…(Trust me, I was being internally serenaded–visualizing meatball heaven, just by listening). I came home and, the very next day, I went to work—It took several times–and I deviated a bit from what I learned that night at the bar–adding a few ingredients that I feel made exactly what I wanted: Meatballs that are loaded with flavor and an oh-so-soothing texture.

Finally, here is my meatball recipe that I proudly give to you, with love.

(I think I’m gonna cry…)

Homemade Meatball Heaven

OK, don’t be mad but I’m going to give you a large recipe–simply because these meatballs are so delicious (and freeze so perfectly) and also because you need the exact same amount of tools and cookware to make a small batch. Having said this, I purposely created a recipe that can be halved right down the middle.

Another thing–I make BIG meatballs–I like it that way–so if you want yours smaller, be my guest (that’s part of the beauty of home cooking).

Ingredients for 22 to 24 large meatballs (mine start out the size of small soft-balls but, after simmering, they end up smaller):

• 4 slices “hearty” style white or wheat bread, crusts removed and the bread cut into small cubes
• ½ cup milk
• 2 extra large eggs
• 1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut into quarters
• 6 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
• ½ cup prepared basil pesto (homemade or your favorite store-bought brand)
• ½ cup freshly ground best-quality Parmesan cheese (plus more for rolling meatballs and serving)
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 4 pounds ground meat (Ask the butcher to grind equal amounts of beef and veal together. You can also include ground pork in the mix.)
• Between 5 and 6 quarts Marinara sauce (preferably with lots of fresh basil and sautéed mushrooms)

To soak the bread: Put the cubed bread in a bowl and add the milk. Use your hands to help the bread absorb the milk. Set aside.

To assemble the meatball mixture: Put the eggs, onion, garlic, pesto, ½ cup Parmesan and a generous amount of freshly ground black pepper into the blender. Puree until smooth.

Put the ground meat into a large (preferably wide) bowl and pour the pureed mixture on top of the meat.  Add the softened bread cubes to the bowl, as well.

Using your hands, work the pureed mixture and moistened bread into the meat, using a tender hand—you’re not squeezing or kneading the meat aggressively—which can toughen the meat. Just use your hands to fold the two consistencies together, turning this into one mixture.

To set up to form meatballs: Line two large shallow baking sheets (or trays) with wax paper and then sprinkle the paper generously with more grated Parmesan.

To form meatballs and chill: Use your working hand to scoop up some of the meat mixture (again, mine start out the size of a small soft-ball–but they get smaller after simmering). Gently round the shape by rolling the meat mixture between two hands. Lay the round on the cheese-lined tray and continue until you’ve finished shaping all the meatballs, dividing them between both trays (expect the meatball mixture to be soft).

Then, one by one, roll each meatball in the cheese, then round the shape again, helping the cheese to adhere.

When all the meatballs are coated with the cheese, cover the sheets with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (and up to several hours).

To set up to cook the meatballs: Bring the marinara sauce to a simmer in a 10-quart heavy bottomed saucepan, over low-heat, with the lid ajar. Remove the meatballs from the refrigerator.

To brown the meatballs and simmer: Heat one or two large non-stick skillet(s), over medium-high heat, with a shallow layer of olive oil. When the oil is hot, brown the meatballs, in batches, turning the meatballs over carefully, to brown on at least two sides—(Before placing the meatball into the pan, use your hands to re-round the shape and avoid damaging the meatball when turning—using a non-stick turning spatula as well as tongs, will help give you the dexterity you need.)

Try to shift the meatballs, so they brown on three sides…

As you brown the meatballs, place on a clean tray. Once all the meatballs are browned, lower them into the simmering sauce. Once in the pot, don’t stir—using oven mitts, shimmy the pot –using the side handles—to help the meatballs settle in and become submerged in the sauce. The sauce should be on VERY low heat.

Cover the pot and simmer the meatballs (very gently!), over very low heat, for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Don’t wait for the sauce to return to a simmer before you begin timing–If the sauce was simmering at the start, you will only see the barest bubble at the center of the sauce, after adding the meatballs. If your meatballs are smaller, you’ll simmer them less.) Turn off the heat and add more black pepper and, if desired,  a few cloves of minced raw garlic and more fresh basil, to taste.  Shimmy the pot to distribute things. Take the pot off the stove.

Now…Dat-sa nice-a!

No joke. This recipe makes the best meatballs I’ve ever had.

To divide and store: If not serving right away, allow the meatballs to cool in the sauce (uncovered). Divide the meatballs between squatty-shaped plastic tubs. If you’d like to serve some and store the rest, transfer the amount of meatballs and sauce you’d like to serve into another pot and, if planning to reheat within two days, store that in the refrigerator, covered. (If planning to serve withing a few hours, leave the pot at a comfortable room temperature.) Place the rest into a freezer container and attach a label with the contents and date. Freeze. To thaw, remove from the freezer and leave in the refrigerator overnight. Once thawed, reheat very gently until piping hot, adding some more fresh pepper and basil, to taste.

To reheat and serve: Reheat the meatballs, covered, over very low heat, shimmying the pot as needed, to help things heat evenly. Serve the meatballs with sauce, piping hot, over freshly cooked spaghetti or linguine.

The Point: As a lonely little girl, I never would have guessed that meatballs constructed (simmered in Ragu, no less) and offered by someone I deemed “a meanie” could possibly help to create the impetus for so much of what my adult life would be about, both personally and professionally, but they DID just that! So, today, when I reflect back on Mabel, on her often hard, stoic ways–all mixed and simmered with her amazingly tender meatballs –I remind myself that these experiences are examples of how easy it is to acknowledge adversity -and then to simply stop there.  But, (and this is the important part) when we choose to use that same perception of lack as fuel to build the kind of life we really want –Now, that’s the secret of a great meatball in a whole different category.

Click here, for a printable version of this meatball recipe.

Tags: how to make the best meatballs, I love meatballs, Italian meatball recipes, meatballs and spaghetti recipe, meatballs in red sauce, my best meatball recipe, perceptions of adversity, perfect meatballs, positive ways to percieve adversity, tender meatballs, the secret for perfect meatballs

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Jon qualified for a national golf tournament! We had been talking about him going to Orlando for weeks–yet I never thought about eating alone–until the day before he left. 

A little history: I’ve been living with Jon since I’m a whopping 17 years old–married at 19. My oldest child, Ben, will turn 28 at the end of this month–and he was born when I was 24 (I’ll let you do the math…). So, eating alone wasn’t something that I’ve had too much experience with–other than when I had to relocate to Vancouver, to shoot the TV series for PBS. But that was different. Being alone all day and night in the home where my children, my marriage and my career all evolved–this impending solitude felt bizarre–and yet (dare I say…) exciting!

So, here I was, at home alone with Mango, my 4 year old yellow Labrador Retriever. Friends would call and let me know they were there–but, the truth is that I wasn’t looking to fill up my dance card. I wanted to really use this time to see how I felt about being all alone with myself.

Over the years, many of my students have expressed their frustration–either because a spouse didn’t arrive home at an hour conducive to shared meals or due to sudden (or not so sudden) circumstances, there was no spouse at all, due either to divorce or becoming widowed. Either way, the result of being partnerless was always the same: Lovely and lovable people who didn’t feel motivated or entitled to cook and/or bake for themselves–or for their children–without the presence of another adult –someone else that would somehow validate their entitlement to have a fine meal at the end of a long day, simply because they’re worth it. So, suddenly this time felt special–and valuable to more than just me– this was my time to show us ALL that we ALL certainly are worth it.

When Jon left early that morning, he was lucky enough to miss the torrential rain that was about to descend (and relentlessly stay) for days–As soon as I knew he was up in the air–I asked myself “OK, Lauren, what now?” Then, I decided to do what I always do when I need to feel connected to my power to create my own happiness–I made bread. And, as expected, kneading the dough and knowing that it, too, needed me was all it took to get the ball rolling…

With the dough made and rising, I took a container of frozen meatballs that were suspended in a block of marinara sauce out of the freezer to thaw. I went to the market and bought a container of small floating balls of fresh mozzarella cheese and a single bunch of pencil-thin asparagus, which I washed, dried and then placed on my favorite blue-gun steel baking pan that I had first lined with non-stick aluminum foil.

Once on the pan, I rubbed the asparagus liberally with a mixture of extra-virgin olive oil, minced garlic, hot red pepper flakes and black pepper that I coarsely cracked and, over the top, I dropped a dose of  Kosher salt.

I had the music on (channel 31 on XM) while I shaped the oh-so-sticky dough, let it rise again until billowy, on a sheet of unbleached parchment paper that was first sprayed with olive oil –and then sprinkled with a mixture of cornmeal and whole wheat and white flour. Oh–and to help guide the sides of the dough as it rose, I had placed the paper (cradling the dough) seasoned side up, inside of a stainless steel bowl that measured about 9 inches across the top–While the dough was rising, I had the oven preheated to very hot (500F) with thick slab of terra-cotta (my pizza stone) on the center shelf and, on the stone, sat a cast iron pot, it’s lid secured.

When the dough was ready, I slashed and salted the top, took out the (extremely  hot) iron pot, placed it on a trivet, uncovered it and placed the lid on another trivet. I lifted the paper cradle and lowered the whole thing–the paper and the raw loaf–into the pot. I grabbed my mitts–recovered the pot and placed it back into the oven, onto the hot stone–shut the door, lowered the temp. to 475F and baked for 30 minutes. I then uncovered the pot, lowered the temp. to 450F and baked for 20 minutes more. I turned off the oven and let the bread sit there, undisturbed for 15 minutes.

I opened the oven…

ohhh….I felt so happy. Then I felt guilty about feeling happy (“Who makes bread for themselves when home alone?” I thought).

Then, as the bread sat on a wire rack,  the crust singing as it cooled,  I got annoyed about feeling guilty. (“What makes someone else more entitled to this loaf than me?”) I let the bread cool until dinnertime.

Mango and I had been out several times that day, walking up, down and around sopping wet streets and corners –those that hold many personal memories, especially since Jon and I both work from home and usually travel this same path together, daily. Every once in a while, Mango would look up at me, her eyes blinking at half-mast to keep out the rain. I imagined the question in her expression. “Walking me alone–and in the rain– is still fun for you, right?”)

As the night rose on a sunless day, rain still spilling from the sky, it was the first time I thought of the table. Where was I going to eat? From the very beginning, ever since Jon and I moved into the house–ever since my kids were born, each night at dinner, there they were–first reclining in padded infant-seats–then propped in high-chairs–then balanced in booster seats, etc. And to this day, every night, whenever we eat at home (regardless of what I’m serving), we always eat at a set table and always by candle-light. Would things change now that I was home alone? Should they change?

Oh, please. Are you kidding?!

Although I didn’t want to eat alone at a big dining room table, I also didn’t want to eat on a couch, in front of a television set. So, since we have a counter and stools in the kitchen, I “set” the counter.

But something was missing…

I slipped on my water-proof shoes and blue hooded rain-jacket. I grabbed my scissors and, despite the pouring rain, I went outside into the garden.

I preheated the oven, for the asparagus, to 450F.

Meanwhile, I slowly reheated my meatballs…adding some fresh basil to the pot.

I brought some water to boil and then I turned the water to a simmer, while I roasted the asparagus for 20 minutes.

I assembled a simple salad.

Since I always keep roasted peppers in the fridge…

– I added them to the plate of heirloom tomatoes, mozzarella cheese and baby arugula, which I served with some great olive oil and balsamic.

Several minutes before the asparagus were done, I melted some butter in a pan with sloped sides and, to the butter, I added a few cloves of minced garlic and some beef stock (I always have tubs of all sizes of stocks of all kinds in the freezer.) 

Two minutes before the buzzer sounded for the asparagus, I raised the heat under the boiling water to the max–I added a great pinch of salt to the pot, and then added some dried cappellini pasta.

I sliced the bread…

 Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…(the oven timer.)

Roast asparagus are amazing! Since they cook at such a high temperature, the spears get really crisp and caramelized (especially the tips)–which truly elevates the taste and texture.

I tossed the pasta with the butter and stock. (By the way, if you didn’t have stock, you could always just use the pasta water), and then I lit the candles…

I poured the wine (a red from Argentina). Yay, it’s time to eat!

Boy, that was GOOD!

Day Two: It was still raining. The wind was howling–and the covers on my patio furniture had half-blown off (the other halves were anchored down with the weight of rain-water). Several of the chairs around our table were knocked on their sides–random branches were down–and whatever ripe fruit that had been clinging to the tops of my fig trees were now, lucky for Mango, rotting in the soil below. The towels used to dry Mango were all damp, dirty and covered with pale hairs.

I had some appointments in Manhattan so I took the train into the city, looking forward to shop for dinner at the market in Grand Central Station.

As I traipsed around the market–After having meatballs last night, I knew I wanted fish for dinner. I also knew that I had leftover bread, cooked pasta and roasted asparagus–All things I wanted to revisit. I also knew that a friend, who runs a great Italian olive oil and cheese of the month club–she had sent me some of her most resent imports so I could develop some recipes for an upcoming newsletter.

I bought an 8 ounce piece of halibut fillet…It surprised me how the words “I’ll take that one piece of halibut” didn’t hurt like when I finally succumbed and bought only one lonely chicken to roast, when the kids were all in college.

I rinsed, dried and seasoned the fish on both sides with salt and pepper and kept it in the fridge until ready to cook.

I also bought a bunch of  giant black seedless grapes, which I rinsed and placed into a bowl…

I took out the bowl of pasta so it wouldn’t require lengthy reheating.

In preparation for the fish, I chopped some bottled pickled hot cherry peppers and a few cloves of fresh garlic. I drained a tablespoon of capers from their brine. I also cut up last night’s leftover asparagus, which I planned to use in the pasta.

For the bread, I mixed some minced garlic into extra-virgin olive oil and added some crushed red pepper flakes and cracked black pepper.

I sliced some of the bread and brushed both sides with the garlic-oil-pepper mixture.

I positioned a non-stick skillet on the stove, for the fish. And a grill pan on the next-door burner, for the bread.

It was early evening–although I was hungry, I reminded myself that dinner tonight didn’t need to be at any specific hour–and not according to the pangs of others. It was just me so I could actually eat whenever I wanted!

Deeming that it wasn’t yet time to cook dinner, I decided to make a little something light –but delish.

Grapes and Cheese!

I took two grapes–I know this sounds small but these were giant grapes–if using the regular seedless grapes, you’d use four per person.–Anyway, I cut each grape in half, lengthwise. I then cut each half in half again, lengthwise, but without cutting all the way through the bottom skin. Like this…

If using regular grapes, just cut each whole grape in half, lengthwise, without going through the bottom skin.

I was sent this amazing new cheese (new to me) called Manouri–very similar to feta–but a bit milder, softer and a lot less salty–really good. So, I took a knife and cut off a few small pieces–and then placed one inside of each opened grape. Then I drizzled extra-virgin olive oil lightly over the top and added some black pepper.

My amuse-bouche–such a perfect way to softly stall an early evening appetite.

Each small bite delivered such extraordinary contrasts in tastes and textures–I thought “Oh Jon has to taste this!”…Suddenly, being alone felt stingingly singular. I was, for the first time in a very long time unable to, a whim, reach inside of another person–someone that I loved sharing with– and touch them simply yet profoundly. I didn’t mind being home cooking for myself–but I wanted to share. I thought about how being alone and sharing seemed in-congruent.

Still raining and now dark, I put some all-purpose flour on a small tray and seasoned it with salt and pepper. I took out the fish and laid it, skin side down, in the seasoned flour.

I poured a shallow layer of olive oil in the nonstick pan and put a flame under it. Simultaneously, I also let the grill pan heat, on low, for the bread.    

As soon as the oil was hot–but not quite smoking–I added the fish to the pan, floured (skin) side down and cooked the fish until the skin was golden and the flesh was cooked about 1/3 of the way up the fillet (you can see the fish cook by noting the difference in it’s appearance–the flesh goes from being translucent to being whiter–It’s less about any specific amount of time and more about each piece of fish being treated individually, so you’ll need to pay attention to the way it looks–just remember to cook the flesh 1/3 of the way up.

Then turn the fish and sear on the other side…

After searing the top, the flesh will still be translucent in the center. Take the fish out of the pan, dump the oil into a heat-proof bowl (stainless) and place the fish on a plate.

See how the center is still translucent??

Put the hot pan back on the stove and, over medium heat, swirl in a few tablespoons of butter. Add the chopped cherry peppers, garlic and capers and then a nice squeeze of fresh lemon.

Allow the varied flavors and textures to mingle for a minute–then add the fish, tilt the pan and baste it liberally.  

Bring things back up to a bubble, then cover the pot and reduce the heat to very low. Simmer, covered, just until cooked almost through, 3 to 4 minutes.

Meanwhile, I reheated the pasta in the microwave for a few minutes with the cut up cooked asparagus. I also cranked up the heat under my grill pan and started on the bread.

I had prepared a salad that would go perfectly with the halibut and pasta…

Bibb lettuce with roasted peppers, mozzarella cheese and anchovy fillets.

Din-din on Day Two…

 I just couldn’t eat that second piece of bread…Jon and the kids would have really loved this meal. Although I was missing Jon so much, doing this for myself felt good–and important. 

Day Three: My mood was starting to match the weather, which was still playing the same dreary song. So, I took a small tub of curried butternut squash soup out of the freezer to thaw.

I still had half of the original loaf of bread leftover. I also had a good amount of the garlic-oil mixture that I had used the night before for the garlic toast, so I did the same thing today, only this time after basting both sides, I grated on some Reggiano-Parmigiano to the tops. Since the cheese could stick to a grill pan, tonight I would broil the bread instead.

I wanted to make crostini (garlic toast that carries a topping)–something substantial to go with the soup.

I had a plump purple eggplant in the vegetable drawer. After rinsing and drying, I trimmed off the top of the eggplant, then took a vegetable peeler and removed lengthwise sections of the outer peel, creating a striped pattern. Then I sliced the eggplant into rounds that were about 1/2-inch thick.

I brushed the eggplant on both sides with the garlic-oil mixture, added some more cracked black pepper and some salt.

I covered the eggplant and let it sit out, at room temperature. I put a grill pan on the stove, for later.

I had some fresh Mission figs and thinly sliced Serrano ham in the fridge (I bought the ham yesterday in Grand Central Station). I had frisee lettuce and baby arugula. I also had work to do–I had to use the cheese that I had been sent specifically to develop recipes. One, as I said before is called Manouri (the feta-type) and the other is called Kefalograviera which is equally delicious–made from sheep and goats milk –semi-firm–tasted really nutty.

Suddenly, a “light” supper of soup and crostini” had the potential to turn into quite a masterpiece!

I decided to fill the figs with some of the Manouri cheese, then wrap them in the ham. This cheese is crumbly so it needed to be mashed with something soft and complimentary–just enough to make it spreadable. Since the flavor was mild, I didn’t want to mute it by using something made with cow’s milk. I wanted to increase the acidity–so I used Greek yogurt–which would help the cheese to stand up to the sweet figs, salty ham and the bitter greens that I would serve along side. 

So, I had everything set up…

I trimmed excess fat off the ham and then cut each long slice in half, width-wise. I halved each fig, through the stem-end, then I mashed some Manouri cheese with just enough yogurt to make it spreadable…

I spread a generous layer of the softened cheese over the cut side of each fig…(You want to allow one fig –two pieces–per person.)

I drizzled the cheese filling with a little extra-virgin olive oil and sprinkled on some cracked black pepper. Then I wrapped each cheese-filled fig with some ham enclosing it, and then laid each one, seam side down, on a covered platter and chilled them until later.

I started thinking–”These figs can be served several ways.”

Walnuts! I took a bag of shelled walnut halves out of the pantry. I melted some butter in a skillet and tossed in the nuts and sauteed them, stirring constantly, until both, the outer skins on the nuts and the milk solids in the butter were light golden. (Be careful, here. Nuts with skins can easily become over-browned which leaves them tasting acrid.)

I poured the nuts onto a plate lined with paper towels, then sprinkled the toasted nuts with salt and let them sit there until ready to put things together.

Then, just as dusk was about to make an entrance–

 THE SUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

About an hour before I planned to cook, I took the stuffed figs out of the refrigerator. I also took out a mustardy-vinaigrette that I had made a couple of days earlier so that the texture could soften and the flavors could fully resurface: For the vinaigrette: 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard, 1/3 cup white wine vinegar, 2 tablespoons sherry wine vinegar, 2 or 3 cloves of minced garlic, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon honey and 3/4 to 1 cup olive oil (mix pure and extra-virgin). Whisk, and then season with black pepper.

Before assembling the salad, I decided to take a picture of another way to serve the stuffed figs which, as expected, proved to be amazing as a “before dinner” treat.

The stuffed figs surrounding a mound of butter-toasted walnuts!

Ok, now I was hungry… Time to start cooking.

I used a vegetable peeler to shave long, thin strips from the wedge of Kefalograviera cheese, cut some heirloom cherry tomatoes into quarters and brushed them with some of the garlic-oil.

I put a mixture of torn frisee lettuce and baby arugula in a bowl, turned on a low flame under the soup, a high flame under my grill pan and preheated my broiler.

I grilled the sliced eggplant on both sides until tender and golden

I know I’m making more eggplant than I need–but leftovers taste great!

After placing the cooked eggplant on a plate, I broiled the garlic toast on both sides, then turned the slices cheese side up.

And topped the toast, first with some grilled eggplant, then with some halved cherry tomatoes and finally with some of the shaved cheese…

Once the soup was hot, I dressed the salad and mounded it in the center of the platter of figs, then I put the toasted nuts around the greens and on top.

I took a few pictures as part of my recipe development procedure…

Now, to my dinner!

I slid the baking sheet holding the crostini under the preheated broiler just long enough to melt the cheese…

And put the crostini on a plate with some of the salad that I tossed with the toasted walnuts…

And served the above with a bowl of piping hot curried butternut squash soup.

And, let’s not forget those gorgeous stuffed figs!

Yet another meal that could bring a stoic to tears.

Day Four: The sun was shining, I happily spent the entire day (and evening) in Manhattan-having brunch with my son Ben and one of my daughters, Jessie, then to a movie and out to dinner with Jessie.

Day Five: I flew to Orlando to proudly watch Jon compete in his tournament. It was so wonderful to be with him again.

I’m home again and no longer alone.

The Point: I’ve learned a lot from this experience. Mostly, that we can be alone, even lonely and still show ourselves great love. That regardless of the status of our other relationships, doing things to nurture the life-long bond we have with ourselves makes good times and difficult times substantially better –and that matters a lot– not just to the quality of our overall existence but also to what we teach our children about what they, too, should want for themselves when they’re grown.  This blog was meant to help you to see that, being without an adult partner does not dictate our ability or level of entitlement to create and enjoy the many benefits of living a homemade life. I hope this blog inspires you to love yourselves more and to back that up with self-caring gestures, no matter who is or is not around. I guess being alone and sharing isn’t so in-congruent after all.

Tags: cooking for one, cooking for the week, crostini recipes, halibut recipes, homemade bread, Manouri cheese recipes, recipes using fresh figs, recipes using seedless grapes, roasted asparagus recipes, roasted pepper recipes, what to eat when home alone

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