A Cold Dish for a Hot Summer

Those of us in the northeast--and in many other parts of the country, have been sweltering these last few days. If like me, you're having heat fatigue and can't eat one more meal from the grill, I hereby offer an easy solution: a lovely cold pasta dish featured in my current Italian Kitchen Mystery. And doesn't it look yum?

It's super easy and super tasty, a true make-and-go dish. Here's the recipe:

 Cold Tomato Sauce with Arugula

This recipe makes more than enough “sauce” for a pound of pasta. It’s also good the next day as a cold pasta salad—add olives, cubed cheese, and chickpeas to add some variation.

            --approximately 10 fresh plum tomatoes

            --one 5 oz. package of fresh arugula or other hardy baby greens

            --3/4-1 cup of olive oil

            --1-2 cloves of garlic, depending on taste

            --sea salt and freshly grated pepper to taste

1-Chop tomatoes, arugula, and garlic well; place in large bowl and mix thoroughly. At this stage, I season with two generous teaspoons of sea salt and several twists of the pepper grinder. Before serving, taste and adjust seasonings to preference.

2-Pour olive oil over the mixture. Let the mixture marinate for at least three hours, taking care to stir the mixture several times. The arugula will soften and sweeten in the oil and juices from the tomatoes. Here's how the marinate should look (and how gorgeous is that?):

3-Serve over hot pasta of your choice (I used the double twists known as gemelli) with a generous amount of grated Romano cheese.

Buon Appetito!

The Sunday Sauce Tradition

I have spent much of my day today shopping for and preparing my family's recipe for Sunday Sauce, more properly a meat ragu that simmers for several hours, filling the house with a smell so familiar I can conjure it from memory.

What some families (but not ours!) call "gravy" is a dish with as many variations as there are people with vowels on the ends of their names. But what's common to all of us who make it is continuing a tradition that began with our grandmothers and great-grandmothers. My version usually contains meatballs, some form of pork, and either beef or a specialty meat like sausage or brasciole.

When I was young, Sunday meant the unmistakable scents of onion and garlic cooking as the base of my mom's sauce. When my boys were little, a big batch of sauce was an economy: once those containers were filled, they provided at least a dozen dinners for our family of five. And despite how fussy young children can be, my kids never turned up their noses at a meatball.

I make Sunday sauce infrequently these days, but spring break is upon us, and I'll soon have three young men to feed. So I took out the big stock pot, mixed up the meatballs, chopped the onion and garlic, and set it all to simmering on this chilly, rainy Sunday. In another hour or so, the flavors will be blended and the meat will be tender. When the kids arrive, they'll take one sniff and know they're home.

Whatcha Got Cookin'?

It's clear from the photo what I'm about today:

My favorite part of the holiday--Christmas baking. I associate holiday baking with my childhood, my boys' childhood (though the days of decorating gingerbread boys have long gone), and most significantly, time spent in my grandmothers' kitchens. Each year I looked forward to Mema C's spritz cookies and Mema G's sesame biscotti, so I shouldn't wonder that my own sons have their own favorites from my kitchen. Magic bars--a cookie so easy and sugar laden that it comes with its own Eagle brand of guilt--are a must, for example:

That's some sweetened condensed paradise right there.

The other cookie we can't do without are Italian ricotta cookies flavored with anise.Tender little pillows that aren't biscotti, they're soft and sweet. These cookies are featured in The Wedding Soup Murder, which will also include the recipe. The secret is the anise; that gorgeous licorice smell permeates the house when I make these. (Bet you can't eat just one.)

 But what I enjoy most is giving the cookies away. Actually, that's a lie. What I enjoy most is eating them.

Have a wonderful holiday and the happiest of New Years!

 ♥ ♥ ♥

The Food of Love

As I was working on the draft of Marinara (the book, not the sauce) my editor advised me to keep the focus of the series, Italian food, prominent at all times. (Which was a bit like telling me to put my lipstick on before I leave the house.) Let's just say I need reminding about a number of things, but the importance of food isn't one of them.

It wasn't hard to keep food front and center of the story, since food happens to be front and center of my life. I never understand those people who rush through a meal, or those alien beings who say things like, "I only eat because I have to," or "Food isn't that important to me"--words that cause me to gasp and clutch my Italian heart.

What's more important than a meal lovingly prepared? Than sitting across the table from the people who mean the most to you in the whole world? Than that first taste of your grandmother's Sunday sauce?

Much as I love Shakespeare, he was wrong when he said "Music is the food of love."

Food is the food of love.

Hail the Humble Frittata

No matter how fancy I try to get in the kitchen, in the end I am what used to be called "a good plain cook." But I must admit, I'm pretty adept at whipping up comfort food, particularly at this time of year. Roasted sausage with peppers and polenta, pasta with pancetta, greens and white beans, and a recent meal I served up: a lovely frittata rounded out with a green salad and homemade bread.

This one came about at the end of a long day. I was tired, and nothing was defrosted, but I didn't particularly feel like pizza or Chinese take-out. In the refrigerator were some leftover roasted potatoes with carmelized onions and a package of fresh mozzerella. Since I have a serious breakfast habit, I always have eggs on hand; ditto Progresso bread crumbs, a staple no Italian kitchen is ever without. I sliced the potatoes thin, estimated how much cheese to slice (then added six more slices) and scrambled up some eggs with freshly ground pepper, salt, grated Parm, and the flavored crumbs, making sure to get every last piece of sweet browned onions in there. I started it on the stove in the cast iron pan you see above, and finished it off in the oven. While it set up, I threw together a salad and warmed up half a loaf of bread. With a glass of strong red wine, that meal was nirvana. And I put it together in just about the time it would have taken me to get to the pizza place and back. Brava, buona frittata!

♥ ♥ ♥

My Life in Cook Books

My obsession with cook books started with this little volume:

I guess it caught my eye because it looked like fun. And it was. The Betty Crocker Party Book was a 60s classic, filled with recipes for party foods and ideas for favors and games. I remember my mom using it for holidays and for our birthday parties. I can't say I ever made anything from it, but just looking it gave me lots of pleasure. By the time I had a place of my own, this iconic volume became my culinary bible:

While I only played around with Betty Crocker, I got serious with Irma Rombauer. But she was a serious cook who took a nearly scientific approach to food. For basics--a perfect hard-boiled egg, a smooth white sauce, or flaky pie crust--she has few peers. And she taught me a whole lot about the craft of cooking. By the 80s and 90s, however, a new kitchen bible emerged:

Every young married I knew owned one of these. We were moving away from our mothers' cook books and embracing a new, yuppie-inspired cuisine that started with fresh, seasonal foods and put together with unusual ingredients, courtesy of Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukens. Which of us hasn't made the Chicken Marbella from this book, which pairs chicken with green olives and prunes? Exotic stuff at the time! I followed this one up with Silver Palette's New Basics Cook Book, and then both of Jane Brody's books. And while I had some favorite recipes out of both of them, those meals just didn't feed my soul the way Italian dishes did. My Sunday Sauce was my mom's recipe, handed down from her own mother. I made a lemon and garlic chicken based upon the memory of my Sicilian grandmother's version, but mostly I winged it. And then I came across this book in the bargain bin at Borders:

This oversized, nearly 800-page sucker fundamentally changed the way I cook. It's authentic, clearly written, and contains recipes for everything from antipasto to zuppa. (The recipe for Bolognese sauce alone is worth the cover price.) Most significantly though, it teaches me the process behind the great foods that are my heritage, like how to make a real ragu or the steps involved in a great risotto. And every time I open it, I learn something new about Italian cuisine. So what about you? Which cook books hold a revered place in your kitchen or a warm spot in your heart?

♥ ♥ ♥

Pen Pals

I have been reading with great delight As Always, Julia, a collection of letters between Julia Child and Avis DeVoto. DeVoto's husband was a journalist who'd written a piece in Harper's which included a rant about the lack of good kitchen knives in the United States. Julia read it and sent him a knife that she described as "a nice little French model."  Avis, who often served as her husband's secretary (though an editor and book reviewer in her own right) responded. Thus began a correspondence that bloomed into a dear friendship--long before the two women had ever met. Their letters are a delight, and got me thinking about friendships-via-words. My aunt began a pen pal relationship with a young British girl when they were both children during World War II. As far as I know, they still write to each other. My sister has a pen pal in Kentucky to whom she's written for more than 40 years; they've only met twice, yet consider each other dear friends. These days, paper and ink has given way to emails, virtual groups, live chat, and forum postings. We communicate with strangers, and from some of those connections comes the spark of true friendship. We hear each other's voices and answer in kind. Two women I consider dear friends began as my critique partners; we've met only a couple of times, but we sustain our friendships through words. So this post is dedicated to all my virtual pals, the women in my life who comment on this blog, exchange emails with me, share their writing joys and sorrows, and offer encouragement and a laugh. To the friends I haven't met yet (and those I have)--it's good to know you're out there.

♥ ♥ ♥

Cool Beans

If it's as hot where you are as I am these days (on one memorable day last week, it hit 108° here in Jersey. No kidding.) you're probably doing a lot of grilling. In my house, any grilled piece of meat must be accompanied by beans. I used to buy a can of baked beans and spend time doctoring them up, but no more. Instead, I adapted this recipe from one that called for soaking and cooking dry beans. For just about the same time I spend adding ingredients to prepared baked beans, I get a result that tastes much more homemade, particularly if you do them in the oven--not an option in the dog days of summer, but perfect on a November day when an off-season hankering hits. The key to this recipe is balancing the savory and the sweet, so play with the sugar and spice amounts to your taste, and if you like more onion, throw a whole one in. Serves 6.

Rosie's Baked Beans

--one half large Vidalia or other sweet onion, coarsely chopped

--three slices bacon

--two 15 oz. cans small white beans (do not drain)

--1/4 cup molasses

--1/4 to 1/3 cup dark brown sugar to taste

--2 teaspoons prepared brown mustard

--1/8 teaspoon of allspice

--dash of cayenne pepper if desired

--12 twists of pepper grinder, preferably a mixed blend of peppercorns (I like McCormick's)

--3 to 6 twists of sea salt grinder or 1 teaspoon salt

Brown the bacon in the bottom of a large Dutch oven; remove and drain bacon, and pour off all but a tablespoon or so of fat. Cook onion in bacon fat until nicely browned and beginning to carmelize. Crumble bacon and return to pot. Add beans with their juice.

Add molasses, brown sugar, mustard, allspice, and both peppers. Taste before salting, as canned beans have a sizeable sodium content. Stir mixture well and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer on low for 2 to 2 1/2 hours. Stir every 20-30 minutes, adding water as needed. If weather permits, bake in 3oo° oven for same time.

If It’s Fifty Degrees. . .

It's warm enough to grill pizza. Throw on an old sweatshirt and get out there!  I made my first batch this week:

Grilled pizza, with its bubbly, puffy, charred-in-places crust makes even the most pedestrian ingredients (pre-made pizza dough, grocery store mozzarella, spinach from a bag) sing out loud. I did a spinach pie for me and sausage for the men in the house, and whenever I make this, I eat myself into a carbohydrate stupor. It's super easy to do so long as you watch the grill. For this reason you should have all your toppings at hand. Whether it's a homemade batch or from the grocery store, I divide the dough in half and oil it lightly. It's easier to handle in smaller sizes on the grill, as is a slightly rectangular shape. I use medium heat. Once your grill is hot, throw that dough on for about a minute, then carefully flip it over. The partially cooked side serves as the top of your pie. Before I add ingredients, I usually let the bottom crust cook for a minute or so, shifting the crust carefully to aim for even cooking. (Which won't happen, by the way. You will get some blackened spots, but I say, embrace the char!) Once your bottom crust is beginning to brown, then add whatever strikes your fancy, finishing with your cheese. Close the grill for only brief periods and watch that sucker like a hawk, because you'll go from brilliant to burnt in a matter of seconds. Figure on four to six minutes total cooking time, and let it sit for a few moments before cutting. Pair with the best cheap wine in the house. Enjoy!

♥ ♥ ♥

Comfort Food

                                                                                                 In my first novel, my main character Bea is "between men" as she puts it, happily single, and finds solace in cooking--maybe too much. Her cousin and a friend imply that perhaps food has become a substitute for other sorts of fulfillment:

"Bea's hopeless." Marie gestured to me in the manner of a lazy hitchhiker. "She takes cookbooks to bed, you know." "I do not!" My volume rose in direct proportion to the lie. I did take cookbooks to bed. They didn't hog the covers, snore, or leave their underwear on the floor. And in the end, they afforded me lots more pleasure.

Though my heroine and I have little in common (she's younger and has better legs) we do share this one little habit. I just love curling up with a good cookbook. I browse library sales in search of them, and the older the volume the better. My pride and joy is my sixty year old Betty Crocker, followed closely by my 1964 Joy of Cooking. I also have a 1959 Pillsbury Best of the Bake-Off collection whose flyleaf features lots of ladies in black cat's-eye glasses standing in front of appliances the color of Easter eggs. My modern favorites include the seminal Silver Palate Cookbook and Queen Julia's The French Chef. I also have more Italian cookbooks than anyone would ever need, including two in Italian. The language, that is.  And the voices in these cookbooks, like those of my favorite authors, are familiar and comforting. Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins make me feel as though I can throw the coolest party ever. Marion Rombauer's scholarly references and scientific formality help me believe in the power of culinary chemistry, and the possibility of perfection. And where would any of us be without Julia, full of warm encouragement and quick laughter, who let us drop the chicken and add the butter? But the real secret to my pleasure in cookbooks is no secret at all: in the pages of cookbooks, everything turns out right in the end. The cake rises. The flavors meld. The meat is tender and the risotto creamy. The reality, of course, is quite different. (Witness my epic Christmas Eve 2010 Lasagna Fail.) But cookbooks, just like my favorite comfort reads, always give me the happy ending I crave--even if life doesn't.

♥ ♥ ♥