Makes enough filling for at least 150 standard ravioli I have fond memories of curling up on the basement stairs, hanging over the railing, watching my great-great, very distant I’m-not-quite-sure-how-we’re-related cousin, Alfred, make ravioli. I’ll never forget the way the ravioli rolling pin zipped out dozens of ravioli in a heartbeat. Alfred lived to 103 and I attribute that partly to the fact that he continued making ravioli two-three times a year, well into his nineties. He’d make a few hundred at a time, spreading out the work over several days (you can read his letter below to see exactly what he did). Here’s my recommendation: Day one: Eat pork chops for dinner. Save leftovers. Day two: Make the dough and filling. Refrigerate. Day three: Roll the dough and make the ravioli. Dry overnight, turning once. Day four: Freeze. Ingredients: 3 bone-in pork chops, grilled and cooled 1 lb frozen chopped spinach, defrosted 4 large eggs 1 cup plain breadcrumbs 1 cup Parmesan 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg 1/2 tsp pepper 1/4 cup whole milk 1/4 cup …
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This week I can shut my eyes and dream my way to Italy. All I need is to dust my hands with flour, slap around some pasta dough, and fill the house with the scent of steamed artichoke. In an instant, I’m there. Just knowing that I’m making recipes that my family has made for hundreds of years (in some form or another), brings a smile to my face – it’s like a mini vacation from the unknown so common in this adventure. Then, as I watch Ava help me cook and enjoy the food, my heart triples in size because I know – the recipes will live on. What sounds good to you? Homemade Pasta Dough [Recipe] This dough is soft, like a baby’s bottom – made with nothing more than flour, eggs, and a splash of water. The secret is to let it rest before trying to roll it out. That and slapping it around a lot. Seriously. Alfred’s Pork Ravioli [Recipe] Alfred lived to 103. He kept himself young by making these pork ravioli …
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Mom proudly calls the Italian side of our family peasants. The old-fashioned word makes me laugh, but she insists that’s exactly what they were. They weren’t nobility. They weren’t merchants. They were peasants. Farmers, if you will. More specifically, they worked the mushroom fields in Cicagna, Italy – a bumpkin-sized town near Genoa. From what I understand, our family left behind a mountainside villa and acres of mushrooms for a passport to Ellis Island. In their absence, my great-grandparents allowed a family to stay at the villa for free, as long as they worked the fields and shipped mushrooms to them, in United States, every so often. After thirty years without a visit and some political mumbo jumbo, the villa automatically transferred to the renters. Lost. And so, too – decades before I was born – my dream of living in an Italian mountainside villa was lost. Still, mom made sure I was thoroughly steeped in our Italian heritage – going so far as to give me my grandmother, Dorothea’s, maiden name – Foppiano. And what a pretty name …
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THE SCENE There she was, sitting on the rickety bus bench, fiddling with her cellphone. As I drove by I looked at her. She was old – ancient, really. Her head, lost under the brim of her giant camo hat, barely came up over the bench she was sitting on. Not quite four feet tall, her tiny frame was lost in a sea of plastic bags – filled with enough food to last her the week. I’ve watched her for the last few years, the way a busy person observes the changing foliage – in regretful passing. I’ve seen the effort it takes her to do her shopping – 6 bags of groceries, 2 cases of soda… crossing four lanes of traffic at rush hour (never at the cross walk; it’s too much of a detour), steadily carrying one bag at a time. She’d carefully place each bag down on the bench, then shuffle back to the other side of the street to get another. As usual, I was headed somewhere when I saw her – to …
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Makes 1 loaf I like a bread that can stick to my ribs, but not necessarily to my hips. I don’t think I’m asking too much, and I think I just may have found the answer to my prayers with this Irish Brown n’ Oat Soda Bread. It’s healthy (75% whole wheat) and hearty (thanks to a happy sprinkle of oats). This dense, savory, crusty quickbread is best eaten warm, slathered with butter, even though the butter will definitely stick to your ribs and your hips. It’s worth it, though. Feel free to thank Ireland. Ingredients: 3 cups wheat pastry flour 1 cup white pastry flour 1/2 cup steel cut Irish oats (I used the 3 min oats by McCain’s) 1 tsp baking soda 1 tsp salt 2 cups buttermilk (a bit more or less, as needed to get a sticky texture) butter, for brushing top of loaf (optional) Method: This recipe is as easy as 1, 2, 3….4. 1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Whisk together the dry ingredients: whole wheat and regular pastry flour, …
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Makes 5.5 cups batter I like a good excuse to dance in the morning. Preferably while in my fuzzy bathrobe, with spatula in hand (for a microphone, of course), while singing 100% off-key. Boxty pancakes are just the ticket. They look like a thick crêpe, but taste more like the love-child of tangy mashed potatoes and hash browns. These filling, stick-to-your-ribs pancakes are often used to wrap up food, from meat and gravy, to scrambled eggs. Best of all, cooks everywhere dance a little jig when they make them. NOTE: This batter does not store well (the potatoes turn black when they oxidize), so scale the recipe down if you don’t have a small army coming over for breakfast. Adapted from the recipe in The Country Cooking of Ireland by Colman Andrews. Ingredients: 2 lbs russet potatoes, chopped 1 1/2 cups buttermilk salt 1 cup flour butter, for cooking Accompaniments: green onions, scrambled eggs, meat, etc. Method: First step, get in the mood with a little Irish folk rhyme and dancing. Boxty on the griddle, And Boxty on the …
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There’s no quicker way to beat the blues than to dig into a slice of pizza. Irish pizza. I know what you’re thinking. I thought the same thing. But, trust me – while pizza may not sound very Irish, it is, in fact, much beloved on the Emerald Isle. They simply add a little something special, to make it their own. Let’s zoom in for a close up, shall we? Did you see the secret ingredient? When you bite in, it’ll be tingly. Creamy. Almost spicy. For cheese lover’s everywhere it is oh-so-familiar. Blue cheese. Cashel blue, to be exact. This cheese has been winning awards, pretty much since the first batch, and I can see why. It’s fabulous. When its young, it is firm and crumbly (and more mild); and when it’s aged, it’s soft and creamy (and extra stinky). The one pictured above was definitely soft and creamy. And extra stinky. So, next time you want to make a pizza Irish, simply crumble on Cashel blue cheese and bake as normal. You can find it …
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Makes an 8″ layered cake So here we are, cooking the world A-Z… and I come across this epic Irish cake. I make this adaptation and… just like that – my life is complete. I don’t have time to do my hair or makeup, but – I promise you – I’ll always have time for this cake. It’s rich and dark, like an Irish sky at midnight… brightened by sweet, sweet Bailey’s buttercream, which gilds everything like moonlight. The perfect pair. The perfect balance. Especially for breakfast. In my slippers. When no one is looking. (Possibly with a big cup of Irish coffee). Don’t worry – the alcohol cooks off, and the Bailey’s frosting? It simply contains the same amount of alcohol as you’d find in vanilla extract. So, go for it, take a bite of Irish nighttime. NOTE: You may find it easiest to bake the cake and do the frosting “crumb coat” one day, then the next day decorate it with the final layer of frosting. Update, March 2013: I added more powdered …
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See that moisture in Ava’s hair? Yeah. It’s not dew. The thermometer read 114F yesterday. This is the kind of heat that sticks to your hair – even with the air conditioner on full blast. Considering the conditions (forecast of 116 today!), I desperately wanted to avoid the stove this week. I looked at cookbook after Irish cookbook. Yet, try as I might, there was no way to avoid turning on the stove for our Irish Global Table. We’re talking about a country that eats stews. Roasts. Mashed potatoes. Breads. These warming, hearty meals are the most celebrated Irish dishes. There was no way a salad was going to cut it. We’re going to have to time travel to winter, just for the week. What sounds good to you? Boxty Pancakes [recipe] A day begun with Boxty pancakes is a good day. Despite the name, I’d call this more of an Irish crêpe – loaded with hearty potatoes and tangy buttermilk. Great with butter and chives, just like a baked potato. Brown n’ Oats Soda Bread [recipe] A …
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Collnaharragill Upper, Kerry. Photo by Ian Macnab Ah, Ireland. You caught me off guard. You see, this week I knew to expect the trinity… Potatoes. Guinness. Meat. But, as an Italian-Hungarian-American, the last thing I expected to discover was that my childhood diet often beared a striking resemblance to that of an Irishman. We ate potatoes mashed with carrots and turnips. We ate homemade soda bread [recipe], slathered with soft butter. We even ate roast lamb with mint jelly. Strange. Strange. Strange. I must be part Irish. There is no other possible conclusion. Then again, I have a feeling lots of Americans eat Irish food, especially on the East Coast. Right, Mom….? Truth is, I’d be happy if Ireland was my homeland. She is so pretty. So green and fair. Clearly her nickname, the Emerald Isle, was well earned. Yes. Her beauty is fresh; whenever I think of her I want to frolic and laugh and dance over the vibrant hills. What can I say – she brings out the child in me. A word about potatoes Know for her love of …
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THE SCENE Careful, Sasha. Let’s get this right. I quietly dropped the blueberries into the measuring cup, then into the pot. The first time I made the ice cream, I’d accidentally doubled the amount of blueberries required, thinking a “clamshell” container of blueberries equaled two cups. Turns out a clamshell actually holds closer to four cups. The result? Icy, icy ice cream all over the counters. Not pleasant. This time I’d get it right. The scent of cardamom wafted up from the bubbling pot, mixing with the sweet blueberries. Intoxicating. If fairies wore perfume, this would be their signature scent. A few hours later the syrupy goodness was chilled and ready to go. I looked at the clock. So was Ava. Naptime. “Hold on sweetie. I just need to get the ice cream churning.” Her eyes got big. “Ice cream?” “Yes, honey. You can have some after your nap.” I smiled, trying to sound convincing. I poured the milk and heavy cream into the machine but, before I could add the chilled blueberries, a sharp …
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Serves 6 This is the strangest soup I’ve ever sipped, and I owe it all to Iceland. Actually, “sip” isn’t really the right word. It’s actually somewhere between chew and sip – this soup is thick and hearty. The sugar and raisins give it a sweet, desserty feel, but still it feels like comfort food. Add rhubarb “raisins” if desired. Ingredients: 4 slices light rye bread, chopped (5 cups) 3 slices whole/dark rye bread, chopped (3 cups) 1/2 cup lingdonberry or sour cherry jam 1/4 cup sugar, or more to taste 1/2 cup homemade rhubarb raisins water, as needed Method: Icelanders love rye bread. The love it in the morning. They love it in the night. The love it on the “road”… and they love it chopped up for soup. Let’s create a little Icelandic comfort. Add the cubed bread to a pot and cover with water. Then stir in the jam and bring to a simmer. Puree with an immersion blender until smooth. Add raisins and sugar, to taste. Continue simmering until the bread …
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