If you’re like me, the thought of making homemade pasta is right up there with the thought of knitting your own clothes or building your own car: Sure, theoretically, it’s good. Other people might try it, and when they do, you might think it’s a little cool. But let’s be honest, it’s unnecessary, over-involved, time-consuming and, mostly, way out of your league. Besides, that’s why there are shopping malls! And car dealerships! And hello? Grocery stores with ready-made pasta you only need to boil. Listen, I know.

At first glance, making homemade pasta seems daunting. The very mention of it sends some of us out to buy the latest pasta maker or KitchenAid attachment or, in an even more likely scenario, reaching way back in the cupboards, where our existing pasta maker or attachment has been hiding. We know making pasta takes time, and it might be messy. I know that. Last weekend, I did it anyway.

And when I did, I learned something: when you make it from scratch, the results will be worth it.

... Continue reading but when you make it from scratch at FoodLovesWriting.com!

© Shannalee T'Koy at Food Loves Writing, 2008-2010. | Permalink | 33 comments |

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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.
... Continue reading the fact of the matter at FoodLovesWriting.com!

© Shannalee T'Koy at Food Loves Writing, 2008-2010. | Permalink | 30 comments |

What happened to the full feed? In RSS form, Food Loves Writing posts have been changed to excerpts, unforunately, because of hackers stealing our content, can you believe it?!?! Partial feeds make it harder for them, but, in return, you have to make one teeny-tiny little click to finish the post. Will you do that for us? We hope so.

... Continue reading Sprouted Kitchen: Lemon Asparagus Risotto at FoodLovesWriting.com!

© Shannalee T'Koy at Food Loves Writing, 2008-2010. | Permalink | 5 comments |

What happened to the full feed? In RSS form, Food Loves Writing posts have been changed to excerpts, unforunately, because of hackers stealing our content, can you believe it?!?! Partial feeds make it harder for them, but, in return, you have to make one teeny-tiny little click to finish the post. Will you do that for us? We hope so.

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.

© Shannalee T'Koy at Food Loves Writing, 2008-2010. | Permalink | 15 comments |

What happened to the full feed? In RSS form, Food Loves Writing posts have been changed to excerpts, unforunately, because of hackers stealing our content, can you believe it?!?! Partial feeds make it harder for them, but, in return, you have to make one teeny-tiny little click to finish the post. Will you do that for us? We hope so.