A bit of a head

She was a beaut.  Almost 10 inches across and possessed of that pristinely virginal, dewy appearance that is associated with Very Fresh Vegetables.

I found her yesterday at my local HEB, accompanied by others who were just as beautiful.  I wanted to take them all home with me, but my Inner Govenor, that voice of reason and sanity, said, "Just one, my dear."

Such are my struggles.

I brought her home, dreaming of all I could do with her.  Roasted, with Sri Lankan spices to eat with strained yogurt and fresh cilantro.  Steamed and whipped like potatoes with a little creme fraiche and white pepper as a bed for a succulent pork chop sauteed with Choucroute Garni and a buttery Madeira and shallot pan sauce.  Or perhaps those little pan-fried cakes with cheddar cheese, scallions and the chipotle cream sauce I had enjoyed so much a few weeks ago (keep in touch, the recipe for those is in the works).

But I was hungry for lunch and I had the unexpected luxury of a few hours to myself in my kitchen. So I separated out enough cauliflower for one serving, trimmed it and broke it down into small florets.  I tossed them with a little EVOO and some freshly ground sea salt and black pepper.

As the cauliflower was roasting in my toaster oven, I came up with a game plan: caraway and garlic would get gently fragrant with some EVOO in my skillet, then I would add the roasted florets, a little more S & P, then some half and half, a little creme fraiche and some leftover cooked penne pasta.  A couple of minutes before serving, I would toss in some leftover roasted lacinato kale that I had had for dinner recently (if you're like me, you often have some leftover kale in the fridge because you're the only one in the house who eats it).  Then I would heat everything through, plate it and cover it with a lot of finely shredded Fontina cheese.

And that's exactly what I did.

I felt like The Queen of Everything eating that pasta.  The bold and assertive flavors of the kale and the caraway, the texture of the roasted cauliflower and the creaminess and tang of the merest hint of cream sauce was balanced against all the chew of the kale.  Delightful and just sinfully rich enough to warrant considering a trip to the confessional.

What can you drink with this pasta dish?  Because these are assertive flavors, you'll want a bright, earthy red wine to accompany.  Try a pinot noir that is fruit forward and has a forest floor nose, such as The Four Graces Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley, OR.  If you prefer white, I suggest you try one with plenty of fruit and high acidity, such as a chenin blanc, to balance the cream and cheese in this dish--there are plenty of affordable choices from South Africa.  As usual, ask your wine guy at Spec's for help.  They know their business.

Penne Pasta with Roasted Cauliflower and Kale in Caraway Garlic-Cream Sauce

2 cups cauliflower florets
4 Tbs. EVOO, divided
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2  cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp. caraway seed
6 Tbs. half and half
4 Tbs. creme fraiche or sour cream
6 cups cooked pasta, such as penne, fusilli or rotini
1 cup leftover roasted kale (optional)
finely shredded Fontina cheese or Parmesan cheese for finishing (I use a Microplane coarse grater for this)

1.)  Toss cauliflower florets in 2 Tbs. EVOO, seasoning generously with salt and pepper.
2.)  Roast for about 20 minutes on a pan in a toaster oven, or under a broiler until nicely browned; set aside.
3.)  In remaining EVOO, in a large skillet, gently heat the garlic and the caraway seed over medium heat until fragrant, taking care not to let the garlic get too brown.
4.)  Add roasted cauliflower to skillet and stir to combine.
5.)  Add half and half and creme fraiche, stirring until smooth and just beginning to bubble.
6.)  Add cooked pasta and lower heat, covering with a lid to allow the pasta to gently heat through.
7.)  Stir the pasta once or twice during this process to coat it with the sauce.  It should be nicely moist and not too saucy.
8.)  Add leftover kale, if desired, and cover again for another minute or two.
9.)  Stir to incorporate kale and then divide pasta among four plates, showering generously with the shredded Fontina cheese.  Serves 4.  

Crab diabolo on pasta with cotija cheese

Inspired by a recent post on the Saveur Facebook page which featured Marcella Hazan's Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter, I created, by sheer alchemy (as her son Guiliano rightly claims), a simple, deliciously rich sauce comprised of three basic ingredients.  Canned plum tomatoes.  Butter.  Onion. 

It took less than an hour. 

Photo credit: Todd Colemann

This sauce is my new staple.  I was enchanted by the silkiness and texture, and the fine balance of acid and fat.  I find that it graces the most humble of dishes and is very compliant in forming the foundation of something magically delectable.  Our maiden voyage with Marcella's Sauce (as I have come to call it) was a simple dinner of thin spaghetti, a pork chop breaded with panko, Romano cheese and Penzey's Italian Herb Mix and lightly pan-fried a la Milanese, and plenty of Marcella's Sauce on both pasta and pork.  A final flourish of freshly grated Romano cheese and a crispy salad of bitter greens dressed with a bracing vinaigrette was all it took to win us over on a Monday night.

But here I must reveal the symptoms of my hoarder mentality: I didn't want to use all the sauce up just yet, even though I could make more very easily.  This sauce was so good, I wanted to dole it out sparingly, even though I always have a large can of plum tomatoes hanging around in my pantry as well as plenty of butter and onions.  The salt and pepper also called for in the recipe?  I sleep with them under my pillow.

The thought of running out of Marcella's Sauce, however, gave me a jolt of anxiety.  Running out of this sauce would be like running out of wine.  Unthinkable.

And here is where hoarder mentality has its blind spots: having Marcella's Sauce in the fridge made me over-confident about my ability to produce what I have come to think of as A Memorable Dinner.  Like having several dozen pieces of mismatched formal glassware and china and far less silverware makes me over-confident about my ability to entertain the entire editorial staff of Architectual Digest and have A Memorable Evening.  I can picture the polite and tight-lipped smiles.

Image from houzz.com

A dinner of pasta with sauce (even Marcella's Sauce), a little cheese and no significant amount of protein--though it may be sufficient for some--does not give me a sense of security.  Dinner might be the last meal I ever eat should I die in the night, I reason.  What if I wake up hungry?  What if all those carbs make my blood sugar crash?  I am anxious about hunger and blood sugar for a reason: those middle-of-the-night events are disruptive to my sleep, which, as some of you know, is not something that comes to me easily.  Luckily, I am not often anxious about dying in my sleep--since there is so little of it.  I rather think I will die fully alert and conscious. 

And I'd like to think I'd handle that gracefully.  Perhaps I'll even have matching glassware, silverware and china by then.

And so, last night, forced to consider the bleak possibilities resulting from the fact that I had removed no protein from the freezer for dinner before leaving the house that morning, I ransacked the pantry in hopes of finding something that would inspire me.

Aha!  A can of Bumble Bee Brand crabmeat sat at eye level under a can of red Thai chile paste, a tin of anchovies and a package of dried shiitake mushrooms.  Where did this can of crabmeat come from?  I had no idea, since I'd like to believe that canned crabmeat is not something I'd feel compelled to put into my shopping cart.  Its texture leaves a lot to be desired and the flavor?  Well, what flavor? 

However, considering that perhaps the crabmeat had appeared in my pantry rather like manna had appeared to the Israelites, I eagerly seized the can and now had a pan and a plan:  Marcella's buttery, rich sauce would be the perfect medium for crabmeat diabolo over some leftover cooked pasta.

Psych!  You thought I was going to find a way to incorporate the chile paste, anchovies and shiitake mushrooms!  Didn't you!  Thinking about it now, Marcella's sauce would have made a lovely, rich, puttanesca-like sauce with anchovies, capers and some big, fat olives (also on the same shelf of the pantry), but I can always try that next time.
 

Obviously, not the same can of crabmeat that was in my pantry...the photo is too good and the lighting is much better than what's available to me in my smallish kitchen with my decrepit cell phone camera.

Into the saucepan went a big dollop of butter, some minced green onions, a fat clove of minced garlic, a very generous pinch of crushed red pepper and the drained crabmeat.  I let that simmer very gently, then added some dry white wine and a little salt, along with several heaping tablespoons of Marcella's Sauce.  I let those ingredients gently meld to preserve the structure (I was going to use the word "integrity" here, but saying that canned crabmeat has integrity is rather like saying that canned green beans have decorum) of the already overcooked canned crabmeat and then served the sauce on top of the pasta and garnished with a generous sprinkling of crumbled cotija cheese.  I confess I was too lazy to chop up some parsley for what would have been a very appropriate garnish.

This pasta was entirely satisfying, salty, rich and tangy with a pleasant heat from the crushed red pepper, and a silkiness from the butter.  Surprisingly, I could taste the sweetness of the crab.  I immediately wanted to eat it again.

Here's how you can do it:

Crab Diabolo on Pasta with Cotija Cheese

          Make the tomato sauce first; store leftovers in the freezer.  If there are any.

Marcella Hazan's Tomato Sauce with Butter and Onion
(as published on Saveur.com)
  
8 tbsp. unsalted butter, cubed
¼ tsp. sugar
1 28-oz. can whole, peeled tomatoes in juice, crushed by hand
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and quartered lengthwise
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Bring butter, sugar, tomatoes, and onion, to a boil in a 4-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat; reduce heat to medium-low, and cook, stirring occasionally, until flavors meld and sauce is slightly reduced, about 45 minutes. Discard onion, and season sauce with salt and pepper before serving.  Makes 3 cups.

To make the crab diabolo sauce:
 
2 Tbs. butter
3 or 4 green onions, minced
1 large clove of garlic, minced
1/4 tsp. (or more to taste) crushed red pepper
1 6 oz. can crabmeat, drained (or use an equivalent amount of cooked, picked crabment from the seafood counter)
kosher salt to taste
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 to 3/4 cup Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter (see recipe above)
2 to 3 cups cooked, warm pasta
4 Tbs. crumbled cotija cheese
chopped flat leaf parsley, for garnish, optional

1.)  Heat butter in a small skillet or saucepan over medium-high heat until foaming.
2.)  Add green onions, garlic, crushed red pepper and crabmeat.
3.)  Simmer very gently for about 2 minutes, reducing heat if necessary.  You don't want to break down the crabmeat.
4.)  Add salt to taste, then add white wine and continue to simmer gently.
5.)  Add Tomato Sauce and heat through.
6.)  Divide pasta between two plates or pasta bowls and spoon diabolo sauce over pasta.
7.)  Divide cotija cheese between the plates and garnish with chopped parsley if using.  Serves 2.

Pesto that passes the husband test

Right here, right now, I want to publicly thank my husband for being the uncomplaining, acquiescent and often, unsuspecting and trusting soul that he is.  In our few short years together, he has transformed from a frozen burrito-eating, fasting food-inhaling, vegetable-avoiding carnivore into an adventurous, willing and extremely gracious culinary neophyte.

This, my friends, was no easy task.

I know that sounds flippant.  Almost as if I took him on as a project.  Or found him as a stray, starved half to death, not ever having known a good meal and a full belly.  Which actually had been the case.  But I took his tutelage very seriously.  I knew he was capable of appreciating all kinds of foods he had never experienced if I gave him time and patience.

I never tired of encouraging him to try something new.  The secret of my success is that I wouldn't exactly make full disclosure of what he was about to eat.  You can file that under "Shady Ethics in Marital Relationships," but I knew that I had made a small triumph when, about a year ago, he came home and mentioned that he had eaten at B@#$%^  K&*$  for lunch that day and had not been able to finish his W~=++%^.  The reason?  It just didn't taste very good to him anymore.

My husband is not a foodie.  I've mentioned this (numerous times) before.  He does not live to eat.  He does not swoon over plates of foie gras.  His eyes do not roll back in his head when he savors a spoonful of warm chocolate souffle.  He does not appreciate or even care about wine.  He's a simple man, really.  He likes a good, overcooked hamburger.  He prefers his fish fried.  The closest he gets to wine is grape juice, which he often drinks and teases me by offering this description, "Fruity and seductive, with just a hint of Welches."  He uses words like, "tastes good" or "kicka**" or "is there any more of that?" to express his appreciation for food. 

I feel rather smug about the fact that he rarely says these things when we eat out, even in swanky joints.  The swooning over food, the eyes rolling back into the head, the Meg Ryan moment--these responses belong to me.  And I am not ashamed of them.  Not one little bit.

Let me tell you a secret: waiters love it when you swoon.  And then they tell the chef.  And the sommelier.  And that's a whole lot of fun, because practically everyone loves to talk about what they do well with people who appreciate their efforts.  My husband doesn't understand those interactions; however, he seems rather amused by them.  "I have to keep an eye on you," he says, chuckling.

But last night, it was my husband who swooned.  "What's that?" he asked, peering into my bowl of pasta.

"It's a new pesto I developed today."

"Why didn't you give any of that to me?"  He was almost pouting.  You need to know the backstory: pasta is what my husband would live on now that frozen burritos and fast food hamburgers have been purged from his system.

"Because you said you wanted the leftover pizza.  Here, try a bite."  I swirled some vermicelli around a few pieces of the roasted zucchini and cotija cheese that garnished the emerald green mound of pasta.  You could really smell the garlic.  It's possible that friends in neighboring states could smell the garlic.

"Wow!  Now that is some kicka** pasta!  That's the way I like my pasta!"  I was really paying attention now; my husband does not commonly experience enthusiasm and food simultaneously.

"I didn't think you liked green things.  You usually don't really like pesto, so I'm surprised."

"Well, it's really good, even though it's green."

So since the pasta passed the husband test, I wanted to pass the recipe on to you.  There's plenty of garlic to give the other vegetables status.  The celery lends a gentle, herbal note and the grated carrot gives it contrast and texture.  But it's the toasted hazelnuts, along with plenty of olive oil, that make it rich.  I garnished my plate with rough-diced zucchini that was roasted with a little olive oil and garlic.  But if you had eggplant on hand, the black sheen on the eggplant's skin would lend a beautiful visual counterpoint to the vivid green.  

I ate this pasta with a glass of Joel Gott Zinfandel 2009 (California), which was soft, smooth and very drinkable.  This juicy red has plenty of jammy fruit and spice to balance out the herbal and garlic notes in the pesto.  It's also one of those wines that makes you want to have more than one glass.  I did.

Spinach, Celery and Toasted Hazelnut Pesto

2 large cloves garlic
kosher salt
1 rib celery, ends trimmed and cut into 3" pieces
4 cups spinach leaves
1/2 cup toasted hazelnuts, lightly crushed
1/2 cup or more of good quality olive oil
plenty of freshly ground black pepper
1 small carrot, grated (I use a Microplane parmesan grater)
1 lb. vermicelli or thin spaghetti, cooked al dente and kept warm
1/2 cup crumbled cotija or feta cheese, for garnish
1 cup diced zucchini or eggplant roasted with garlic, olive oil and seasoned well with salt and pepper, for garnish (you can do this in an oven or stovetop; what you want is caramelization for best flavor), optional

1.  Using a food processor, finely chop the garlic.
2.  Add the kosher salt and celery, processing until celery is finely chopped.
3.  Add the spinach leaves and toasted hazelnuts and with the motor running, drizzle in the olive oil.  Process until pesto is the consistency of mayonnaise, adding more olive oil if you wish.
4.  By hand, stir in freshly ground pepper to taste and the grated carrot.
5.  In a large pot or skillet over medium-low heat, toss together the warm pasta and the pesto until pasta is well-coated and gently warmed through.
6.  Divide pasta among four plates and garnish with cotija or feta cheese and the roasted zucchini or eggplant.  Serves 4 generously.

Oops!! Dinner is (almost) ruined

Ever feel so smugly confident about your ability to conceive of and put together a good meal that it seems you are just cruisin' for a bitchslap from the universe?  Well, that happened to me last night.  My husband loves any kind of pasta and requested we have pasta for dinner.  OK, I thought.  I can ace this.  I have zucchini and summer squash, sweet red pepper, red onion, garlic and plenty of herbs.  I'll make a roasted vegetable pasta with white wine and extra virgin olive oil.  And to enhance those flavors, I'll do some roasted shrimp, roasted eggplant, roasted grape tomatoes and lots of freshly grated Parmesan cheese.  Flake salt and freshly ground pepper will tweak those ingredients until they say, "Uncle!"

To assist me with this process, I opened a bottle of rioja, Marques de la Concordia 2007 (Spain), to be exact.  Somewhere around $12 a bottle, this little gem is the result of the juice of a lot of happy Tempranillo grapes spending 6 months in new American oak.  So it is lusciously fruity with pronounced cherry-berry flavors along with vanilla and spice.  Not too much oak, but it tastes surprisingly mature and well-made.  A most delightful red for that time when you're in between seasons, it's no longer infernally hot and fall whispers "Yardwork!" to you from the small piles of fading leaves in your back yard.  It also happens to be a great wine to have with roasted veggies, pasta, garlic and olive oil.  I poured about 4 oz. into a lovely long-stemmed glass with a generous bowl.  I sipped.  MMMMMother's milk.  I sighed contentedly. 

My mouth watered as I anticipated what would come from my kitchen that night.  I thinly sliced the zucchini and summer squashes, the red pepper and eggplant.  I sipped.  I oiled the vegetables well and spread them out on two baking sheets, generously sprinkling them with salt.  I sipped.  I prepared a second baking sheet of oiled grape tomatoes and peeled shrimp.  I sipped.  Everything smelled wonderfully toasty and looked deliciously golden when I removed the veggies and shrimp from the oven.  Feeling content (and slightly too big for my britches), I took a generous sip of wine and began boiling water for pasta.  I sipped again, proud of myself that I had chosen a wonderful artisan pasta that looks like long corkscrews: fusilli col buco.  Sip.  I had artisan olive oil.  Sip.  I had big, fat cloves of garlic.  Sip.  I had a lovely dry white wine to deglaze the pan and enhance the flavors.  Sip.  I had fresh herbs and fresh Parmesan.  Sip.  I still had plenty of Marques de la Concordia, which was rapidly becoming my dear, long-lost friend.  Time for another glass of wine.

I swirled the wine in the glass, looked at its gorgeous ruby hue, took another (generous) sip of wine, closed my eyes and imagined how all the flavors in the pasta would marry and produce a phenomena greater than the sum of their parts.  Inspiration and sheer genius would bloom from my humble electric stove and shabbily outdated kitchen!  Sip.  Lovely, sophisticated and complex, yet still approachable by my non-foodie husband, it would be the best thing I had made so far (as he was fond of saying to me).  Sip.  I stirred the pasta, waited for it to finish cooking (sip, sip, sip), then carefully drained and rinsed it.  Sip.  Finally, it was time for the Grand Alchemy.  I took another sip of wine and called on my Muse, Tempranillo, to deliver me.

Now, I wouldn't say that when I have some wine while in the kitchen, disaster is sure to follow.  I wouldn't say that when I drink wine and cook that I cook badly.  I wouldn't even go so far to say that I have removed body parts.  However, I have come dangerously close to creating all of these unfortunate incidents while courting my Muse a bit too much, which is why me and Mr. Mandoline parted company on not very good terms.  I will say, however, that when I have wine and cook, I become much more creative, impulsive and inspired.  This is a good thing.  I also become much more careless.  This is not such a good thing.  It is true what your probation officer told you: alcohol lowers your inhibitions, impairs your judgment and reduces your fine motor skills to those about comparable with a three year old's.

Which is why I'm about to tell you about my recent and very sad experience with cooking, wine and various impairments.  Let this be a lesson to you, Dear Readers.  You must be EXTRA CAREFUL in the kitchen when you have (a lot of) wine and cook.  You must take precautions you wouldn't ordinarily need to worry about.  Why?  Because knives are sharp.  Because smoke alarms warn you of grease fires that may require the assistance of the fire department.  Because bad things happen to perfectly good food.

And so, after lovingly, carefully (and rather tipsily) sauteeing my garlic and diced red onion in artisinal olive oil, and after smelling how heavenly that aroma was, and after sipping a little more wine, and after salting the sauteeing ingredients generously with specially-ordered fine Kosher flake salt from Penzey's, I got lazy, careless and, OK, overly-confident.  I decided that instead of risking repetitive injury to my wrist by using my pepper grinder at this stage (you see, some judgment was present, but we won't comment on the quality of that judgment), I would just reach for my jar of lovely, pungent, slightly fruity Extra Special Bold black pepper that I had ground two days ago.  I had put said pepper (approximately 1/2 cup) in an old, clean glass jar with a shaker top.  However, said shaker top was not secure.  Unaware, I peppered.  So.  You can imagine the carnage.  The scene was enough to make me put down my glass of wine.  I sighed.  Not contentedly.

I stood at the stove, dumbly staring into the saute pan.  Those beautiful pieces of red onion and garlic that I had so lovingly (and expertly, I might add) sauteed where now covered in about 1/2 cup of lovely, pungent, slightly fruity Extra Special Bold ground black pepper.  The delightful aroma drifted up toward my nostrils and I thought: life is bittersweet.

"I've ruined our dinner."  I stated this calmly and matter-of-factly to my husband, who was channel-surfing only a few feet away.  "Oh, no you haven't.  You always say that," he said, chuckling.  "No, really.  I think I've ruined dinner.  I just dumped about a half cup of ground black pepper into this pan."  My husband wisely kept silent.  Somewhere through the Tempranillo-induced miasma, I managed to reach for a teaspoon and start scooping out large portions of ground pepper.  Into the InSinkErator went half of my lovely sauteed garlic.  Half of my lovely sauteed red onion.  Almost all the Extra Special Bold pepper  I sighed, drained, emotionless.

And then I took another sip of wine.  And I completed my original plans for this pasta dish.  And I must tell you that it had a lovely, pungent and slightly fruity quality from all the black pepper I couldn't remove.  And it was very, very good.

The End.

Oops!! Ruined Pasta

1 lb. good-quality long-stranded pasta
2 small zucchini squash, ends trimmed and sliced thin
2 small summer squash, ends trimmed and sliced thin
1 small eggpplant, stem end trimmed, quartered and sliced thin
1/2 sweet red pepper, cut into long strips
1 cup grape tomatoes
1 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined
EVOO
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
3 to 4 large cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup diced red onion
1 cup dry white wine
minced fresh herbs such as basil, parsley, and/or thyme
freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1.  Cook pasta according to package directions, rinse, drain and set aside to keep warm.
2.  Meanwhile, preheat oven to 425 degrees.
3.  Combine squash and eggplant slices in a large bowl and drizzle generously with EVOO.  Season well with salt and pepper.  Toss to coat and spread in a single layer on baking sheet(s).
4.  Combine red pepper strips, grape tomatoes and shrimp in same bowl.  Repeat process with EVOO, salt and pepper.  Spread on a large baking sheet.
5.  Roast vegetables until golden and slightly blistered and shrimp until pink, removing vegetables as they complete cooking and turning shrimp if necessary.  Set aside until ready to use.
6.  In a large skillet, coat bottom of pan with a generous amount of EVOO.  Heat over medium-high heat until it just begins to shimmer.
7.  Add garlic and red onion and season generously with salt and pepper (the more pepper, the merrier).
8.  Saute garlic and red onion until slightly softened, being careful not to burn garlic. 
9.  Add white wine and deglaze the pan, simmering for about 2 to 3 minutes.
10.  Add the pasta and toss gently to coat, then add roasted vegetables and shrimp, combining gently to just heat through.
11.  Check for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary.
12.  Serve pasta in a large serving bowl garnished with minced fresh herbs and plenty of Parmesan.  Serves 4 to 6.

Thank you for your patience

Well, it seems that Vindaloo must have a little tussel every year with the beloved IRS before life can achieve some kind of equilibrium.  So after this week's painful come-uppance with taxes (only death remains a mystery now), Vindaloo returns to her writing about all things food and wine with her dignity (barely) intact and her checkbook freshly pillaged.

And so, Dear Readers, I must thank you for your patience.  Because when the IRS talks, people listen.  And this kind of listening took me away from things much more pleasant--like writing and cooking.  I must also thank my husband for his patience, because his wife sometimes takes more time than most to decide what she would like to cook and eat for dinner (my husband having wisely left these decisions in my hands months ago), and is rather like a tempermental artiste (read: stubborn mule) about these matters.  On one particular coolish evening, when leaving the patio and gardens would have symbolically meant the end of happy hour, Vindaloo pounced upon the notion of fresh garbanzo beans with pancetta and aromatic vegetables over pasta.  With lots of Asiago cheese.  And rich with extra virgin olive oil.  And so, Vindaloo poured herself another glass of wine to let that notion frolic about a bit and to herald the virgin spring with a toast to all things verdant and flowering.  Let's just say it was a fairly long-winded toast.

Fresh garbanzo beans are a revelation.  They come in a fuzzy, green, little pod, usually only one bean to a pod and cost only pennies.  I found mine at Fiesta Market, a great food store for anything off the beaten path.  They have a wonderful firm texture when lightly steamed (don't overcook!!) and taste like the lovechild of fresh spring peas and edamame.  Unfortunately, they are only available during a short time in the spring.  Also unfortunately, by the time I remembered that they were waiting (patiently) for me in the refrigerator, it was approaching 7 o'clock in the evening, and the little darlings still needed to be shelled.  Which is not difficult, just tedious.  And that is where my husband's virtues shine.  Because he patiently waited for me to shell the garbanzos, and then patiently waited for dinner to evolve.  And then he kindly and sweetly told me how delicious it was.  And it was!

On this particular evening, I opened a bottle of Rosemount Show Reserve GSM 2005 (Australia), a Rhone-style red that is full of blackberry, vanilla and cherry and plenty of earthy properties.  This wine is a bit untidy and volatile, in that it seems like the components could become unraveled or combative at any given moment.  Think about the 1944 movie "Lifeboat" with Talullah Bankhead and Hume Cronyn: a bunch of strangers thrown together out of the mutual need for survival, and all goes smashingly well until the intruder arrives and then they all gradually turn on each other.  Yep, that's what I thought of when I drank this wine.  But, having said that, it is at this moment a very good glass of grape juice (thank you to one of my great wine guys at Spec's for the recommendation)  and it harmonized beautifully with the main course, which I served with a simple salad of bitter and sweet greens, radishes and flake salt, and dressed with a very pungent EVOO and fresh lemon juice.

I hope you'll give this a whirl sometime soon...

Fresh Garbanzo Beans, Pancetta and Aromatic Vegetables over Capellini

1/2 lb. fresh, shelled garbanzo beans (approx. 1 cup when shelled)
2 Tbs. EVOO
4 oz. pancetta, cut into 1/2" dice
2 shallots, minced
1 large clove garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
1/2 tsp. dried crushed red pepper
1/2 tsp. salt
3/4 cup dry red wine
1/2 lb. cooked capellini (or other long pasta, kept warm)
Extra EVOO for drizzling
Asiago cheese for sprinkling generously
Freshly chopped flat leaf parsley for garnish

1.  Cook pasta according to package directions and keep warm in a serving dish.
2.  Steam garbanzo beans in the microwave in about 1/4 cup water for 1 minute.  Stir and test for texture.  If too firm and mealy, steam only 30 seconds more.  Overcooking will harden them and make them very unpleasant.  Drain and set aside.
3.  Heat the EVOO on medium-high heat in a saute pan.  Add pancetta, shallots and garlic.  Stir frequently and saute briefly (about 2 minutes).
4.  Add thyme, crushed red pepper and salt.  Stir to blend.
5.  Add red wine and simmer until sauce is reduced by about one half.  Remove from heat.
6.  Stir in steamed garbanzo beans.
7.  Drizzle warm pasta generously with EVOO.
8.  Pour sauce over pasta.
9.  Sprinkle generously with Asiago cheese.
10. Garnish with chopped parsley.  Serves two.

In anticipation of Valentine's Day

When I was single, I would manage the difficulty and awkwardness of Valentine's Day by throwing a lavish dinner party for everyone I loved, coupled or not.  I recall many lovely dinners with friends and families and we all came away well-fed and feeling surrounded by love.  And we were.  Still are.

This year will be the first Valentine's Day of my marriage.  I am older and wiser.  I have adjusted my expectations to my appropriate age and stage of life!  I plan to make it a quiet, simple evening.  My husband loves pasta, so I'm thinking of serving a dish I learned while I was a chef in a small restaurant in upstate New York (recipe follows).  This pasta is lovely on the plate and heaven in the mouth with a melange of garlic and scallion-infused olive oil, anise notes from the basil, tangy astringency from the artichoke hearts and the sweet-salty, slightly mysterious flavor of proscuitto.  Pecorino Romano, a hard, salty, tangy sheep's milk cheese, is the only garnish it needs.  My wine suggestions would be a light, dry red, a minerally or off-dry white, or even a dry rose, but please, ask your wine guys at Spec's for help, because they will help you profile your tastes, they also love to cook and eat and, most importantly, they know their business!  Happily, I discovered a bottle of Becker Cabernet Franc Reserve 2005 (Texas) in my collection, so all is well.  (Sorry guys.  See you soon, though.)

This Valentine's Day, find someone you love (or want to).  Invite them to dinner.  Light some candles.  Pour a glass of wine for them and cook them a wonderful meal.  Listen to some beautiful music.  Maybe even dance a little.  I promise you, it will be memorable.  After all, love is the only pure and healing force in the universe...and when enhanced by good food and good wine, well, anything could happen...


Pasta with Artichoke Hearts and Prosciutto
   ~especially good with fresh, homemade fettucine or pappardelle~

1 lb. pasta (mafaldine, fettucine, linguine or angel hair)
3/4 cup olive oil
3 to 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
6 scallions, trimmed and sliced into 1/4" pieces
1 heaping Tbs. dried basil (although I would encourage you to garnish this dish with fresh basil, dried basil really lends the most intense sweetness and anise-like flavor)
1 15 oz. can artichoke hearts, drained and quartered (or use 2 9 oz. bags frozen quartered
artichoke hearts, thawed)
4 to 8 oz. proscuitto, thinly sliced and cut into 1/2" strips
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese

1.  Cook pasta, drain and keep warm in a large shallow bowl or platter.

2.  Gently heat olive oil in a medium-sized saute pan; add garlic, scallions and basil and saute at lowest possible temperature, being careful not to brown the garlic. 

3.  Add the artichoke hearts and prosciutto, stirring to coat with the oil mixture.  Heat through thoroughly and season to taste with kosher salt.

4.  Pour oil mixture over pasta, distributing over entire surface.  Toss pasta with oil mixture to incorporate flavors well.

5.  Serve with freshly ground black pepper and a generous amount of freshly grated cheese.  Serves 2 as a main dish, 4 as a first course.