Category — Pasta Recipes

I am sorry to say I made several mistakes with this recipe—are you ready for this? To start, I didn’t chop the kale ahead of time, so the pieces were huge when they got tossed with the pasta; also, instead of using the called-for full pound, I just used the bag of kale that came in my CSA, which was a mystery to me in terms of weight, and probably much less than 16 ounces; I was almost out of lemon, so I made do with what was left of some squeezed slices in the fridge; and, when it came time to add the Parmesan, I look back and see now that I was a little stingy.

We’re all friends here, so I’ll just be straight with you: I make silly mistakes like these all the time. It’s not at all uncommon for someone to e-mail me a typo or spelling mistake I’ve posted, for example, and that’s not the sort of thing that inspires confidence in a girl who spends large parts of every day writing and editing words at her work desk.

But it gets worse.

A mistake I am always making, for years now, is something maybe too serious to be called a mistake, something more indicative of a strong character flaw and something that relates to this recipe, or more specifically, an ingredient in this recipe. It’s the same force that was at work when I said, not yet in kindergarten, that I would NEVER like dogs after being chased by some, leading to decades of friends putting their pets away for me; in high school, that I would NEVER live with my parents after college, which is exactly what happened; in college, that I would NEVER think camping sounded fun, although now almost five years later, you won’t find anyone who loves being outside like I do. Though my mind does change, eventually, I can be awfully stubborn in the meantime. It’s ugly.

So it was with kale, that dark and leafy vegetable not unlike spinach, which was not something I grew up eating. [Read more →]

I am so honored to have our first guest post be from the lovely Sara of Sprouted Kitchen! From the first moment I saw her blog, I was hooked. The recipes focus on whole, clean cooking that celebrates the purity and natural flavors of foods, and the photographs by Hugh Forte are beyond breathtaking. Just take a look at what she’s provided below, and you’ll see what I mean—oh, and, do stop over at her amazing site!

[Read more →]

Laurie Colwin says people lie about what they eat when alone. “A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce.” (I’ve decided, just so you know, that of all the writers I wish I could’ve had dinner with, Laurie Colwin is #1, followed very closely by this kid, Noah Lawrence, a Yale college student who writes things like this and this and plays songs like these).

Saturday, I spent a day in the kitchen, alone, just me and my laptop, belting out music and online TV shows while I mixed dough and pushed pans in the oven. I could tell you I ate a sandwich, a cup of soup, some fruit—that I scrambled eggs, even. But I’d be lying. In fact, I ate a handful of oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies, followed by some other cookies (recipe forthcoming Friday posted here), chased with hazelnut coffee. All of these were eaten while I stood over the sink or fiddled with ingredients, never while I was seated and certainly not off a plate. These are the joys of eating alone.

There are different joys, of course, when eating with friends: conversation, for example, which is not to say that speaking cannot happen when one is alone in the kitchen, but just that most speaking is improved with a listener and responses. Also, eating with someone amplifies the sensual understanding: knowing someone else smells the sweet doughy air, when you pull cinnamon rolls out of the oven, gives you a stronger experience. You’re not just smelling something; you’re smelling something with someone. They may comment on it, they may not react; it is irrelevant. The communal seeing, smelling, tasting, touching—changes the way you eat. You are no longer just eating. You are eating with someone else.

Eating alone, however, is filled with entirely different pleasures. There is something to be said for learning to be alone, just you and your thoughts and the kitchen, and being comfortable. Alone, you don’t have to be interesting or smart or funny even. You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to do chop the onions the right way, you don’t have to worry about making a mess. There are no rules but the ones you make for yourself, and those are OK to break. Alone, you can just be you.

Eventually Saturday (as in, late afternoon) I wanted substance. And having never blow-dried my hair or put on makeup, let alone donned normal clothes, I didn’t want to go out. Thus, this version of lasagna was born: lasagna for one.

Essentially, you cook up some olive oil and onions and garlic in a skillet, then add broken chunks of lasagna noodles, topped by diced tomatoes and sauce. This simmers for a while, softening the pasta and flavoring it with the sauce and oil. Next comes the cheese—my favorite part—which you scatter on top of everything before covering the pan and removing it from the heat. Enclosed, the skillet will melt the cheese, sending it oozing and bubbling over the tomatoes and noodles, creating a sloppy, saucy medley. Remove the cover, and voila: lasagna, ready to be eaten. (Between us, over the sink works fine.)

Lasagna for one (or two)
Adapted from Ezra Pound Cake

Ingredients:
1 cup diced fresh tomatoes
Water
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1/2 medium onion, minced
Salt
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
5 curly-edged lasagna noodles, broken into 2-inch lengths
1/2 can (or 4 ounces) tomato sauce
1/8 cup plus 1 Tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese
Pepper
1/2 cup mozzarella cheese
1.5 tablespoon chopped basil

Directions:
Pour tomatoes with their juices into 1-cup liquid measuring cup. Add water until mixture measures just over one cup.

Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat until shimmering. Add onion and 1/2 teaspoon salt and cook until onion begins to brown, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and pepper flakes and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.

Scatter pasta on top but do not stir. Pour diced tomatoes with juice and tomato sauce over pasta. Cover and bring to simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until pasta is tender, about 20 minutes.

Remove skillet from heat and stir in 1/8 cup Parmesan. Season with salt and pepper. Dot with heaping tablespoons of mozzarella, cover and let stand off heat for five minutes. The cheese will melt and ooze all over the softened pasta by the time you remove the cover. Sprinkle with basil and remaining Parmesan. Serve.

I’m growing tomatoes for the second summer in a row, this year four huge plants that began with leaves, then flowers, now green tomatoes, larger every day. I keep checking on them, every time I’m outside, with the dog, to get the paper, about to go for a walk, impatiently waiting for them to ripen, to be ready to eat.

Most times, I pull away a few dead leaves–there are bunches of them–even though I have no idea if this is a good thing to do. I just want to help them along, do whatever I’m supposed to to make them redden. Last year, I’ll be honest, I took the slew of my roma tomatoes inside too soon, mainly because I’d planted them near to the house (for easy watering) but also near a sprinkler head, which the plant grew over and then felt the effects of every day, making a whole side of it die of saturation. Bringing them in seemed the right thing to do then, the way to preserve them all from being ruined.

With this year’s group, every time I pull away leaves, feel the branches of the vines between my fingers, I walk away with the most delicious smell that lingers on my hands. It’s a mix of dirt and leaves and fresh, new-formed fruit all in one, the smell of tomatoes, the smell of summer.

It will probably be a few weeks, maybe a month? before my tomatoes are ready, and I’m just guessing this since I have no legitimate knowledge of how long tomato plants take to ripen. One thing’s for sure: I’ll be the first to notice when they’re ready.

Meanwhile, though, a girl’s got to get her summer tomato fix when she wants it (plus, I’m entering a contest). So I made the following pasta dish, as simple as a dinner can be really, one night after getting home from work. It’s quick, it’s easy, it’s built on fresh, healthy ingredients that are as natural as they are packed with flavor.

Tomato Pasta Salad
based on a recipe I read at Last Night’s Dinner

Ingredients:
Your choice of pasta (I used angel hair)
Olive oil
Sweet tomatoes
1/2 to 1 ball of fresh, good-quality mozzarella
Fresh basil
Minced garlic

Directions:
Cook the pasta on the stovetop, as directed on its packaging. When finished, drain and toss it with olive oil (be generous), sliced tomatoes, large chunks of sliced mozzarella, big pieces of fresh basil and bits of minced garlic.

I also baked up some garlic bread to go with it. Perfection!