The Sound of It, Whole Wheat Duck Egg Fettuccine

If I have a few unspoken for hours on a Sunday, I’ll make pasta.  Fettuccine is the preferred meditation.  Something about the thick strands. Or maybe I just find attempting angel hair causes the release of too many four-letter words.  That level of delicacy often has me swearing like a sailor.

I scooped up some duck eggs at a recent Formaggio Kitchen trip.  Duck.  A four-letter word much more suitable for pasta. 

It’s entirely unnecessary to use such eggs of grandeur in this setting.  But there is something lovely about the sound of duck egg pasta.  And—if you’ll allow me to get overly precious—the whole wheat flour used here is from Misty Brook Farm, a local.

Misty Brook grows and mills heirloom Red Fife wheat in Barre, Massachusetts.  And while whole wheat pasta can be gummy and heavy, old Red Fife wants none of that.  It’s a hard red spring grain often used for bread flour.  Here the pasta emerges nutty and earthy, speckled with hazelnut-colored flecks. 

It also requires less than a minute of cooking once tossed in a pot of water.  And it made for the most incredible Tuesday night dinner, paired with linguiça, chickpeas, a little garlic and sherry vinegar, and a shaving of pecorino.  A roll this pasta was born to play.

So three duck eggs replace the standard four chicken.  Two parts whole wheat to one part white flour.  Sheets of pasta cut whisper thin.  No swearing.  Just fettuccine fork twirling.

Whole Wheat Duck Egg Fettuccine

Ingredients:

3 duck eggs

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 cups whole wheat flour

pinch of salt

fine cornmeal, for dusting

Instructions:

Place the eggs in a food processor and add the flour and salt and pulse until it comes together and forms a rough dough (you may need to add a little water to soften it, I added about 3 tbsp). The dough should hold together when pressed into a mass and should be soft, but not sticky.  Wrap it in plastic wrap and let it rest about 30 minutes.

Divide the dough into manageable portions (4 to 6 pieces) and pass each piece through a pasta roller or press.  (I use a Kitchen Aid attachment and start at “1” and then pass the dough through until setting “6.”)  You want it as thin as you can get it without tearing.

Cut into strands (I used the fettuccine cutter attachment).  Hang the strands over a clothes drying rack, broom handles, chairs, whatever works, to let them dry out slightly.  (Dust whatever you are using with flour to prevent sticking.) 

After the pasta becomes a little less soft and flexible (though you should still be able to bend it), dust it with cornmeal and shape the strands into little nests.  At this point you can store them in the freezer for awhile or in the fridge in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Makes enough for 4

Notes:

-If you don’t have duck eggs, you should be able to substitute 4 chicken eggs.   Add a little flour or water if the dough is too sticky or too dry.  (Usually I don’t have to add any water with this ratio if I’m using 3 cups of all-purpose flour.)

-The linguiça was also from Formaggio.  Incredible.

Double Goat Gouda Ice Cream with Cherries, the View From Here

“Check out that view,” I thought.  (Sarcasm dialed up.) 

I was in an IKEA-inspired one-bedroom apartment with a dorm vibe—minus the Budweiser and breezy Bob Marley—and was overlooking the homeless shelter across the street.  Next door was a porn shop.  Florescent lighting cast a sad, stroboscopic glow over the kitchen, which had all the charm of a motor inn kitchenette. 

For $2200 a month all this could be mine.  I was going to need a cocktail.

This has more or less been my experience looking for apartment rentals the past few weeks.  So forgive me if I don’t stay long today.  I’ve been cruising the Internet like an online dater hoping to stumble across someone that doesn’t resemble a rapist.

And the past week has been particularly rough.  Thankfully I’ve had half a quart of this ice cream tucked away in my freezer.  I envisioned a much more charming introduction for it.  At the very least one that didn’t involve porn.

But right now I’m just happy to have the ice cream.  Its slick, creamy consistency has a cheesecake essence—just a bit goaty-er.   The goat’s milk adds tang to balance out the richness that comes with shaving cheese into milk and cream. The plumped up cherries do their part too, chewy and tart with a lingering note of cassis, which I added mostly because the dried cherries I was using were a little sad.

The result is one of the better ice creams I’ve seen in a while.  Wish I could say the same for apartments.  But for now I have good goat ice cream.  Hope scooped, buoyed by sarcasm.

Double Goat Gouda Ice Cream with Cherries

Adapted from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home

ingredients for the base

2 cups goat’s milk

1 tbsp plus 1 tsp cornstarch

1¼ cups heavy cream

2/3 cups sugar

2 tbsp corn syrup

pinch salt

1½ ounces cream cheese, softened

½ cup shredded goat’s milk gouda

ingredients for the boozed-up cherries

¾ cup dried cherries

~½ cup framboise (or another alcohol, Grand Marnier would be nice)

~2 tbsp crème de cassis

Instructions:

Mix about 2 tbsp of the milk with the cornstarch to make a slurry.  In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining milk, cream, sugar, corn syrup, and pinch of salt and bring to a rolling boil over medium heat; boil for 4 minutes. 

Remove the saucepan from the heat and stir in the cornstarch slurry and then place back on the heat; stir with a rubber spatula until it slightly thickens (a few minutes).  In a small bowl, whisk the cream cheese until smooth.  Once the goat’s milk liquid is thickened, add a little to the cream cheese and whisk to fully incorporate.  Add the cream cheese mixture to the saucepan (off the heat) and whisk in the shredded cheese until smooth.

Strain the goat’s liquid once or twice to remove any bits of cream cheese or gouda that didn’t get fully incorporated; pour the liquid into a metal bowl.  Place the metal bowl in a larger bowl filled with ice and allow the liquid to cool before refrigerating (until fully chilled, ideally overnight).

While the base mixture is cooling, prepare the cherries by placing them in a medium saucepan with the framboise (or other alcohol) and about ¼ cup of water and heat on medium to medium-high heat.  (You may wish to add a pinch of salt here too.) If the liquid dries up, add a bit more water.  Once the cherries have softened, place them in a small container and pour the crème de cassis over them while they’re hot.  The cherries will continue to soak up the booze.  Cover and refrigerate until ready to use.

When the goat mixture is fully chilled, churn it in a frozen ice cream machine base until thick ribbons start to form and it pulls away from the sides of the container.  Pack it in a freezer-safe container with a tight fitting lid.  You’ll want to alternate the cherries and the ice cream, so pack a little ice cream then a layer of cherries and repeat about 2 more times.  Cover the top with parchment paper and freeze until firm, at least 4 hours.

Makes a three-quarter quart

Notes:

-The cherries were already sweetened in their dried form, so I didn’t add any sugar.  Taste your cherries and adapt as needed. With this sort of thing you can always adjust as you go.

-The goat’s milk is from Oak Knoll Dairy and I used a midrange gouda called Yodeling Goat.  I suspect you could use any type of goat cheese—in fact, a soft goat cheese would be lovely, even more tangy and grassy.  That might be up next.

-If you don’t have goat’s milk you could substitute whole milk for a more mild flavor.  The fat content is similar.  Just don’t use a low fat product or you’ll probably be sad about your ice cream.

-This ice cream keeps very well, we're talking about a month without ice crystals.

Herbed Caramelized Onion and Mushroom Campanelle, Coming Home

You might say I’ve been a bad Italian.  Though my last name hovers in ethnic ambiguity, my roots are green, white, and red.  Fresh off the boat, our original surname, Gelsomino, had its “o” cavalierly sliced off, like you would the butt end of a sopressata.  

Growing up, my grandmother would buy boxes of tomatoes, which we’d can in her house.  In August.  As it approached 100 degrees.  Windows closed.  Blinds down.  Rickety old floor fan circulating the thick tomato soup air.  Hand cranked pasta was made in the kitchen and dried on white cotton sheets draped on couches in the living room. 

We ate a lot of pasta.  So much so that we developed our own Gelsomin—no “o”—macaroni dialect. 

Pa•sta fa•zool (pästä fäzōōl), n.: linguine dressed with tomatoes and white beans.  Used as a quick, complaint-free weeknight dinner made from the contents of a common Italian-American pantry and, more broadly, used in conjunction with drool-worthy stars as a metaphor for love. A species separate from the soupy version often served with cuff-shaped ditali. Variant (Ital.): pasta e fagioli

A•ya•woo•yas (Äôwōōyëz), n., pl.: spaghetti tossed in olive oil with whole garlic cloves plus the motherly addition of broccoli (see also, how to get your kids to eat vegetables); etymology unknown.  Variant (Ital.): aglio e olio

Co•va•dills (kävädëlz), n. pl.: shell-shaped macaroni with ridges and a nook for red sauce; typically served for Sunday dinner at grandma’s paired with braciole and escarole salad, from the garden.  Variant (Ital.): cavatelli

Despite all this, sometime in my mid twenties I stopped eating pasta regularly.  And that was that.  Until I decided that was enough nonsense.

Last week I—very happily—cooked macaroni (campanelle) resembling fluted trumpets.  First, I sautéed some mushrooms in butter and olive oil (plus garlic, always garlic).  And roasted onions and shallots, wedged with thyme, until their skins gave in and sweetened.  Everyone met in a sauté pan, joined with a heavy dusting of pecorino and a glass of Schiava Nera to sip, a light ruby wine that hovers pleasantly between a rose and pinot noir.

This is an entirely new place for me.  A place that pairs meaty mushrooms slicked in butter with sweetened slumping onions cloaked in balsamic and cream.  There’s no pasta drying on a couch per se, but, occasionally, there’s some strands draped over a broom handle or two. 

It’s different from the pasta I grew up with, but I’ve come home again.

Herbed Caramelized Onion and Mushroom Campanelle

Ingredients:

2 small onions

2 large shallots

~3-4 tbsp olive oil, divided

kosher salt, to taste

a few grinds of black pepper

2-4 tbsp balsamic vinegar

~½ tbsp sugar

6 thyme sprigs

2-4 tbsp butter

2 garlic cloves, minced

6 ounces cremini mushrooms, sliced

4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, sliced

5 sage leaves

~9 ounces campanelle or dry pasta of your choice

3-4 tbsp heavy cream

pecorino, grated or shredded to taste

Instructions:

Set the oven to 425 degrees.  Peel and chop each onion and shallot into four or five wedges and place in a baking dish; toss with enough olive oil to coat the wedges (1-2 tbsp), season with salt and pepper, and add a tbsp or two of balsamic vinegar and a dusting of sugar.  Wedge in thyme sprigs.  Roast in the oven until the onions get soft and caramelized; start checking after 30 minutes (mine took 45).

Once the onions have started to soften and gather color, fill a medium saucepan with water for the pasta.  Season the water with salt and heat on high. 

Heat a large sauté pan and toss in two tbsp of butter and a glug of olive oil.  Add in the garlic and cook about a minute, being careful not to burn it; add in the mushrooms, season with salt, and stir to help distribute the oil.  Let the mushrooms be for a few minutes so they can start to caramelize; if the mushrooms look dry, add another tbsp or two of butter; add in the sage leaves and stir gently.  When the mushrooms are tender and caramelized, remove the pan from the heat.

When the water boils, add in the pasta and cook until al dente (you want it a tad toothsome, as it will cook another minute or two in the sauté pan).

When the onions are fully softened and have browned, add in another splash of vinegar and enough cream to make a little sauce in the pan; return to the oven to cook another few minutes. 

When the pasta has cooked, drain it (reserving about ¼ cup of the pasta water), and then add the pasta to the pan with the mushrooms. Remove the onions from the oven and add them to the pan as well (you may want to remove the thyme sprigs first).  Add in the pasta water and toss to combine.  Season to taste, though keep in mind the pecorino will also add saltiness.  Dust with pecorino, to taste.

Makes about 6 cups of pasta and sauce

Notes:

-The pecorino really brings the dish together.  Parmesan would also work well.

-You don’t have to be a slave to the amounts listed.

April 15th and Kitchen Notebook Aioli

I thought about whether to post this week.  Technically, it’s A Plum’s third anniversary, though I haven’t felt like strapping on a party hat.  Mostly because of the recent events this week in Boston.  And also because I just don’t know what to do with Year Three of blogging.  I’ve since had some time to let the week settle in, to let it breathe, and decided that now was as important a time as any.

Earlier in the day on April 15th, before the bombings, I had a new patient come see me.  Halfway through a discussion on gluten-free whole grains, she interjected a sentence I had started about quinoa, and said we were approaching the fourth dimension, and that this life had bigger plans for me.   Then she did something even more unusual.  She said the universe supported me.  And gave me a hug. 

And for some reason, this didn’t seem weird, or scary, or even inappropriate.  Just a little unnerving.  And oddly comforting.  A few hours later, our three-dimensional world dropped off. 

My city—which most days is boisterous, quintessentially Bostonian—grew quiet amid the sirens.  I heard from friends and family all over the country.  People I haven’t talked to in six months.  People from past lives.  Texts came in rapid fire and throughout the day my eyes welled up even though I was safe, and all my loved ones were unharmed.

Still, nothing can prepare you for something like this.  Not for the initial moments.  Not for the moments that hang in limbo thereafter.

Nothing can prepare you for sitting with a friend while she calls her husband at 3:12, 3:14, 3:16, 3:17, 3:18, 3:22, 3:24, 3:25 … until he finally calls to say he’s okay.  Nothing can prepare you for walking to the train, passing by men dressed in black with M4 assault riffles strapped across their chests.  Nothing can prepare you for waking up to the sound of helicopters overhead and blipping police cars. For having a NBC News van parked at the end of your street for days.  For questioning whether you should board a crowded train at rush hour.  For receiving an e-mail at work warning SWAT teams will be around, and not to be alarmed.

So I really haven’t felt like discussing food.  But we all might benefit from a distraction.  In fact, now more than ever.

After all, I am still someone who believes in the power of a well-made chicken salad sandwich.  To piggyback off of a recent tweet by Anne Lamott: “I don't know much, but I can tell you this: if someone makes you a great chicken salad sandwich, it is because they did not skimp on the mayo.”  Though Hellmann’s will most certainly do just fine, if you are in need of a task consider making your own.

I jotted down this recipe in my kitchen notebook awhile back.  Its origins are not glamorous.  In fact, I’m not even certain where it’s from.  But it’s gorgeously thick and slightly garlicky and a wonderful project that won’t seize the whole day.

So I made it today.  Because I believe in comfort, in all forms.  I am most certainly someone who believes in mayo.  And who gladly, wholeheartedly welcomes a supportive universe.  For us all.

Kitchen Notebook Aioli

Ingredients:

1 small garlic clove

2 egg yolks

1 tsp Dijon mustard

¼ tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste

4 tsp fresh lemon juice

2/3 cup canola oil

lemon zest, to taste

Instructions:

Smash the garlic clove with the side of a knife and then use the side to mash the clove into a paste. Place the garlic, yolks, mustard, ¼ tsp salt, and lemon juice in a blender; give it a quick whirl.  Through the top of the blender, with it running, slowly add in the oil, about 1 tsp at a time, for the first ¼ cup.  After this, add the rest of the oil in a slow, steady stream, until the mixture becomes thick.  Stir in the lemon zest to taste (I added zest from ½ a medium lemon) and taste for additional seasoning.  Refrigerate.

Makes about ½ cup

Notes:

-Aioli is, at its simplest, a garlicky mayo, but please note the eggs in this recipe are not cooked. (Also, this may be a cheater's version, but I don't care.)

-In the past, I’ve added some basil to this recipe as well; which is quite good.

A Rationalization for Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

I am two weeks away from being done with this semester.  Which means my summer officially starts April 25th.  Break out the bourbon sours.  I may still need my winter coat and I probably have at least one upturned umbrella in my future between now and Memorial Day.  But still.

It’s odd to think of April in Boston as the beginning of a four month vacation, especially since I’ll still be working 40 hours a week, mostly discussing bowel irregularities and finding sly ways to convince folks to eat more root vegetables.  But 40 hours is not (what seems like) 140 hours at the moment.  This is the life of a dietitian in graduate school for what seems like an eternity (actual time, 3 years).

I’ve had some requests for items other than dessert to be posted on the blog. And I intend to honor them this “summer.”  I’ve wanted to make quiche since February.  I know.  Quiche is just an excuse to make pie. With cheese.  But I’ll throw a fistful of greens in there too.  Other savories will be discussed, as well.  I swear.

For now, I have a chocolate frozen yogurt for you.  But it’s not that kind of frozen yogurt.  It’s thick, full-fat and reminiscent of milk chocolate pudding. 

The yogurt is still in there though.  Which makes it seem, in many ways, healthier than other creams and custards on ice.  Just as creamy and cocoa-dusted, mind you, but also lighter and a bit breezier.  Perfect for summer come early.

You see, I am a dietitian pursuing a liberal arts degree in gastronomy.  I can rationalize anything.

Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

Base adapted from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home

Ingredients:

1 quart plain low-fat yogurt

1½ cups whole milk

2 tbsp cornstarch

2 ounces cream cheese, softened

½ cup heavy cream

2/3 cup sugar

¼ cup light corn syrup

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

The day before you intend to make this yogurt base, place a strainer or colander over a bowl and line the strainer (or colander) with cheesecloth.  Secure the cheesecloth (I usually tie it with string or rubber bands.)  Pour in the yogurt to drain, cover everything with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight (6-8 hours).  During this time the yogurt with get thick. 

The next day, discard the liquid in your bowl and measure out 1¼ cups of the strained yogurt; set aside.  (You’ll have a little extra.) 

Mix 3 tbsp of the milk with the cornstarch in a small bowl; set aside.  Whisk the cream cheese in a medium bowl until smooth; set aside.

In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining milk, cream, sugar, and corn syrup and heat on medium-high until it boils (stir occasionally to make sure the milk doesn’t burn at the bottom).  Keep at a rolling boil for 4 minutes and then add in the cocoa powder and pinch of salt; whisk to combine.

Remove the cocoa mixture from the heat and gradually whisk in the cornstarch.  Bring the mixture back to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, stirring occasionally with a rubber spatula, until slightly thickened (this will only take a minute or so).  Remove from heat.

Gradually whisk the hot mixture into the cream cheese until smooth. (You may need to strain the liquid if you notice bits of cream cheese lingering about.) Add in the vanilla and reserved 1¼ cups of yogurt; whisk to combine.

Place a metal bowl inside a larger bowl filled with ice.  Pour the yogurt mixture into the metal bowl and allow to come to room temperature before placing it into the fridge until fully chilled (ideally overnight).

Pour the yogurt base into a frozen ice cream canister and spin until thick and creamy (the base will pull away from the sides of the canister when it is done; this should take about 25 minutes).  Pack the yogurt into a freezer-safe container with an airtight lid.  Press parchment paper directly on the surface of the frozen yogurt and seal with a lid.  Freeze for at least 4 hours before serving.

Yield: a little less than 1 quart

Notes:

-This could probably take up to 6 tbsp of cocoa quite comfortably.  I tasted at ¼ cup of cocoa and liked what I had.  So I stopped.  (I wanted a nice mellow chocolate flavor that didn’t overwhelm the yogurt.)

-You don’t have to refrigerate the cocoa yogurt base overnight, but I like to let the flavors have time to get to know each other.

-This freezers hard, so take it out a few minutes before you want to serve it.

Early Riser Polenta, For Us Humans

Very scary things have been said about polenta.  It’s pasty.  It needs to be fussed over or it’s all lumps and bumps. It burns if you so much as glance at it wrong.     

But here is the secret.  It has to be stirred.  And this can’t be hurried.  That’s it.

It knows what it needs.  And what it needs is an hour to be ready.  So do not rush it, thankyouverymuch.  Making polenta is mediation by way of cornmeal. 

I felt this needed to be discussed for a few reasons.  One.  Because I had an early dinner with my brother a few weeks ago and the man revealed he has yet to latch on to the right polenta recipe.  Since he owns my great grandmother’s hand crank cavatelli maker—and has used it—I can assure you his polenta void is not for lack of wont.

Two.  Because at said dinner at a trendy-new-restaurant-which shall-remain-nameless, we had a side of farro that was barely passable.  Sad and pale and bored.  (Like a New Englander trudging through March April.) And this should simply not be the case for Italian grains that require so little to taste delicious.

Three.  Because I recently visited Misty Brook Farm and have fallen for their Early Riser cornmeal, which they also feed to their pigs and chickens.  And I hope this balances out some of the implied elitism when I say it’s organic, meaning it’s a non-GMO (a rarity), and from a local farm.  Any food that’s fed to both farm animals and humans can’t be too highbrow.  In fact, I hope we can come to live in a world where people say, “If it’s good enough for the pigs, it’s good enough for me.” 

During my research, I also stumbled across this quote from an online garden supply store about using Early Riser: “Chickens will produce eggs with deep golden yolks, cows love it, and it makes a high quality cornmeal for us humans as well.”  Now, cows aren't technically supposed to eat corn.  But that aside, it’s ground so fine and delicate that it makes the creamiest polenta known to man.

But you still have to stir it. 

So do your dishes while it gently bubbles on the stovetop.  Or, better yet, grab a book and a bottle of wine and head to the kitchen.  This is precisely how I became well acquainted with both Nigel Slater’s recipe for root vegetable korma and a fantastic Umbrian Sunday dinner red from The Wine Bottega.  (Both of which I highly recommend.) You don’t have to be chained to the range, but you really don’t want to stray too far for too long.

You see.  The key is stirring, and patience.  This makes a high quality polenta for us humans, as well.

Early Riser Polenta

Ingredients:

5 cups water

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus additional, to taste

1 cup cornmeal

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter

1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Pinch of crushed red pepper

Black pepper, to taste

Instructions:

In a 2-quart saucepan, bring the water to a simmer.  Add the salt and then slowly whisk in the cornmeal.  Continue to whisk until any lumps dissolve.

Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook the cornmeal for about an hour, stirring regularly to prevent any lumps from forming.  The cornmeal will bubble occasionally; if it starts to sputter and splatter, turn down the heat.

The polenta is done when it is creamy and has reduced roughly by half.  (It should not taste floury or raw, if it does, cook it longer.)  Stir in the butter, cheese, and crushed red pepper.  Taste and adjust for seasoning.  Serve hot.

Makes about 3 cups

Notes:

-I’ve made the recipe with standard yellow polenta (typically medium or coarse ground cornmeal), as well. (You can find Early Riser at Misty Brook Farm here.)

-If your polenta is looking too dry, add in a drizzle of water.

-For more on the problems plaguing corn, and about Early Riser, see here.

-The vegetable korma is a great way to use up any winter roots you may still have lying around.  (The recipe is from Tender.)