As reported yesterday, one of the many things I watched being prepared and thoroughly enjoyed eating was Bruna’s poached pears. They were actually amazing–and one of the highlights for me–which isn’t easy since this meal was truly terrific from top to bottom.

This is what the pears looked like right before serving…

Now, don’t get all hung up on perky looks–tight skin, etc.–that is the opposite of what you want here. These pears, which started out hard, were poached extremely gently–for a VERY long time–so, when done, they are meltingly tender.

Since Bruna had the pears started before I arrived, I really wasn’t sure of the exact amounts –and she indicated that she saved the poaching liquid from each batch in the refrigerator and simply added to it for each subsequent batch–So, when I got home from Italy and wanted to recreate these luscious pears, I had to experiment until I got them just perfect…And, here’s how I did it.

Take hard winter pears (that are at room temperature) and place them into a nonreactive pot. The pot size should fit the pears in a single layer on the bottom of the pan. Once you’ve secured the pan, take the pears out and set them aside. (For 4 to 8 pears, I use a 4-to 6-quart enamel-coated cast iron pot.)

Pear note: I’ve done this recipe several times. So far, my favorite type of pear to use is this one (below)…

What’s most important, when choosing pears, is their texture at the onset, which should be good and firm! This way the fruit can withstand long, slow exposure to very gentle heat, which is what will impregnate them with all of the wine’s goodness.

Add two bottles of Nebbiolo or Dolcetto wine (which is the grape most noted for being grown and turned into wine in Piedmont) to the pot and add 1 cinnamon stick, 6 cloves and 4 whole cardamom pods, crushed (my addition), and 6 rounded tablespoons of granulated sugar (3 rounded tablespoons for each bottle of wine). Stir–bring the wine to a bubble, stirring occasionally–then add the pears, put the cover on and leave it slightly ajar.  

Turn the heat down very low (as low as it goes) and let the pears float in this very hot liquid for (depending on the size and firmness of the pears) 4 to 6 hours! (Yes, that’s right.) These pears are very accomodating, as long as you don’t cook them with any aggression.

Important to remember: If possible, work the flame so that the liquid in the pot doesn’t visibly move–Every once in a while, uncover the pot, use your finger to poke the top of the pears to check their tenderness–and twirl them so that the exposed tops of the pears switch positions with the bottoms–giving them equal time in the hot wine. You can also shimmy the pot gently by the handles–which will help them to reposition without risking injuring the fruit.

If you are working with a stove where you don’t have a great deal of control over the heat generated by the burners, use a flame tamer once the pears have been added and the wine has been allowed to come back up to a very hot temperature–Then, just allow the pears to tell you how done they are, as you check them–Use your instincts here–longer or shorter–it’s up to you, your stove and your pears.)

Over this time, you will notice that the wine is slowly reducing and becoming more concentrated–this is good! The skin on some of the pears will start to appear a bit dimpled–but the skin on some will still look taut. The important thing to look for (to feel for) is tenderness–The pears should look swollen and feel very supple–as they say–”like butta.”

When the pears feel extremely tender–the wine is reduced and getting syrupy–take the pot off the heat and let sit for 15 to 30 minutes (which encourages the syrup to cool down and get a bit sticky–which is what you want.

Using a slotted utensil, remove the pears to a platter and immediately sprinkle them liberally with granulated sugar. The sugar will stick to the pears and make them look like a Christmas ornament! Expect the sugared pears to become a bit more dimpled as they cool.

Let them sit out–at room temperature–until you serve them. (These can be served warm, at room temperature–or chilled.)

My favorite way to serve these pears is at room temperature (or even a bit warm)with slightly sweetened crème fraiche…Take a container of crème fraiche and whisk in a few tablespoons of super-fine granulated sugar (this sugar instantly dissolves), along with a few drops of pure vanilla extract. Keep it in the fridge until ready to serve, then drizzle some on top of the pears.

Here is what my pears look like…

Let the syrup cool–strain it and store it in the fridge in a screw top jar–This stays for weeks! Then, the next time  you want to make these pears, just pour this into the pot–add more wine–repeat the spices and sugar–and, once the mixture comes to a boil–add the pears and follow the same poaching procedure. I hope you love these pears as much as I do–and I hope Bruna would be proud of my rendition.

Enjoy! (And please, DO tell me if you try them–and let me know if you need any further clarification)! More to come about my fabulous trip to Italy…

Tags: bruna alessandria, cooking with wine, Dolcetto wine in recipes, how to poach pears, Nebbiolo wine in recipes, poached pears, recipes using wine

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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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Duck confit (preserved duck) is, similar to chicken, beef and veal stock, something that I don’t like to be without. Not that we eat it often but, like stock that’s perfectly happy to sit in the freezer–duck confit (pronounced “con-fee”) is perfectly happy to wait in the refrigerator until someone in the house gets a hankering (usually that’s me).

To make confit (to “confit” anything) is to simmer something completely submerged in fat and then store whatever you’ve cooked in the fat used to cook it. Fat is non-porous so, once congealed, the food cooked (protein or vegetable) is much less susceptible to oxidation (which causes spoilage) which is why making confit is an Old-World form of cookery, used often when refrigeration wasn’t possible.

So, you might be saying to yourself “there’s no problem with refrigeration these days, Lauren, so why, in such health-conscious times would anyone want to cook with all that duck fat?”

It’s simple. Because anyone with a discerning palate knows that duck confit is one of the most delicious and satisfying foods in the world. And, by the way, most of the fat stays on the outside–it just bathes the meat, keeping it succulent throughout cooking and keeping.  

So, without further adieu, let’s make duck confit!

First you need to order duck legs (raw) which is actually the most challenging part! Getting your hands on fresh duck legs is difficult, even when shopping online. Although I get my duck fat at D’Artagnan, they don’t sell raw duck legs. (You can get duck legs already cooked in fat, but that’s not at all the point of this blog which is to teach you how to make a FAR better version (in both taste and texture) than what you can buy (trust me, here…). I’m lucky enough to have a fabulous butcher (Dom) who orders them for me.  

Although you can make a small batch of duck confit, since they stay so well in the fridge, I suggest making a larger batch (8 to 12 legs at one time). You’ll also need plenty of duck fat, so either get this from your butcher or order it online, which is easy.

Once you have the duck legs, the first step is to cure them for 1 or 2 days in the refrigerator (I usually do it for two days). This imparts deep flavor into the meat and skin.

Once the legs are in your possession, rinse and dry them. For 8 to 12 legs, assemble these ingredients (for a smaller batch, just halve the ingredients)…

• 16 cloves, minced
• 1/2 cup Kosher salt
• 3 tablespoons minced fresh thyme leaves
• 1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
• 4 large shallots, minced (about 2/3 cup)
• 1 tablespoon onion powder
• 8 to 12 large raw duck legs, either Muscovy, Moulard or Long Island Pekin)

1) To season duck legs and chill: Mash the minced garlic with some of the salt, using the blade of a chefs knife until it’s paste-like. Add this to a nonreactive bowl and combine with the minced thyme, pepper, shallots, onion powder and remaining salt. Place the duck legs in a nonreactive dish or bowl and rub the seasoning mixture all over both sides of each leg. Cover and chill for 1 day or up to 2 days.

You’ll need 14 to 16 containers of duck fat to accomodate 8 to 12 legs. Here’s what the container looks like…

I really do mean, you’ll need at least 14 containers for 8 to 12 legs…

I usually keep mine in the freezer until it’s time to make duck confit. Then, the night before, I thaw it in the fridge.

You’ll also need:

• 24 cloves of garlic, peeled and kept whole
• 1 tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
• 2 sprigs fresh thyme
• 2 sprigs fresh rosemary

2) To simmer duck legs: Take legs out of the refrigerator 30 minutes to 1 hour before simmering. Then, using paper towels, wipe off most of the seasoning mixture. Melt the duck fat in an 8 to 10-quart, heavy bottomed pot (for a small batch, using 4 legs, melt the fat in a 12-inch, deep-sided skillet), over medium-low heat. Add the duck legs, the whole garlic cloves, the crushed pepper flakes, peppercorns and sprig of each, thyme and rosemary. The fat should cover the duck legs completely. Attach a deep-fry thermometer to the side of the skillet so the bottom of the mercury tip rests above the bottom of the pan, about half-way down the depth of the fat. (I actually use two thermometers, just to make sure the temperature is accurate.) Reduce the heat to very low.

Over low heat, bring the oil up to 190F, uncovered (which will take at least 1 hour), then continue to cook, uncovered, for 2 to 2 ½ hours, trying to maintain a temperature of 200F and never higher than 210F. (I like mine to stay between 190F and 200F.) The fat should only produce the smallest amount of movement. If bubbling, the temperature is too high which can make the meat stringy.) If you don’t have serious control over the heat generated by your burners, you’ll need to use a flame tamer.

As the duck cooks, impurities will rise to the surface of the pot. Use a skimmer to remove this, occasionally.

Although you can wait until the end of the cooking process to remove this film of impurities, because it acts like a skin on the top of the fat, this becomes quite insulating and can cause the temperature of the fat to rise abruptly–so it’s best to occasionally pull this stuff off the top using a fine-mesh skimmer… 

At this point, the duck meat should be very tender. Pull the pan to a cool burner and allow the duck and fat to cool to just warm.

Then, lift out the cooked duck legs and place them in a large rectangular plastic container (one that comes with a tight fitting lid). Strain the fat through a fine-mesh sieve into another large bowl, trapping the solids and stopping before you get to the duck juices at the bottom of the pot. Dump out the solids (although I usually save the garlic which is amazing spread on crusty bread. Strain the fat once more directly into the container holding the cooked duck. Shimmy the fat and legs gently, making sure they are all completely submerged…

Once cool, attach the lid and store in the refrigerator. Once cold, this is what it looks like inside.

To retrieve the duck, you’ll need to let the fat soften a bit (about an hour at a comfortable room temperature), then pry through the fat, being careful not to break up the meat. Use your clean fingers to feel your way around and take out as many legs as you want. …

Then, smooth the fat out, so that it looks as it did before…

 Now–to the best part–Crisping the duck!

Heat a dark, heavy pan until hot, over low-medium heat (a shallow, seasoned cast iron fajitas pan is best). Sear the duck, skin side down, and sear slowly, allowing any excess fat to render out. Carefully pour this fat into a heatproof bowl (this is why the shallow pan is best, so you won’t have to tilt the pan at such a deep angle–which makes it more likely to make the legs fall out!–if all you have is a deeper cast iron pan, remove the legs to a tray, then dump out the fat and put the legs back in the pan). Turn the legs and brown on the other side. Turn again, skin side down, and place a lid over the top to heat through. Uncover and turn again, skin side up. Dump out any more fat from the pan. When the meat is hot and the exterior is golden and crisp, it’s time to eat!

Since duck confit is rich, I like to serve it with a main-dish salad or with some stewed sweet and sour red cabbage and roast potatoes (roll some halved red potatoes in some of the melted duck fat and roast at 400F until the interiors are tender and the exterior golden and crisp).

The Point: If you’ve lasted this long, reading all the way through this process, I figure you’re someone that might actually make duck confit at home. I hope so. Let me know!

Tags: crisp duck confit recipe, duck confit recipes, homemade duck, how to make duck confit

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It’s becoming comical how, after all these years–after writing cookbooks, hosting television and radio shows–after working with culinary giants like Julia Child, I’m still just NEVER over it! Creating in my kitchen brings me such awesome feelings–literally–when doing everything, but especially when baking.

Sometimes I think my computer will explode from all the food pictures–Especially because so many of them are duplicates–

For example, I must have about 4,000 pictures of my pane di casa-

And here’s my latest picture of what I served for dessert last night for dinner guests…

One of about 1,000 photos of this crisp and glistening  Apple-Cinnamon Galette.

And yesterday, while my French rolls were rising, I couldn’t resist re-capturing their pudgyness.

 I shaped half of the dough into ovals and the other half into rounds…

And then, before slipping them into a very hot oven, I just HAD to quickly shoot them after slashing and snipping their tops (for the gazillionth time)…

As they baked, I (as usual) stood by the oven waiting for the buzzer to sound so I could finally get to see (and photograph) what their beyond-belief aromas promised– 

And, as the rolls sat perched on wire racks, their audible crackling sounds was like hearing a favorite song–but better– because this song was played “in person” and not on the radio– which (of course, once again) compelled me to wobble on a footstool, camera in hand, to give them the rock star status they deserve.

And, last week, these freshly baked pumpkin breads (recipe coming…) actually made me gasp –not just because of their beauty…

but also because I knew how the addition of plumped dried currants and chopped, butter-toasted pepitas would elevate the taste of the loaves…

And that goes for the muffins, too! (This new recipe will, no doubt, be photographed over and over again…)

The Point: Although it might seem silly to keep taking pictures of the same recipe, it seems much sillier to give up any opportunity to personally experience (and to instigate in others) the feeling of awe. I hope I’m never “over it.”

Tags: apple tart, baking bread, crusty bread, French rolls, I love to bake, I love to cook, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, the joy of baking

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I know, I know–I have (once again) fallen off the blogging band-wagon! Thank you, to those that have written asking “where the heck are you?!”

This summer has been amazing–and it’s all been about family. Although I know it’s just August, sadly, I can feel summer leaving. Not only has one of my daughters (Julie) just departed from her month-long time with us here at home (she’s working for her doctorate in clinical psychology in San Francisco) but my eldest, my son (Ben), recently left for Bangladesh (of all places!) for business. And, my youngest (Jessie) is gearing up to soon begin her last year of graduate school to become an art-therapist –while also maintaining a rigorous work schedule. So, although this summer I’ve had some of the best and most loving times with Jon and my kids, I’m more than a bit bummed to feel the physical scattering. There have been so many delicious things for us all to remember…

Here are some scrumptious “homemade highlights” from summer, 2010…

Jules, Me and Jess 

Benjamin taking a snooze on the grass.

The kids playing soccer in the yard.

Mango Margaritas!

Jules, Jess, Jen (Ben’s wonderful girlfriend.)

My wood-burning oven, all seasoned and I’m ready to cook!

Here, I’m cooking butterflied chickens with a medly of fresh herbs from the garden, olive oil, minced garlic, Kosher salt and fresh-cracked black pepper. The chickens cook covered loosely with foil–that way, they brown beautifully while keeping the meat succulent. When the fire is prepared properly, the chickens cook in the same amount of time it takes to cook in a conventional oven.

Hot out of the oven–A mixed berry double crust pie.

The pie didn’t last long…

Potato Gnocchi–made to celebrate Jen’s birthday.  Oh, don’t worry–A detailed blog is coming about how to make this. 

I actually made gnocchi twice for Jen and Ben. Once for her birthday (June 24th) …

 Jen’s birthday cake.

And I made gnocchi again, when Julie and Jessie were at the table to celebrate Jen’s birthday as a family.

This is a berry free-form tart—Ben said it was the best dessert he’d ever had!

A “No-Knead” Bread that I’ve been working on…

“Work” is SO satisfying!

Wouldn’t you like to relax like this? Mango might seem like she’s sleeping–but (trust me)  if I took out a vegetable peeler, she’d immediately run and stand by my side. She loves vegetables–She’s a Lab.–she’d eat a can.

Here are two focaccia’s I made with my daughter, Julie. They had fresh tomato wedges, pitted olives (two kinds, oil-cured and kalamata) and small fluted rounds of zucchini. The shaped dough was swabbed (both before and just after baking) with extra-virgin olive oil, lots of fresh herbs from the garden, garlic, crushed red pepper flakes and black pepper. Mama Mia!

A Mixed Berry, Peach and Banana Crisp–I served this with creme fraiche that I whisked with some superfine sugar and vanilla.

My fig trees, netted to protect the fruit from nature’s little thieves.

Hey, it’s my tree–I’m allowed to pick the fruit!

The neighborhood always knows when I’m up to something good…

Fig leaves, fresh picked just after the rain (I have a reason.)

Fig leaves, doubled and seasoned with salt and pepper. (I really do have a reason.)

Branzino laying on seasoned fig leaves. (My reason.)

Mango is happily on “Branzino watch” while I check the grill…

When the charred fig leaves are peeled back (at the table) the reward is THE MOST SUCCULENT, DELICIOUS fish imaginable. Beyond good–

An assortment of heirloom cherry tomatoes, seasoned with olive oil, herbs, salt and pepper and ready to be roasted in a very hot oven (450F) for 20 minutes. This, then, gets poured over freshly cooked spaghetti that goes into a pan with crisp pancetta–and then the whole thing (the pasta, pancetta, roasted tomatoes with all their seasonings and juices get’s tossed with lots of fresh basil leaves, cut into ribbons).

Plain and flavor-all braided challah. I purposely made this two-loaf dough externally different. One was a “flavor-all,” which we ate with dinner on a Friday night–the other one (plain) was in case I had any “French toast” requests over that weekend. 

 Blueberry Muffins with a Sugar-Nut Topping

Heaven on a plate: Rotisserie chicken on the outdoor grill. Purposely made for our dinner on Julie’s last night home (before heading back to San Francisco) –The gentle, gorgeous outdoor wafts of these chickens spit-roasting surely spells love.

The Point: I thought I’d let you see why I haven’t been able to blog this summer. Sometimes it’s just impossible to write about life without sacrificing the literal things to do to create the yummy, loving life one wants. So, for me, living will always come first–and writing next. I’m always here, though. Just an email away! xoxo Lauren

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Ok, so my back tooth (that broke at a wedding) now has a temporary crown–which I don’t trust–so I will eat only soft things until I get the permanent one. ( Sheesh. This could get old quick)…Having said that, could there be anything more delish than eggplant parmesan, when needing to eat soft, soothing things?

This was din-din two nights ago…

Of course, I thought there could be NOTHING as soothing as eggplant parmesan until last night, when we had …

Wild mushroom stuffed agnolotti, by Buitoni (a great product).

First, I sweated the leeks in melted butter on the stove under a lid made of parchment.

This is to keep the condensation extremely flavorful–which will drop back down and into the leeks.

Then, I added leftover cooked fresh green peas that I served the night before (with the eggplant parmesan).

Then came some delicious chicken stock (thawed from the freezer) and the shaved black truffle…

Jon bought me a truffle on Arthur Avenue for an amazingly low price!

I brought the whole lot to a simmer, then seasoned with salt and pepper. Then added the cooked agnolotti.

Just to remind you of what we ate.

So, I figure–this could be kind of fun–having to eat soft things (for a while…)

Tonight’s dinner…

Oh baby–Now, THIS is the best. (Stay tuned for my meatball story.)

Tags: eggplant parmesan, soft foods to eat when having dental issues, wild mushroom agnolotti

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Yesterday, I got home late in the afternoon–Jon and I were planning to go out for dinner since I’ve been cooking like a maniac all throughout the holiday weekend and beyond…. As soon as I got home I learned that Mango, my dog, had quite a hard day–Her birthday was the day before (her fourth) and, apparently, she was too much of a party girl!–To help her celebrate we (OK, I) gave her a HUGE beef knuckle (one of those gross dark-bony-crispy-smoked things that looks like it came from a dinosaur–a heavenly site to a dog).  Mango opened her jaws wider than ever before and, as she finally latched down on it and ran into the yard with a crazed look of glee–my intuition spoke–”we’re all going to pay for this.”   

Sheesh. I was right.       

Anyway, Mango ended up with a really bad case of the runs (which she had all day long, both IN and out of the house). Not a pretty picture. I tried to give her plain boiled rice but she wasn’t interested–Then I really got worried. Mango has NEVER refused food–ever. I called the Vet and was instructed: “don’t give her any food at all–wait to see what happens over night.”    

So, after spending A LOT of time with Mango in the back yard (over and over again) I knew I couldn’t leave her to go out to dinner. Jon was also somewhere “out there” at a golf tournament and called to say he was in the midst of a rain-delay–so I had no idea what (or when) dinner would be.   

I wanted something easy, cheesy (soothing) and flexible in terms of timing. I decided to make pizza. Since it was late, I thought I would go to the neighborhood pizza shop and pick up a dough–but, then it started to rain (I mean POUR–along with thunder and lightening–) So, I had to rethink things. It was now six o’clock.   

It’s certainly not that I was opposed to putting up my own pizza dough–It just never occured to me that I could, should, would make a yeast dough at 6 pm and end up with a great-tasting pizza crust–in such a short time. (Thus, the reason why I’m writing this blog…). My pizza was SO DELICIOUS!!   

It only took me 10 minutes, from start to finish, to make the dough. I divided it, and formed two taut rounds and placed each on it’s own shallow baking sheet that was first generously brushed with extra-virgin olive oil and sprinkled with freshly cracked black pepper. 

I covered one sheet with a kitchen towel (that one was to be for our dinner) and the other I covered with a towel and then plastic wrap (over the towel) and put it in the fridge (That one is for tomorrow’s dinner, when I’ll turn it into focaccia.  

I’ll bet you didn’t know you can do that!…   

Here’s what a Focaccia (made with pizza dough)  looks like before baking …   

Here (above) the chilled dough is allowed to rise on a bakers peel that’s heavily doused with a mixture of cornmeal and white flour (rubbed into the peel), then the dough was brushed with a fresh-herb-garlic-oil and allowed to rise until billowy (at least 2 hours for a well-chilled pizza dough). The oven gets preheated to 450F for at least 30 minutes (preferably longer) –I use the convection mode. 

(Note: This dough is on the sticky side–especially after having risen on the peel. If not experienced working with a baker’s peel, I suggest allowing the dough to rise on a square of parchment paper, first brushed or sprayed with extra-virgin olive oil and then sprinkled with cornmeal (and why not add some sesame seeds?!). Then, just slide the dough (with the parchment) onto the hot stone. By the way, when using parchment to bake artisan breads, use the unbleached kind–it’s darker color will encourage more heat retention by the dough–thus a darker color. Expect the paper to become charred.  Just discard it after baking.) 

Then, once risen, instead of poking the dough (to give a focaccia a traditional dimpled look) I just planted halved heirloom cherry tomatoes (cut sides up) into the dough. I gave the top a light application of Kosher salt and black pepper then slid the dough onto a hot pizza stone (with steam) for 18 to 20 minutes. Then, I opened the oven and carefully sprinkled the top with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and baked for another 3 to 5 minutes.   

Here’s the Focaccia after baking:   

Then, immediately upon leaving the oven, I brushed the top of the Focaccia with more of the herb-garlic-olive oil mixture (actually, I had added just a bit of lemon zest, which gave the finish a nice perky taste-but that’s optional and only one of a gazillion ways to flavor/season focaccia).   

Anyway, (so sorry to deviate).  Back to my impromptu pizza…   

I preheated the oven to 500F (I always keep a pizza stone in my oven) with a cast iron skillet on the rack underneath (this is how I create steam–just before shoving the raw, shaped pizza onto the hot stone, I place about 6 ice cubes with a tiny bit of water into the hot skillet–then shut the door, go get the peel with my pizza–open the door and slide the pizza into a steamy oven, on a very hot pizza stone).   

For my topping (on the pizza) I used some of the leftover marinara sauce from the night before.   

Anyway, with the pizza dough made and rising at room temperature, the sauce in a bowl, I went through the fridge to see what else I could use for my dinner. I found some sliced mushrooms, peeled garlic, marinated long-stemmed artichokes, roasted red and yellow peppers, cleaned lettuce, hot soprassata and (of course) a hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano–and some shredded cheese (muenster and mozzarella). Needless to say, I had more than enough to make a delish impromptu din-din: A big salad and a crisp, sizzling hot pizza.  

Here’s a completely hand-driven, homemade 15-inch pizza–made at the end of the day–using just what I had on hand.   

Baked at 500F for about 12 minutes or until it looks the way any great pizza should–golden, crispy and bubbling on top.   

The point: With all the talk lately of “no-knead” dough–with having to wait 18 hours before using it!–I thought I would remind you of how incredibly easy it is to make a yeast dough the old fashioned way–even spur of the moment!   

Oh–and the aromas from all my cooking made Mango feel MUCH better! She came to me with that oh-so-familiar look…   

"I'm SO hungry, Mama!..."

So, the food was great, Mango felt better and JON WON HIS GOLF TOURNAMENT!!! Life is good. To see me making a pizza dough (and learn a sane way to make pizza for a crowd), watch this video. And, to see the recipe for the dough, click here.

Tags: easy homemade pizza recipe, focaccia recipe, homemade pizza recipe, pizza dough recipe, pizza recipe, ways to use pizza dough

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