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.

Pasta Fazool: Now That's Amore

Here’s the rub.  A dairy farmer, vegetarian, hunger activist, nutritionist, and your mother are coming to visit.  So what’s for dinner?  The answer for yours truly: you look to your Italian American roots.  And you make pasta fazool. 

Also known as pasta e fagioli, though I prefer the vernacular I grew up with.  It’s what my mother made.  It’s what Dean Martin sings about. It's when the stars make you drool just like pasta fazool.  

This makes the dish sound fancy.  But ‘scus-a-me, it’s actually peasant dish: with pasta, beans, and tomatoes as the base. (Which should make the vegetarian, hunger activist, and nutritionist quite happy.)  A grate of pecorino over top satisfies the dairy farmer.  And, bada-bing bada-boom, everyone is bene.

It’s cheap and simple.  It’s morally responsible.  But, most importantly, it’s homey enough to satisfy mama. 

And in my family, mama made this often.  It was a staple growing up, especially when dinner was needed asap.  It was always welcomed, particularly when contrasted with the frozen fish sticks and chicken potpies that were supplemented when time was in extremely short supply. (The sight of Gorton the fisherman—in his yellow rain slicker—still sends shivers.)

This recipe is loosely based on my mother’s recipe, which was loosely based on my great grandmother’s recipe.  And so what lingers is an interpretation of a classic dish.  Feel free to adapt it as you see fit.  In the end, it should be—at its simplest— a dish filled with love.  Pasta love. 

Mine features homemade pasta and dried beans.  Your version may feature dried pasta and canned beans.  This does not matter.  What matters is that you put the passion in this dish.  Shoot for a moon-hitting-your-eye-like-a-big-pizza pie kind of love.  That’s pasta fazool.  That’s amore. 

Pasta Fazool

Ingredients:

~2-4 tbsp olive oil, divided

1 small onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, minced

Kosher salt and pepper

28 oz can diced tomatoes

1 tsp red chili flakes

1 cup cooked fresh homemade linguine (or 2 oz dry linguine)

~1 cup fresh basil leaves (very loosely packed), gently torn

 2 cups cooked dried white beans (cannellini) or cranberry beans (borlotti) (or 2 cups canned)

Pecorino cheese, optional

Instructions:

Heat 1-2 tbsp olive oil in a large saute pan on medium heat.  Add onion, stir to coat in olive oil; cook until it begins to soften, about 3-4 minutes.  Add minced garlic, season with salt and pepper, and cook about 2 minutes more until garlic has very slightly browned and onions are slightly translucent.  Add tomatoes, red pepper flakes, a little more salt and pepper, and stir to combine; continue to cook on medium heat.

Meanwhile, boil the water for the pasta (unless you have some in reserve that you have already cooked).  Salt the pasta water and add the pasta once the water reaches a rolling boil.  Meanwhile, add half the basil to the tomato mixture.  Continue to cook the tomato mixture, turning down the heat if the sauce starts to spatter.  

Once the pasta is done, strain out the water (you may want to reserve 1/2 cup pasta water to add back to the sauce to help the pasta cling).  Add the beans, cooked pasta, and the rest of the basil to the saucepan with the tomato sauce and toss to combine.  Drizzle ~1 tbsp over the mixture and gently stir.  Taste and adjust for seasoning, if needed.  Top with sprinkle of pecorino cheese, if desired.

Makes ~6 cups

Notes:

-This recipe is super easy, makes great leftovers, and can be made in fewer than 30 minutes if you have all your ingredients ready to go. From college student to grandma, this dish can work wonders.

-My mom traditionally used white beans, however cranberry beans can occasionally be found at the farmers' markets here in Boston.  If this is the case, you can use fresh beans instead of dried.  (Unfortunately, fresh cranberry beans were nowhere to be found at the time of this recipe.)  While dried beans will take ~1 hour to cook after they've been soaked overnight, fresh beans take much less time after you shell them.  You can, of course, bypass all of this and simply get out your can opener.

-For my money, Muir Glen has the best canned tomatoes, but any dice will do you.

-The coup de grâce for the nutritionist: the vitamin C content of the tomatoes also makes the iron from the beans more easily absorbed.