Much to the dismay of one son in particular when he was younger, there is almost no way, shape, or form of zucchini I don’t like; I cooked it often when he was little. Back in those days of juggling work and young kids, I usually sauteed zucchini slices in olive oil, with salt, pepper, and maybe some basil and/or a sprinkle of Parmesan or Pecorino Romano: a quick and easy side dish that I still love. But it was not one my son enjoyed…. However, times change. He now prepares zucchini frequently for his daughter, who likes it a lot. So the family tradition continues!
This stuffed zucchini dish is one I learned from an Italian friend when we lived in Rome. It is especially good as the weather gets colder. Note: I’ve made this dish many times, in Rome and here in the US. The photos in this post come from various times; some show Roman zucchini (Costata romanesco zucchini–which is lighter green, more speckled, and ridged) and others show the darker, smoother zucchini more typically found in the U.S. (see first photos below). Both are delicious!
Fun fact: In Italian, the word “zucchini” does not exist. The vegetable has a feminine name: one single vegetable is called a zucchina, and multiple ones are zucchine. I’m not entirely sure how we in the U.S. ended up using a masculine plural form for both singular and plural versions of a “feminine” vegetable, but there you have it. To complicate things, other English-speaking countries call the vegetable “courgette,” which comes from the French word for marrow, which is actually a big zucchini (ok, a big zucchina).
Ingredients
4 zucchini, as equal in length and diameter as possible
olive oil 1/2 onion, finely diced 1 carrot, grated 4-5 innermost, tenderest stalks of celery (with leaves), finely diced 1 lb (450 gr) ground pork (or other ground meat of choice) 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 tsp. (6 gr) table salt freshly ground pepper 1 egg, lightly beaten 1/3 c. (36 gr) panko breadcrumbs 1/2 c. (110 gr) grated Pecorino Romano (or Parmesan) cheese nice handful of parsley, finely chopped nice handful of basil leaves, finely chopped
About 32-40 oz (940 ml-1.1 liters) marinara sauce (such as Rao’s), or tomato passata (such as Mutti), or any marinara/passata/tomato sauce of your preference
Preparation
1. Cut each zucchini into 3 equal sections, then core each section. Finely dice the cores (the inner parts) and set aside.
2. Drizzle some olive oil into a skillet, and sauté the onion, carrots, and celery/celery leaves until almost soft. Add the diced zucchini innards, and cook until just tender. Place the veggies in a mixing bowl and let cool.
3. Add the remaining filling ingredients and mix well.
4. Pour the marinara sauce or passata into a Dutch oven or pot that is large enough to hold all zucchini pieces upright in a single layer. Start by adding sauce to a depth that is half the length of each zucchini piece. So, if your zucchini pieces are 4 inches/10 cm long, then add about 2 inches/5 cm depth of sauce to the pot. The sauce will rise up as you add the zucchini pieces to it.
5. With clean hands, take a small handful of filling and stuff the filling into the cored zucchini pieces with your fingers (you may need to stuff both ends). If you have extra filling, shape it into mini meatballs.
6. Nestle the stuffed zucchini pieces (and any meatballs) into the sauce in the pot. If needed, add more sauce so that it comes close to the tops of the zucchini pieces.
7. Bring to a simmer over high heat, then cover the pot and lower the heat to a simmer. Cook for about 30 minutes or until the zucchini are tender.
8. Serve with extra grated cheese sprinkled on top, if desired. Enjoy!
Sometimes, you need a pick-me-up in the form of caffeine + chocolate, a match made in heaven. These rich, moist brownies more than hit the spot. Pair them with a cup of coffee and you will be good to go for quite some time; perfect for a busy weekend afternoon!
Note: To make these, you will need a kitchen scale.
Brown Butter Espresso Brownies (recipe adapted from Julie Marie Eats)
Ingredients: 130 g (4.6 oz) granulated sugar 130 g (4.6 oz) brown sugar 3 large eggs, at room temperature 120 g (4.2 oz) butter 75 g (2.7 oz) dark chocolate chips 70 g (2.5 oz) neutral oil 1 ½ teaspoon vanilla extract 75 g (2.7 oz) all-purpose flour 35 g (1.3 oz) cocoa powder 1 tablespoon cornstarch 2 tablespoon instant espresso powder ½ teaspoon salt 75 g (2.7 oz) dark chocolate chips, to fold into the batter
Preparation: 1. Preheat the oven to 160ºC/ 325ºF. Spray a 20×20 cm (8×8 in) square pan with baking spray, line with parchment paper, and spray again with baking spray. 2. In a medium saucepan, add the butter and cook over medium/high heat until it is golden brown; it will take about 8-10 minutes. Pour the browned butter into a medium bowl, scraping out all the brown bits from the saucepan. Add the cocoa powder and whisk in. Add the chocolate chips, let sit for a few minutes, then stir until melted.
3. Stir together the flour, cornstarch, espresso powder, and salt.
4. Place the eggs, brown sugar, and granulated sugar in a large bowl and mix with an electric hand mixer until light and fluffy; this will take about 4 minutes.
5. Add the melted butter/chocolate mixture, plus the oil and vanilla, and mix until combined. Turn the hand mixer off, add the flour mixture to the batter, and gently mix everything on the lowest setting until combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a spatula.
6. Add the extra chocolate chips and gently fold them in. Pour the batter into the prepared baking pan and smooth the top. Bake for about 35-40 minutes. Let cool, then serve.
A while back, I trained to be a docent at the US Botanical Garden. But before I could give my first tour, we moved overseas. I really liked the subject of the tour I developed, so I thought I would share part of it here for those of you who are also interested in leaves.
When entering a garden, most people’s eyes (mine included) gravitate toward the flowers. And how could they not? Flowers evolved to attract attention, and they do their job very well. But there are other really interesting plant parts, and leaves are one of them. In a tropical rainforest, leaves are everywhere, in all sorts of sizes, shapes, textures, and patterns:
The main functions of all these leaves are photosynthesis, respiration, and transpiration. Photosynthesis uses sunlight energy (which is absorbed by the chlorophyll found in green plants) to convert carbon dioxide and water into glucose (food for the plant) and oxygen. Respiration does the opposite: it converts oxygen and glucose into water and carbon dioxide; this gaseous exchange occurs via the many stomata (pores) found on leaves and other parts of the plant. Stomata are also the primary sites for transpiration (the process by which plants release water in the form of water vapor).
This post is about some of the many ways leaves in tropical rainforests have adapted to their conditions, in support of these and other functions.
A rainforest has four basic layers—a floor of exposed roots, seedlings, and debris; an understory of stunted trees and shrubs; a high and dense canopy of trees and vines that intercepts most of the sunlight; and an emergent layer, from which the tallest trees emerge to reach the light.
Plants in a rainforest face many challenges: Competition for light, excess moisture in the understory, insufficient moisture in the canopy, too much wind, poor nutrition, hungry insects and other predators, and a host of other nuisances. Leaves are there to help.
Space and light
One advantage in the competition for light is to have big leaves, like the Taro and Banana plants below, which live in the understory of the rainforest where light is scarcer. Larges leaves help the plant absorb as much sunlight as possible.
Leaf size is determined to a certain extent by how wet or dry an area is. But as a recent study has shown, it is particularly dependent on temperature — especially cold temperatures. The biggest leaves in the world are found close to the Equator, which is warm and wet. The smallest leaves are found in 1) hot desert areas, which are warm, but not wet; think cactus spines, which are modified leaves, and 2) colder, higher-altitude areas, which can be wet, but are not very warm; think pine needles, which are also leaves. Basically, plants do not want to roast during the day and they really, really do not want to freeze at night. So their leaves have adapted to help them. Small leaves do not require as much water — nor are they as susceptible to frost — as bigger, thicker leaves. Hence their preponderance in deserts and colder areas. In contrast, plants in tropical rainforests have plenty of water and do not have to worry about getting too hot, so the sky is the limit in terms of leaf size. If that is, they can get enough light….
Shade(and protection from insects)
Those bigger-leafed plants make it hard for smaller plants to get the light they need for photosynthesis. Many smaller plants living in the understory of a tropical rainforest are just too little (in stature and leaf size) to compete with the big guys. But their smaller leaves have come to the rescue via pigmentary adaptation. If you see plants with leaves that are green on top and purply-red underneath, like the Calatheas below, they most likely live in low-light conditions. The purply-red undersides provide the plants with a second chance to reflect light energy back into the leaf by ‘catching’ the light that passes through the leaf from the green side, and sending it back through.
This fascinating adaptation aside, Calatheas are also worth another glance because of their distinctive leaf patterns, which are meant to fool insects. The pattern in the center photo looks like dark green leaves on top of lighter leaves; this confuses insects and tricks them into eating only a small part of the leaf. They see the dark green part as an appetizer and don’t realize they missed their chance to have a whole meal.
Light, wind, and more protection from insects
There are a number of theories as to why many tropical plant species with large leaves, like the Monsteradeliciosa below, produce leaves with holes. Technically speaking, this is called fenestration, which means “having small perforations or transparent areas.” In Latin, the word for window is “fenestra,” similar to the Italian “finestra.” So Monstera are plants whose leaves have adapted to have windows in them. One theory is that fenestration helps the plant capture sunlight more efficiently because the plant spends less energy producing big, solid leaves. Another theory is that the holes help the plant withstand heavy wind and rain by letting both pass through more easily. And finally, fenestrated leaves may also be a form of camouflage; they make the plant look a little chewed up, thus discouraging insects who may want a more pristine meal. It’s a tough world out there for insects … sometimes.
Other tropical plants may not have fenestrated leaves, but they have something that serves a similar purpose: segmented leaves. The Ruffled Fan Palm (Licuala grandis) below is an example. It is a small palm that grows in the understory of the rainforest; it is native to Vanuatu island. There is one leaf in the photo below, and its fan shape provides a large area for light absorption. The leaf is cut into segments that can tilt to allow air to pass freely through the fan. During stormy weather, the fan moves with the wind and the segments shift into a more streamlined pattern that allows them to go with the flow, and emerge from the storm unharmed.
Water repulsion
As one would expect in a rainforest, conditions can be quite damp. Generally speaking, water is a great thing, but sometimes, it is just too much, especially if you are a plant living in the soggy understory. If you were getting wet all the time, you’d probably try to figure out how you could get drier. That’s what many leaves in a tropical rainforest have adapted to do, to prevent the plant from becoming susceptible to disease, and also to ensure photosynthesis is not affected (since the gaseous exchange that must occur during photosynthesis becomes difficult when leaves are wet). What are some ways in which leaves have adapted to sogginess? Waxiness and drip tips.
Many leaves in tropical rainforests have waxy coatings to repel water. Interestingly, this adaptation also occurs in arid areas, but for a different reason; the waxy covering on the leaves of some desert plants helps reduce water loss through the leaf surface. In tropical rainforests, many leaves also have a drip tip, the pointy part at the end of the leaf that helps guide water down, and off.
Water captureand wind protection
Other plants in the rainforest have the opposite problem; they need to keep water around. Neoregelia Bromeliads like the one below live in the rainforest canopy, where it is harder to capture water than in soggier areas below. They also have to worry about wind taking away any water that may fall on them. So, their long, stiff leaves have adapted to become channels that funnel water to a reservoir in the center of the plant. This reservoir captures the water and protects it against the wind. Some bromeliad bowls can contain up to several liters (3/4 gallon) of water, and can host a wide range of animals such as tree frogs, snails, flatworms, tiny crabs, and salamanders–many of whom spend their entire lives in the bromeliad bowls.
Nutrition
Though rainforests may have lots of water, they aren’t always able to offer plants the best nutrition. In addition to the food/energy plants get from photosynthesis, they also need other micronutrients and minerals, which they usually pull in through their roots. But rainforest soil is often nitrogen deficient, since nitrogen is easily leeched away by water. So, how to get nitrogen? Pitcher plants like the ones below have adapted in a fascinatingly way to trap insects, which are great sources of nitrogen. Those hanging “pitchers” that you see are modified leaves; the leaf tip elongates and begins to form a pitcher. Sometimes, insects seek shelter from the rain under the “lid” of the pitcher, which is designed to slip them right into a toxic brew. Or they are drawn in by the scent of nectar. Either way, once the hapless victims are caught, the enzymes inside the pitcher start to digest them and derive nitrogen and other nutrients from them. (Did I mention that sometimes, insects have a rough time?)
And that’s it: just a few of the many remarkable ways plant leaves have adapted to the multiple challenges of living in a tropical rainforest.
Sometimes, probably not as often as I should, I feel the need to eat (or drink) something super, extra virtuous. Even better if it’s delicious and quick, too. One signifier of virtuous for me = green, which is why I love this smoothie. It has such a beautiful color. It also has bananas, dates, oatmeal, flax seed, and cinnamon. Mmmmm! Perfect for breakfast, and even as part of lunch. Another bonus; it can be adapted countless ways:
I like less-thick smoothies, so I don’t usually add all-frozen produce; instead, I mix fresh with frozen, or add crushed ice to offset any lingering warmness from the softened oats and dates.
Also, if my banana is very ripe (and thus, very sweet), I put in blueberries instead of the dates, to temper the sweetness. But… blueberries muddy the lovely green color somewhat, so be prepared for less vibrancy.
If I need an extra boost, I add almond butter or kefir or protein powder.
Sometimes, I put everything in!
Power Smoothie (one serving)
2 tbsp rolled oats 2 pitted Medjool dates (opened up and flattened out) boiling water (about 1/3 cup) 1 banana, in chunks (fresh or frozen) 1 tbsp ground flaxseed sprinkle cinnamon 1-2 handfuls baby spinach (can add in frozen chopped spinach instead) milk/plant milk of choice (about 1/2-3/4 cup) handful ice, or some ice water
Optional add-ins: blueberries (fresh or frozen) 1 tbsp almond butter kefir 1 scoop protein powder
Preparation
1. Boil a small amount of water.
2. Put the oats in a small glass ramekin, and the dates in another. Pour boiling water over each, just to cover. Let the oatmeal and dates soften (and cool) while prepping the rest of the smoothie ingredients.
3. In a smoothie blender container (or in a blender), add the banana, flaxseed, cinnamon, oats, and dates. Stuff as much spinach as will fit. Pour in milk of choice, ice or ice water if using, and any optional ingredients.
I remember a teacher in elementary school bringing our class a batch of “Everything But the Kitchen Sink” cookies, which I’d never had before. I didn’t quite understand the name, so the teacher explained that it meant she had put all sorts of things into the cookies, almost everything in her kitchen but the kitchen sink. That day, I tasted a new cookie and learned a new phrase.
For me, Minestrone is an “Everything but the Kitchen Sink” soup. When the leaves start turning colors in the fall — ie, when soup weather is upon us — and I have vegetables to use up, I immediately think “Minestrone.” In Italian, minestra means “soup;” minestrone means “big soup.” And it really is a big soup, full of so many good things.
Of those good things, there is one without which this cannot be Minestrone, in my view: the cheese rinds. We usually have a wedge of Pecorino Romano cheese in the fridge, and as we get to the last of each wedge, I save the rinds. Without some rind, the soup will not taste like Minestrone; the slow-simmered cheese is a huge part of what makes the broth so delicious.
Pecorino Romano rind (black), Parmesan rind (golden yellow). And a Pecorino rind with the black part already trimmed off.
Aside from the rinds and the soffritto ingredients (onion, carrot, celery; see below), I like to add canned tomatoes, zucchini, white beans, and cabbage or spinach or both (or any other leafy green). Plus pancetta when I have it, potatoes if I need to use some up, and small pasta if there is room.
Today this is what I had at hand:
Fridge:
two onion halves (one red, one white)
four stalks of celery
some leftover grated carrots (about 1.5 c.)
zucchini (I had 2, but ended up using only 1 big one)
some shredded cabbage, ie ‘cole slaw’ mix (about 4.5 oz/127 gr)
baby spinach (about 3-4 handfuls)
Some Pecorino Romano and Parmesan ‘heels’ (see photo)
Freezer:
Cubed pancetta (4 o oz/113 gr)
Pantry:
Yukon Gold potatoes (I had 3, but ended up using only 2)
Whole peeled tomatoes
Cannellini beans (2 cans, 15.5 oz/440 gr each, undrained)
Garlic (3 large cloves)
Bay leaves
Vegetable bouillon cubes
Salt and pepper
Perfect–I had everything I needed for Minestrone! I also had mini pasta sea shells, which I’ve used in Minestrone before, but I did not use them this time; by the time I got to the point where I would have added them, there was no more room in the pot! Plus, dry pasta keeps and I had to use up the potatoes. (If you have pasta but no potatoes or just prefer the pasta, add a handful of that instead.)
For me, Minestrone is a soup I make in ‘layers,’ meaning I start with the first ingredients and while they are cooking, I prep the others, adding them to the pot as I go. Today, I started by cooking the pancetta in olive oil in a large Dutch Oven until it got crispy. (If you are vegetarian, omit the pancetta).
While the pancetta was cooking, I diced the onions and celery, then added them–and the already-grated carrots and a couple bay leaves–to the pot along with a splash more olive oil. This mixture of onions, celery, and carrots is what the Italians call soffritto and the French call mirepoix, and it is the foundation of many great soups. When the veggies got soft, I crushed the garlic cloves straight into the pot, added some freshly ground black pepper, and cooked everything for a couple more minutes. This is what I consider to be Layer 1, made up of a few subparts. [I forgot to take a photo of this, however.]
To start building Layer 2, I added some hand-crushed tomatoes and their juices to the soup pot. If I’d had a can of diced tomatoes, I would have used that instead–but necessity is the mother of hand crushing. With a very clean hand, I gently took a whole peeled tomato from the can, and crushed it into the soup pot, repeating until I had crushed all the tomatoes. [Note: If you will also crush the tomatoes by hand, lower your hand as far as possible into the pot, and crush each tomato very slowly. Otherwise, the likelihood of having crushed tomato all over your back stove wall, and yourself, is extremely high–as I’ve learned from experience.]
Successfully hand-crushed tomatoes; all in the pot, none on me
Then I added the cheese rinds (trimmed of the outer, colored parts) and 4 cups of water and let everything simmer while I diced the potatoes. When the potatoes were ready, I added them, the canned cannellini beans with all their liquid, and a vegetable bouillon cube to the pot, along with more freshly ground pepper. This is Layer 2. I let this simmer, partially covered, for about 10 minutes while I prepped the zucchini for Layer 3.
Nestling cheese rinds into the soup
In Layer 3, I added the diced zucchini and the already-shredded cabbage, and continued to simmer the soup until the zucchini and potatoes were both soft. I also checked the seasonings and decided to add another bouillon cube and a little salt. At that point, my Minestrone was essentially done and ready to serve, so I did the very last thing: I put the handfuls of spinach on top and stirred until the spinach was wilted in.
Then I set the soup pot out for everyone to serve themselves (with everyone getting at least one piece of the now-soft cheese rinds–an absolute treat), along with some freshly grated Pecorino Romano to sprinkle on top. Mmmm. So good on a fall day.
Years ago, I learned to make some Lebanese dishes from watching (and helping) college friends cook a few classics, but my main teacher was a cookbook called Lebanese Cuisine by Madelain Farah. The version I have is from 1979, meaning it predates the internet. (And no, I wasn’t in college in 1979; I bought the cookbook some years later). Despite there being so many delicious Lebanese recipes now available online, I still find myself going back to this well-loved, well-spattered, paperback cookbook for some of my favorites. It has accompanied me on many moves and is now held together with tape.
Ms. Farah was a straightforward recipe writer; no coddling of the reader for her. In her recipe for Baba Ghanoush (which she calls Baba Ghannuj, as there are many ways to spell it), the first instruction is written this way: “Eggplant may be baked or grilled over a flame until well done.” There’s a lot of room for interpretation in those instructions…. Ms Farah was also a proponent of mashing the ingredients, either with a potato masher or a wooden mallet. I now use a food processor, which may be anathema in some quarters, but it produces a silky smooth dip.
So, this recipe takes its inspiration from Madelain Farah’s, with a few twists: I added smoked paprika and cumin, which play on the smokiness of the eggplant and really help bring out its flavor. And I use a faster blending technique.
Baba Ghanoush
Ingredients: 2 medium eggplants (2 lb/900 gr total). Note:Ms Farah called for one large eggplant, but the larger the eggplant, the more seeds there are, so I prefer using two smaller ones. (Since I grow eggplant in my garden each summer, I can pick them at just the right size!). olive oil
2 cloves of garlic, minced (we like garlic in our house; you can use 1 clove as the recipe originally called for) 1/4 c. (60 gr.) tahini 1/4 c. (60 ml.) lemon juice, or more to taste 1/4 tsp. smoked paprika 1/4 tsp. cumin 1/2 tsp. salt, to taste 1 tbsp. (15 ml.) water (optional)
To garnish: –chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley –smoked paprika and cumin (or, substitute the paprika and cumin with sumac, which is a more traditional topping and one Ms. Farah suggested; both options taste great) –olive oil
Preparation:
Cooking method #1: Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C). Cut the eggplant(s) in half lengthwise, and brush a generous amount of olive oil on the cut sides. Place the cut sides down on a large baking sheet (use a rimmed one as the eggplant will get juicy). Bake for about 30-45 minutes until the eggplant is dark golden brown and very, very soft.
Cooking method #2: Grill the eggplant(s) cut side down on a barbecue, until golden and soft, taking care not to completely incinerate them (some burnt bits are ok and add to the flavor, but a carbonized eggplant is a step too far; I say this from experience).
Flip the eggplants over and let cool.
Scoop out the eggplant pulp and place in the bowl of a food processor, carefully removing any skin that may have made its way in, too. Also, check for big clumps of seeds; individual seeds are fine and will get blended right up, but I like to take out any big clusters if I see them, to ensure a smoother dip.
Add the remaining dip ingredients and process until nice and smooth, adjusting the ingredients to suit your taste. If the dip is too thick, you can add more lemon juice or a spoonful of water.
Pour the dip into a serving bowl. Sprinkle with chopped parsley and more smoked paprika and cumin (or use sumac instead); drizzle with olive oil.
Serve with pita bread, pita chips, and/or veggies — or use in a Middle Eastern wrap as a substitute for hummus. I also love putting Baba Ghanoush, lamb kafta, and some tabouli in a pita and calling it a meal.
I came across this poem recently, by Ian Emberson:
A weed is a flower in the wrong place, a flower is a weed in the right place, if you were a weed in the right place you would be a flower; but seeing as you’re a weed in the wrong place you’re only a weed – it’s high time someone pulled you out.
I suspect some difficult interpersonal dynamics led to the last few lines, so I won’t dwell on those. But I quite like the first two lines. They summarize my feelings about a beautiful flower in my garden, which I love when it’s in the right place and frown over when it pops up (again and again) in the wrong place(s): Crocosmia.
Crocosmia in the wrong place
Crocosmia is a member of the Iris (Iridaceae) family, along with its gladiolus and crocus cousins. Plants in this family are perennial, and grow from bulbs, corms, or rhizomes. They have tall, upright foliage; Crocosmia leaves have been called “sword-like” and are easily spotted and admired in the garden.
The tubular, scarlet-red flowers are spectacular as well, and are wildly attractive to hummingbirds, who have been known to defend their Crocosmia patch against any and all interlopers. For hummingbirds, a Crocosmia is the proverbial Lady in Red.
So, what’s not to love? Crocosmia has great flowers, great leaves, and brings hummingbirds to the garden. How could it be a problem? Well, in the U.S. and other parts of the world, this Southern African native is considered an invasive species because of how well it grows, to the detriment of other plants. It really can grow almost anywhere; the ‘Lucifer’ cultivar (which has made itself a regular feature of my garden) is hardy to Zone 4. In the words of the California Invasive Plant Council:
“It prefers disturbed areas, including roadsides, coastal scrub, prairie and forests. Crocosmia is a superior competitor for water, light and nutrients, and it excludes native plants by growing in dense patches.”
I’ve seen mass plantings of Crocosmia, which can be stunning:
Intentional Crocosmia planting, Japanese Tea Garden, San Francisco
But where not controlled, Crocosmia could run riot. It is a determined grower whose corms multiply and multiply. You may think you’ve gotten them all, but you haven’t. In my own garden, no matter how often I have tried to transfer rogue Crocosmia from where I do not want it to grow, to where I do, it keeps cropping up in the old spots — and in new ones.
Crocosmia in yet another unplanned spot
The reason I am finding it in new spots in my garden, is that — in addition to propagation by corms — Crocosmia can also grow from seed. I did not realize how sneaky and able Crocosmia was until now, so I naively let the seed pods develop and scatter, mostly because I did not perceive them as a threat. In my skirmishes with this flower (or weed?), it has outwitted me each time. I’ve been focused on battling corm-spreading Crocosmia, without realizing my garden was also being strafed by airborne seeds. Now I know I should have been cutting Crocosmia off at the pass, literally; I should have been cutting the flower stems at their base as soon as the flowers were spent. Instead, I have allowed the (admittedly beautiful) seed pods to develop, along with the mini paratroopers housed therein, just waiting to spread further red cheer throughout my garden. Clearly, I am no military strategist.
But… lesson learned for next year. I vow to be ruthless. Really.
I’m a fairly equal-opportunity eater; I’m happy with all kinds of food, even airplane food. Yes, I admit it: I actually look forward to seeing what’s on the menu when I’m flying. But I absolutely cannot eat airplane pasta. It is always too soft, and I have been conditioned (spoiled?) to need a bit of “bite” to my pasta.
Luckily, today I’m writing about a pasta dish I would gladly eat many times over: Ragù Bolognese. I’ve been making some form of this since college, and have even provided a quick(er) version of it on this blog, more suited to a weeknight meal. But now I want to point you to a more traditional/authentic recipe that is my go-to for fall and winter weekends when I have more time. It is from the Washington Post, whose author tested six well-known ragu bolognese recipes before settling on a new version combining the best elements of her favorite three recipes. I am so glad she did all that testing, because since I read the article in the Post two years ago, I stopped searching for the perfect ragù myself; for me, this one is it.
The first time I made it, I also decided to make the pasta to go with it. It was the dead of winter, we were fairly snowbound, and I had not used my pasta-making equipment in a while, so I decided to go for it, using a New York Timesrecipe for the pasta dough (see below, including the notes). But then I returned to my lazy ways the other times I’ve made this ragù and used store-bought pasta instead, which did not fill me with quite the same sense of satisfaction, but allowed me to focus on other tasks. If you do have the time and inclination to make your own pasta, then definitely try it. You will be proud of your accomplishment.
Notes: 1) The ragù recipe takes about five hours to make–though most of that time is slow simmering time. You don’t need to be actively engaged for those five hours, but you will need to tend to the ragù every so often. If you are making the pasta yourself, you can also do that during the ragù cooking time. 2) I found it is best to weigh the vegetables for the ragù, as that is most accurate; a medium onion or celery stalk can mean different things to different people. 3) The ragù is delicious the next day, too, so you can make it ahead. I also try to freeze some each time, to use for future lasagna fillings.
4 oz (113 gr) cubed pancetta 3 large garlic cloves 6 tbsp (85 gr) unsalted butter, divided 1 medium onion (8-9 oz/226-255 gr), very finely chopped 1 medium carrot (4-5 oz/113-141 gr), grated 2 medium celery stalks with tender leaves, if any (about 3 oz/85 gr), very finely chopped 1 lb (454 gr) ground beef, 80% lean, 20% fat 1 lb (454 gr) ground pork 3 cups (710 ml) chicken broth 1 cup (237 ml) dry white wine, such as pinot grigio 1 teaspoon (3 gr) kosher salt 1 pinch grated nutmeg 1 cup (237 ml) whole milk 2 tablespoons (32 gr) tomato paste 1 cup (237 ml) tomato puree/passata (such as Pomi or Mutti) Freshly ground black pepper
Preparation: 1. In a mini food processor, combine the pancetta and garlic, pulse a few times to break up the pieces, then process until it becomes a smooth paste.
2. Scrape the paste into a large, wide Dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed pot, along with 2 tablespoons of the butter. Melt them together over medium heat, spreading the paste around with a wooden spoon so the pancetta fat begins to render. Cook until the fat is mostly rendered, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the onion, carrot and celery — the soffritto — and cook slowly over medium-low heat, stirring frequently enough so the soffritto doesn’t brown — until the onion is soft, translucent and pale gold, about 15 minutes. 3. Add the ground beef and pork to the pot, increase the heat to medium, and break up the meat with a wooden spoon as much as possible. Once the meat starts to faintly sizzle, reduce the heat to medium-low. Let the meat brown slowly, stirring occasionally and continuing to break up any remaining clumps, for about 1 hour, until evenly browned and burnished.
4. When the meat is nearly done browning, in a medium saucepan over high heat (or in the microwave), heat the broth until simmering; cover and keep hot over low heat until ready to use. Increase the heat under the browned meat to medium-high and stir in the wine, scraping up any browned bits or deposits on the bottom of the pan. Cook and stir until the wine is mostly soaked in and evaporated, about 3 minutes. Stir in the salt and nutmeg, reduce the heat to medium-low and add the milk, cooking and stirring until it is barely visible, about 3 minutes. 5. Measure 2 cups of the hot broth and dissolve the tomato paste in it. Stir the broth with paste into the meat sauce, then stir in the tomato puree. (Keep the unused broth handy in the pot in case you need to reheat it and add more to the sauce later.) Partially cover the pot and let the sauce simmer slowly and gently, stirring occasionally, until it is thick and all the components begin to melt together, about 2 hours.
Left: Earlier in the simmering phase. Right: Later, as sauce has thickened more.
6. Stir the sauce — if it looks at all dry, reheat the remaining broth, ladle in a little more, about 1/2 cup, and stir. Continue to simmer gently, uncovered, stirring occasionally and adding a little more broth or water as needed to keep the sauce sumptuously saucy, until the vegetables have completely melted into the sauce, about 1 hour. 7. Cut the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter into a few pieces and stir them into the sauce; add about 20 grinds of black pepper and stir that in, too. Taste, and season with more salt and/or pepper, if desired.
Note from NYT: “Using the “00” flour gives the silkiest, softest pasta while bread flour will give you more of a satisfying chew, and all-purpose lands you squarely in the middle.” Note from me: I made this first with “00” flour, and it was delicious, but as you now know, I need more “bite” to my pasta. So I prefer to make it with bread flour if I have it, or all-purpose otherwise.
2 1/4 cups (290 gr) all-purpose flour, bread flour, or “00” flour, more as needed 1 tsp (3 gr) kosher salt 2 whole large eggs 3 egg yolks 1 tbsp (15 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, more as needed
Preparation: 1. In a food processor, pulse together flour and salt. Add eggs, yolks, and oil and run the machine until the dough holds together. If dough looks dry, add another teaspoon olive oil. If dough looks wet, add a little flour until dough is tacky and elastic.
2. Dump dough onto a work surface and knead briefly until very smooth. Wrap in plastic and rest at room temperature for 2 hours or in the fridge overnight.
3. Cut the dough into 4 pieces, keeping them covered with plastic wrap or a dish towel when not in use. (If you’re rolling the dough out by hand, rather than using a pasta machine, cut it into 2 pieces instead.) Using a pasta roller set to the thickest (widest) setting, roll one piece of dough out into a sheet. Fold the sheet in thirds like a letter and pass it through the machine 2 more times on the same setting.
4. Reduce the setting, and repeat rolling, passing it through the machine 2 or 3 times before going to the next setting. For pappardelle and fettuccine, stop rolling after the dough has gone through setting #6. 5. Shape the pasta. For pappardelle, cut rolled pasta into 1-inch-wide strips. For fettuccine, run the rolled sheets through the fettuccine setting on your roller. Place cut pasta on a flour-dusted sheet tray and cover with a dish towel while rolling and cutting the remaining dough. Make sure to sprinkle flour over the cut pasta before you place another layer on top. If not using immediately, cover the sheet pan with a dish towel to keep the dough supple.
6. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil, add fresh pasta and boil for 60-90 seconds, depending on thickness of the pasta. Drain well.
My sweet tooth has been fairly well documented on these pages, I think. Anything with chocolate? Check. Caramel? Check. Cinnamon, cardamom, nuts? Check. The list goes on.
But in recent years, I’ve tried to add more fruity desserts into the mix. This weekend, our son and daughter-in-law were visiting and I discovered my daughter-in-law loves fresh fruit tarts. So, decision easily made. Which was perfect, as I had long been wanting to tackle pastry cream (crème pâtissière, aka creme pat), because frankly, who among us who have watched the Great British Bake Off have not wanted to be able to whip up a creme pat at a moment’s notice? Plus–all those fruits count toward the 30-Plant Challenge, too! It was a win-win.
Note: For a first-time attempt, this tart turned out pretty well. But there are two things I will keep in mind for next time: 1. The original recipe I followed for the creme pat said to cook “until thickened,” which I did, but the pastry cream ended up just a tad soft. What you really must do is gently bring the egg-milk mixture to a boil and hold it there, stirring nonstop, for one minute. That will allow it to set perfectly; I’ve noted this in the revised recipe below. (Not that anyone minded my slightly softer creme pat; the entire tart was gone within 8 hours.) 2. I played with the design of the fruit and settled on a delicate-looking pattern (see all the photos). Next time, I won’t be so delicate. In fact, what you should do is completely cover the creme pat–you should not be able to see it at all. So, overlap the fruit, stand it on end, etc. What you want is a high fruit-to-pastry cream ratio.
With these notes in mind, here is the recipe:
Summer Fruit Tart
–Pastry cream (Crème pâtissière, creme pat): 2 c. whole milk 3/4 c. granulated sugar (if you like things barely sweet, use 1/2 cup; if you like things pretty sweet, use 1 cup) 6 egg yolks 1/4 c. cornstarch 1/4 tsp. salt 1 tbsp. butter 2 tsp. vanilla extract (or 2 tsp. vanilla bean paste, or 1 vanilla bean, scraped)*
–Tart crust: 7 tbsp. butter, softened 1/2 c. powdered sugar 1 egg 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract 1/4 tsp. salt 1 1/4 c. flour 1/4 tsp. baking powder
–Fruit: 4 c. fresh fruit, larger fruits cut into decorative pieces (strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, mango, kiwi, etc.)
–Glaze: ¼ cup apricot jam (try to scoop out the least chunky bits) + 1 tablespoon water
Preparation: —Pastry cream: 1. Heat the milk in a medium saucepan over medium heat for about 7-8 minutes, until it reaches 180 degrees. (If you do not have a thermometer, watch for tiny bubbles to form in the milk, but don’t let the milk come to a full boil or it will scald.) Stir frequently as the milk heats up; you can get through the first part of Step #2 while the milk is beginning to warm up, but the milk will require your full attention — and stirring — as it gets hotter, to prevent scalding. When the milk is at the right temperature, take the saucepan off the stove, and place it on the counter near your work area.
*Note: If you prefer to use a scraped vanilla bean or vanilla bean paste instead of vanilla extract, you can add those to the milk right as you start the heating process, instead of afterward in Step #3.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and sugar until light and creamy. (This process is called blanching and helps prevent lumps when you are later cooking the pastry cream.) Whisk in the cornstarch and salt.
Keep whisking the egg mixture, and pour in half of the hot milk that is in the saucepan. When all of the milk is incorporated, whisk in the remaining milk and return to saucepan. (This process tempers the eggs, which prevents them from scrambling; you are doing everything you can to end up with a smooth, delicious pastry cream).
3. Cook the egg/milk mixture on medium heat, whisking constantly, until it thickens and then comes to a boil. This will take a few minutes. Once the mixture comes to a boil, cook for 1 minute more, whisking nonstop. Whisk in the vanilla and butter until the butter is melted, then pour the pastry cream into a bowl. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the pastry cream, then refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours.
—Tart crust: 1. Using a) a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, or b) an electric mixer, or c) a whisk (ie, by hand, which is what I did), cream the butter and powdered sugar together until pale and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula and add the egg. Continue mixing until combined, scraping down the bowl as necessary. Add the vanilla and salt and mix until combined. Add the flour and baking powder and mix (or combine with a wooden spoon) until the dough comes together. Put a piece of plastic wrap on the counter, scrape the dough onto the plastic wrap, wrap tightly and chill at least 1 hour.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. On a lightly floured piece of parchment paper, roll out the dough until it’s about 10 inches in diameter. Invert the dough over a 9-inch tart pan, unpeel from the parchment paper, and press the dough firmly into the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Trim any excess dough.
3. Crinkle up a new piece of parchment paper until it is nice and wrinkly and soft. Place it on top of the dough in the tart pan. Fill the pan with pie weights or dried beans or dried rice; bake for 12 minutes. Carefully lift up the parchment paper and empty the pie weights/beans/rice into a bowl to cool. Prick the base of the tart and return the tart to the oven. Bake 10 to 15 minutes longer, until golden brown. Cool completely.
—Fruit Tart: Fill the cooled tart crust with chilled pastry cream. Arrange the fruit in a decorative pattern. Be generous with the fruit and cover the pastry cream completely (which I did not do in these photos, but will do in the future.)
—Glaze: In a heat-proof small bowl, stir together the apricot jam with 1 tablespoon of water. Heat in the microwave for about 30 seconds, then stir again; the glaze should have gotten thin enough to spread. (If there are chunky bits in the glaze, strain it through a sieve.) Use a pastry brush to gently dab the fruit with the apricot glaze.
This post is LONG overdue. In 2021, I wrote about experimenting with fabric weaving and the many lessons I learned doing a triaxial/tumbling block weave. In that post, I mentioned a triptych-style weave I had done for our bedroom, a weaving project that was completely different from the others in that 1) I wove each piece by stapling the strips onto a frame vs pinning them to a foam board, and 2) I went into it without any clear patterns in mind. In the end I adopted a square weave for the center panel, based on some of the experimenting I had done before. For the side panels, I played around with the placement of the strips until I was happy with the end result.
But first, I spent way too much time figuring out what fabrics to use. Our room has plum walls and our comforter is burnished gold. We have black night tables and cream colored lamps. Somehow, this project had to bring all those colors together. The first thing I found was not a type of fabric per se, but rather a thick woven ribbon:
I thought it perfectly tied most of the colors together. So then I set out to find fabrics that could complement it. Here’s what I ended up with, all laid out on the floor as I started to work out the pattern for the side panels:
You may be wondering why I decided to do this on a frame, versus on a foam board. The main reason is that I (still) don’t know how to use a sewing machine and I wanted a finished product right away. I also mistakenly thought weaving/stapling on a frame would be easy. In hindsight, I could have woven each of the panels on foam boards, taped them off, then wrapped the entire finished weaves around the frames, but I didn’t think of that, and even if I had, I would most certainly have run into problems getting smooth corners. As it was, I blundered onward in completed ignorance and completed these panels out of sheer stubbornness after “revising” them multiple times.
Oh, another reason I decided to use frames? They were free! They came with the packaging for the night tables, to protect the sides, and even though they were odd-looking, compressed cardboard frames, I thought “Hmmm, I think I can use these for something.”
So, with free frames at hand, fabric choices complete, fabric strips made, and a couple vague patterns in mind, I started weaving–on the floor of our guest bedroom. I started by finding the vertical midpoint of each frame, to place the first strip there. I wanted to be sure everything was symmetrical, and figured I could fudge the edges if needed (which ended up being needed).
Then I proceeded to staple on all the other vertical strips. (These photos are of the center, square-patterned panel in my triptych, which I actually wove after having completed one of the side panels):
Except, eagle-eyed observers will note that the strips in the first two photos don’t look quite right, as the finished center panel (right) has purple in it and the ribbon strips are near the edges. Correct. I wasn’t happy with the way the original strips looked, so I un-stapled most of them and started over, but failed to take photos of the new version!
I don’t have any good photos of the horizontal weaving I did, except one where I stood the uncompleted center panel next to a completed side panel on our bed to see what they looked like together (right photo) :
Here’s what I learned from this experiment:
Do not staple the horizontal strips until they are all in place. You need the wiggle room to slide them around a bit to get them smooth and in the right place. Then, stretch them tight and staple them in place.
Weaving across the middle of the frame is easy because there is only air beneath the area you are weaving, so there is a lot of give and you can reach under and adjust as needed.
Weaving across the top and bottom of the frame is hard, as the vertical strips are very tight where they are folded over the frame and stapled. Also, for me, it entailed weaving over hard compressed cardboard there, so it was not possible to adjust from underneath. In the middle of the frame, I could use my fingers to guide the fabric strips across, but at the ends I had to use a WEFTY tool (see my previous post) to guide the fabric strips through.
The frames were not perfectly sized to fit the 1″ strips I created, so I folded the last strips at the very edges over the frame a bit. It turned out ok.
Would I do this again? Yes! I’ve just been waiting for more free frames to magically appear. And also, I’ve been a bit busy in the garden….
Perennial Pastimes 