cream and sugar » pasta

Scarborough Fair Pasta

cream — Mon, 31 May 2010 00:47:31 +0000

The green of Vancouver is lovely. When I moved here, I knew I would have trouble with the grey. I never imagined, however, how helpful a view of green grass could be in the middle of January, or how awesome such lushness smelled—even through the nasal steroids required for allergies—during the height of spring. I also never imagined the green would get to my thumbs.

Although averse to both dirt and responsibility, my first apartment patio deserved some foliage, especially in this climate. Two pots, one in either corner, now hold a perennial and some herbs.

Noting to my helper at the garden centre that I wanted low-maintenance plants, we settled on sage, lemon thyme, rosemary, Vietnamese coriander, cilantro and Italian parsley. Mint would need a pot of its own, and it was still too early for basil to be outside. Certain my lack of gardening skills would quickly kill what was in this first pot, I decided to hold off on the basil and mint.
But after a little over a month, things are growing, not dying and needing some culinary uses.

What to do with a fistful of herbs? I don’t really know. Pasta?
It was only after I started making this dish that I realized I referenced Simon and Garfunkel. And it’s only right now that I realize that the greenspeak, herbs and musical reference suggest I’m turning into a hippie Vancouverite.
For those who know me… don’t despair. I still do not own a strip of GORE-TEX.

Scarborough Fair Pasta

Your basic aglio e olio with chopped sage, rosemary, parsley and thyme added at the end (instead of only parsley). I also added some frozen peas to the pasta during the final minute or so of cooking.

Solo Suppers Beyond Cereal: Drunken pasta

cream — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 04:49:48 +0000

If there is one thing in my repertoire that I do as often as cereal, it’s pasta. It’s easy cooking, satisfies carb cravings and is an excellent vehicle for cheese of pretty much any variety. I like red sauce, but I rarely have any in my fridge or pantry. I almost always have aglio e olio ingredients, however. On this occasion, I also had an open bottle of red wine that was past its drink-by date (I know, how could I? Believe me, I do know.) and some green veggies. I took a nod from my David Rocco cookbook and made this drunken pasta.

Dining companion: No Reservations: New York’s Outer Burroughs

Cook pasta of your choice in boiling salted water until about 2-3 minutes shy of al dente, which is usually at least 2 minutes less than what the package tells you.
During the last minute or so of cooking, drop in your chopped asparagus and broccoli.
Meanwhile, saute a chopped clove of garlic and some chili flakes (to your heat preference, I do at least a teaspoon) in a few teaspoons of olive oil over medium heat in a pan, until fragrant and garlic is golden.
Add about two-thirds of a cup of wine and then raise the heat slightly. Be careful of splatters. Add the par-cooked pasta and veg to pan. Stir pasta with sauce until wine has been absorbed by pasta/reduced to almost nil.
Salt, pepper, cheese.

Solo Suppers Beyond Cereal 3

cream — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 03:33:42 +0000

A friend of mine mentioned that she made soba noodles one night for dinner. I couldn’t get soba out of my head. I could think of eating nothing else until I had a fill of buckwheat spaghetti. And cilantro. I needed lots of cilantro.

Dining companion: No Reservations – Brittany

1. Cook soba noodles according to directions. Mine cooked much quicker than semolina noodles.

2. Saute one minced clove of garlic and a few shiitake mushrooms, sliced, in a few teaspoons of sesame oil over medium heat.

3. Add roughly chopped kale (a good handful or more) to the soba during the last minute or so of cooking.

4. Drain the noodles, take the garlic mixture off the heat and toss with noodles.

5. Add the juice of one lime, fresh cilantro and a good shot of Asian chili sauce.

Craving fulfilled.
But as I still have over half of a box of soba noodles left, except to see them again soon.

What plain spaghetti looks like when you’re in your 30s.

cream — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 23:42:54 +0000

On a day like today, where Vancouver has a dusting of snow and Edmonton is in the midst of a deep freeze… I am quite happy where I am, thank you very much.
But cool temperatures fill me with warm memories of people I love and miss. And cool air still puts me in the mood for food that comforts.

“Plain spaghetti” as a child meant cooked noodles bathed in salted butter and dusted with Kraft parmesan from the green shaker. As an adult, it means spaghetti aglio e olio—garlic and oil. It’s not a difficult endeavour and besides knowing that chilies, pecorino and Italian parsley are involved, it’s quite literally what it proposes to be.

One of the great things about Edmontonians is that we tend to rally around hometown heroes and heroines when they do good so that they continue to do good. Daniel Costa is a great local chef who made me crave Da Capo salads and pizza and has recently upped the ante with pub food at Red Star. I used his recipe for this dish, and included a splash of white wine as he suggested. Although I did not use anchovies. Delicious and comforting all the same.

Stay warm, Edmonton.

A Saucy Tale

cream — Mon, 11 May 2009 05:50:06 +0000

Is there spaghetti?

This was the question always asked when I was told that there was indeed a kids’ menu at the restaurant we were at.

I distinctly remember one road trip to the Rocky Mountains where I ate spaghetti almost daily. I did the same during another road trip down the Atlantic Coast.

I knew what I was getting and I knew that I liked it.

The tomato sauce, however, always had to come on the side. The leap from spaghetti with butter to spaghetti with tomato sauce could not be completed overnight. Spoonful by spoonful, I learned to love red on my noodles. My preference for tomato-based pasta sauces has stuck ever since.

Giant balls of meat never really grabbed me. Neither did a Bolognese. Primaveras were popular as a teenager, but meh. A little boring.

For a long while, I was a devout all’arrabiata girl, but as I’ve never been a fan of sausage, my constant modifications got old fast.

Here’s what I liked: tomato, garlic, chilies.

Here’s what I saw on a menu once: tomato, chilies, onion, bacon. Close enough.

My first taste of Amatriciana.

Hard to find thereafter, it was something that I greatly loved but rarely ate. The menu I first saw it on removed it with the introduction of new owners.

A good friend and I often speak of when we see it, when we crave it, when we eat it.

I’m embarrassed to say that I’d never made it before this month.

It’s not very hard to find a recipe when you visit Google—especially now that pork fat is all the rage. You find many recipe versions when searching. Some use tomato sauce, some diced or crushed canned tomatoes, some diced fresh. Some have garlic, others don’t. Some have parsley, some don’t. The most authentic ones require guanciale (pork jowls), pecorino cheese, tomatoes, onion, and the pasta shape called bucatini. It’s almost like a long macaroni noodle.

I combined what I read and what I liked and bought what was easy. I don’t want to go on a quest for ingredients when cooking just for me. The Italian Centre had all that I needed. A version on Epicurious uses balsamic vinegar. I thought that might be a little strong, but I needed to deglaze the pan before adding the tomatoes, as mine weren’t very juicy. I grabbed the white balsamic from my cupboard and it did the trick.

What I love about this dish is that it represents the simplicity of Italian pasta recipes. Just a few key ingredients in the right combination. Smoky, salty, sweet, spicy.

I warn you, though. The thickness of the bucatini means twirling can prove difficult. Saucy chins should be expected.

Bucatini all’Amatriciana

Makes two healthy servings.

1.5 tablespoons of olive oil

250 g bucatini

4 slices pancetta, chopped and divided

0.5 onion, thinly sliced

5 roma tomatoes, chopped, seeds removed, and mashed slightly

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

0.25 teaspoons of chili flakes

1 tablespoon of white balsamic vinegar

0.5 cup Italian parsley, chopped

Grated pecorino romano cheese, to taste

Heat 0.5 tablespoons of oil on medium heat in a skillet or sauté pan. Cook half of pancetta until crispy. Transfer to paper towel.

Heat remaining oil on medium-low heat. Cook remaining pancetta and onions until onions are translucent. About 5 minutes. Add garlic and chili flakes and cook one more minute. Deglaze pan with vinegar. Add tomatoes and cook an additional 7–10 minutes until tomatoes soften and the sauce comes together. The pancetta adds saltiness (as will the cheese later), but taste to see if more seasoning is needed.

Meanwhile, cook bucatini in salted water until al dente.

Transfer cooked pasta to sauce and cook shortly to coat pasta. Take off the heat and toss with parsley and reserved pancetta. Finish pasta with grated pecorino.

Mangia!