Showing posts with label Lasagne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lasagne. Show all posts
Monday, July 7, 2014
A Trick For Really Great Italan Food
Page Two Hundred Sixty.
The next time you make Italian food, practically anything, grate a touch of fresh nutmeg into it. Italian cuisine has much more nutmeg than you may realize. Grate it into your Fettuccine Alfredo or your spaghetti with meat sauce or Bolognese sauce. When you make meatballs add some nutmeg to the mixture. Not too much mind you, just a nice pinch. Sprinkle some into your lasagne and of course, on top of your Tiramisu. It'll be great eating.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
On Borrowing A Church Kitchen
Page One Hundred-Eighteen.
I'm cooking for a memorial gathering this Friday. It won't be big, only about forty-five or so. But that's enough that it's still work. I'll be making three trays of Lasagne, two pans of chicken Paprikash with noodles, tons of three bean salad, two trays of fruit salad and a very elaborate green salad. The real complication in a situation like this isn't the work, the time, the purchasing of ingredients or so forth. The problem is storage. I only have a two bedroom apartment in an old, 1920's brownstone walk-up. My refrigerator is somewhat large for an apartment of that nature, but still it's nowhere large enough to store this amount of eats.
I'm cat-sitting right now and the home I'm living in has what might be referred to as a "gourmet" kitchen. (I cat-sit, dog-sit, elder-sit, child-sit, house-sit a lot. When the home-owner goes away for vacation, he or she hires me to move in, live there and take care of the being in question.) I'd been thinking "perfect timing". But upon closer inspection, I realize that the over-sized refrigerator in this home still won't be large enough. So, I think I've come up with the perfect solution.
Last March I put on a large, instructional, community Passover Seder in a grand, old, United Methodist church here in Cleveland Heights. (See page fifty-five of this blog for that story.) The congregation was delighted with it and have been quite warm toward me ever since. Actually, I've been friendly with the senior minister for about a decade. Our friendship is what led to my hosting the Seder in the first place. But with the Seder, the congregation and office staff have gotten to know me and welcome me. So, I phoned the church yesterday and asked if I might borrow their kitchen for a few days. They're thrilled to help me out. And brother, do they have a great kitchen. It's fantastic. This church has all the counter space, gas burners, ovens, deep sinks, refrigerator space and freezer space anybody could ever hope for. Martha Stewart would be impressed. Last spring, with much help from volunteers, I cooked a meal for 260 in this kitchen. I'm positive that I could cater a memorial gathering for 100 by myself in this thing. It's just that workable. (The only problem I'd have catering for 100 would be transporting the food. My car can handle carrying food for 45 this Friday. Much more and there'd be a problem. After a little while, you begin to think about ever single detail, such as car space.)
Well, I better go now. I'm doing the chicken today.
I'm cooking for a memorial gathering this Friday. It won't be big, only about forty-five or so. But that's enough that it's still work. I'll be making three trays of Lasagne, two pans of chicken Paprikash with noodles, tons of three bean salad, two trays of fruit salad and a very elaborate green salad. The real complication in a situation like this isn't the work, the time, the purchasing of ingredients or so forth. The problem is storage. I only have a two bedroom apartment in an old, 1920's brownstone walk-up. My refrigerator is somewhat large for an apartment of that nature, but still it's nowhere large enough to store this amount of eats.
I'm cat-sitting right now and the home I'm living in has what might be referred to as a "gourmet" kitchen. (I cat-sit, dog-sit, elder-sit, child-sit, house-sit a lot. When the home-owner goes away for vacation, he or she hires me to move in, live there and take care of the being in question.) I'd been thinking "perfect timing". But upon closer inspection, I realize that the over-sized refrigerator in this home still won't be large enough. So, I think I've come up with the perfect solution.
Last March I put on a large, instructional, community Passover Seder in a grand, old, United Methodist church here in Cleveland Heights. (See page fifty-five of this blog for that story.) The congregation was delighted with it and have been quite warm toward me ever since. Actually, I've been friendly with the senior minister for about a decade. Our friendship is what led to my hosting the Seder in the first place. But with the Seder, the congregation and office staff have gotten to know me and welcome me. So, I phoned the church yesterday and asked if I might borrow their kitchen for a few days. They're thrilled to help me out. And brother, do they have a great kitchen. It's fantastic. This church has all the counter space, gas burners, ovens, deep sinks, refrigerator space and freezer space anybody could ever hope for. Martha Stewart would be impressed. Last spring, with much help from volunteers, I cooked a meal for 260 in this kitchen. I'm positive that I could cater a memorial gathering for 100 by myself in this thing. It's just that workable. (The only problem I'd have catering for 100 would be transporting the food. My car can handle carrying food for 45 this Friday. Much more and there'd be a problem. After a little while, you begin to think about ever single detail, such as car space.)
Well, I better go now. I'm doing the chicken today.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Ode To Cherries
Page One Hundred-One.
It's cherry season. I'm categorically not a fan of summer or warm/hot weather, but cherries make it all worthwhile. When I'm dead, I'll be sad because that means that I won't be able to eat cherries anymore.
My two favorite foods in this world are pepperoni pizza and fresh cherries, sad but true. (I'm a kid at heart. Guess why I'm so good at interacting with and caring for young people?) So, quite frequently during cherry season, I'll have pepperoni pizza with a nice salad for dinner and then for dessert I'll have a bowl of cherries.
In fact, maybe that's what I'll have tonight for dinner. I think I'll make myself a deep dish pepp pizza. Yessiree Bob. That's sounds just right. I'll go to Alesci's Italian grocery store (one of our local fantastic Italian grocery stores) and pick up the sauce, cheese, pepp and dough. I don't make my own dough. Why bother when I can buy it freshly made at Alesci's for thirty-five cents? Then I'll bring the whole mess home and assemble.
I'll break out my twelve inch cast iron skillet, grease it, dust it with corn meal, then put the dough in and spread. Then, I'll pour on the sauce, toss on the cheese, lovingly place the pepp and bake at 425 for about fifteen minutes or so. Yum, yum, yum. It'll be too good for words.
If he plays his cards right, perhaps I'll make the new kid, Shem, some of my deep dish pizza sometime. Not tomorrow, though. He likes lasagne, so I'll make him that. And, because it's virtually impossible to make lasagne for one, I'll make a normal amount and then I'm going to join him and we'll sit at the dining room table and eat dinner together like civilized people. We planned it yesterday. He also likes Moose Tracks ice cream... okay fine, twist my arm.
It's cherry season. I'm categorically not a fan of summer or warm/hot weather, but cherries make it all worthwhile. When I'm dead, I'll be sad because that means that I won't be able to eat cherries anymore.
My two favorite foods in this world are pepperoni pizza and fresh cherries, sad but true. (I'm a kid at heart. Guess why I'm so good at interacting with and caring for young people?) So, quite frequently during cherry season, I'll have pepperoni pizza with a nice salad for dinner and then for dessert I'll have a bowl of cherries.
In fact, maybe that's what I'll have tonight for dinner. I think I'll make myself a deep dish pepp pizza. Yessiree Bob. That's sounds just right. I'll go to Alesci's Italian grocery store (one of our local fantastic Italian grocery stores) and pick up the sauce, cheese, pepp and dough. I don't make my own dough. Why bother when I can buy it freshly made at Alesci's for thirty-five cents? Then I'll bring the whole mess home and assemble.
I'll break out my twelve inch cast iron skillet, grease it, dust it with corn meal, then put the dough in and spread. Then, I'll pour on the sauce, toss on the cheese, lovingly place the pepp and bake at 425 for about fifteen minutes or so. Yum, yum, yum. It'll be too good for words.
If he plays his cards right, perhaps I'll make the new kid, Shem, some of my deep dish pizza sometime. Not tomorrow, though. He likes lasagne, so I'll make him that. And, because it's virtually impossible to make lasagne for one, I'll make a normal amount and then I'm going to join him and we'll sit at the dining room table and eat dinner together like civilized people. We planned it yesterday. He also likes Moose Tracks ice cream... okay fine, twist my arm.
Friday, April 5, 2013
A Thirteenth Birthday Meal
Page Fifty-Eight.
Tomorrow is the 13th birthday of one of the boys whom I currently nanny. For his birthday meal, Zok has asked me to make him homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade pretzels with a rosemary cheese dipping sauce. Is this a joke? What 13 year old boy asks for things like that? Boys who I nanny, that's who. Their grandmother has accused me one thousand times of spoiling them. I always tell her that spoiling them is my job, but this is ridiculous.
Right now, I have the soup cooking on my stove. Real, homemade chicken noodle soup is a two day affair, so I'll simply bring the finished product with me. It'll be easier that way. (Eventually, I'll put my recipe for the soup in this blog, but for now, all you need to know is: it is very time consuming and expensive.)
But, anyhow, what ever happened to 13 year old boys wanting really great Chicken Tetrazini or fresh, homemade lasagne or even homemade pizza? (All these are things I make great, by the way.) At least the little one, Fauntleroy, who'll be 9 this summer, is consistent. Every year he wants Belgian Waffles and Baked Alaska for his birthday. Lord help me when the middle one, Billy-Bob-Joe, turns 11 in a month. He's the pickiest. He's the way I was when I was a kid, virtually impossible. Interestingly, I successfully introduced him, of all people, to caviar. Nobody else will touch the stuff but he loves it.
I've been with these boys for almost two and a half years now and feeding them has gotten easier and more difficult, simultaneously. I've introduced much new food and homemade versions of old food. It's gotten easier because of the occasional success I have with introducing new dishes. It's more difficult because as I bring in new things, they no longer want the old, easier versions of those things. For example, Lord help me if I were to open a can of chicken noodle soup and present it to Zok for his birthday meal. No! no! no! Only homemade will do.(With homemade pretzels with rosemary cheese dipping sauce. How dysfunctional is that?) Maybe I'm just complaining and being lazy, but I promise you he never had homemade chicken soup in his life until I showed up.
The fact is, on the rare occasions when I make grilled cheese sandwiches with Tots and salad, they're thrilled. And Mom has told me a few times that I can relax a little with the food. But, I can't. It's not in my nature. Of course, I'm spoiling them. But, that's okay.
Tomorrow is the 13th birthday of one of the boys whom I currently nanny. For his birthday meal, Zok has asked me to make him homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade pretzels with a rosemary cheese dipping sauce. Is this a joke? What 13 year old boy asks for things like that? Boys who I nanny, that's who. Their grandmother has accused me one thousand times of spoiling them. I always tell her that spoiling them is my job, but this is ridiculous.
Right now, I have the soup cooking on my stove. Real, homemade chicken noodle soup is a two day affair, so I'll simply bring the finished product with me. It'll be easier that way. (Eventually, I'll put my recipe for the soup in this blog, but for now, all you need to know is: it is very time consuming and expensive.)
But, anyhow, what ever happened to 13 year old boys wanting really great Chicken Tetrazini or fresh, homemade lasagne or even homemade pizza? (All these are things I make great, by the way.) At least the little one, Fauntleroy, who'll be 9 this summer, is consistent. Every year he wants Belgian Waffles and Baked Alaska for his birthday. Lord help me when the middle one, Billy-Bob-Joe, turns 11 in a month. He's the pickiest. He's the way I was when I was a kid, virtually impossible. Interestingly, I successfully introduced him, of all people, to caviar. Nobody else will touch the stuff but he loves it.
I've been with these boys for almost two and a half years now and feeding them has gotten easier and more difficult, simultaneously. I've introduced much new food and homemade versions of old food. It's gotten easier because of the occasional success I have with introducing new dishes. It's more difficult because as I bring in new things, they no longer want the old, easier versions of those things. For example, Lord help me if I were to open a can of chicken noodle soup and present it to Zok for his birthday meal. No! no! no! Only homemade will do.(With homemade pretzels with rosemary cheese dipping sauce. How dysfunctional is that?) Maybe I'm just complaining and being lazy, but I promise you he never had homemade chicken soup in his life until I showed up.
The fact is, on the rare occasions when I make grilled cheese sandwiches with Tots and salad, they're thrilled. And Mom has told me a few times that I can relax a little with the food. But, I can't. It's not in my nature. Of course, I'm spoiling them. But, that's okay.
Monday, March 4, 2013
On Learning to Make Lasagne
Page Forty-Four.
I made a large tray of lasagne a couple of days ago for the princes, their parents and grandmother. They liked it very much as they always do, (except for the middle prince who consistently frowns down upon red sauces, but I don't care). Grandma asked me where I learned to make such good lasagne...
One of my sisters was married for about fifteen minutes at a very young age to a fellow named Ralph. One day when I was in about the eighth grade I went with her to Ralph's house just to hang out. We were there for a while when my sister said that Ralph's mom had made some Lasagne for dinner and did I want some? I'd literally never heard of lasagne. Seriously. I was very suspect of this weird word, "lasagne", and had a long and illustrious history as being the pickiest eater in the history of human childhood. But, I was a big fan of spaghetti and it was explained that if I liked spaghetti, I'd enjoy Lasagne. So I had some and I loved it, just loved it.
Perhaps twelve or twenty months later, I called Ralph's mom, Henrietta, and asked her how to make it. She taught me and I began making it for my family right then and there. Over the years, I've changed the recipe little and it continues to be a crowd favorite.
About five years ago, I made some for myself and gave some of the left-overs to my sister. (One of the few problems with Lasagne is that it's virtually impossible to make one portion, or even two.) While eating it, she was very complimentary, as she typically is while eating my food, and asked how I ever learned to make it in the first place. I reminded her of the story of Henrietta. She declared "well she was good for something, anyhow". And, Henrietta was good for something. She taught me how to make one of my signature dishes.(The trick is to use two different sauces which are not mixed; use one jarred sauce on top and one homemade sauce in the middle. That way you get a different flavor depending upon which section of the entree your fork happens to cut into.)
I made a large tray of lasagne a couple of days ago for the princes, their parents and grandmother. They liked it very much as they always do, (except for the middle prince who consistently frowns down upon red sauces, but I don't care). Grandma asked me where I learned to make such good lasagne...
One of my sisters was married for about fifteen minutes at a very young age to a fellow named Ralph. One day when I was in about the eighth grade I went with her to Ralph's house just to hang out. We were there for a while when my sister said that Ralph's mom had made some Lasagne for dinner and did I want some? I'd literally never heard of lasagne. Seriously. I was very suspect of this weird word, "lasagne", and had a long and illustrious history as being the pickiest eater in the history of human childhood. But, I was a big fan of spaghetti and it was explained that if I liked spaghetti, I'd enjoy Lasagne. So I had some and I loved it, just loved it.
Perhaps twelve or twenty months later, I called Ralph's mom, Henrietta, and asked her how to make it. She taught me and I began making it for my family right then and there. Over the years, I've changed the recipe little and it continues to be a crowd favorite.
About five years ago, I made some for myself and gave some of the left-overs to my sister. (One of the few problems with Lasagne is that it's virtually impossible to make one portion, or even two.) While eating it, she was very complimentary, as she typically is while eating my food, and asked how I ever learned to make it in the first place. I reminded her of the story of Henrietta. She declared "well she was good for something, anyhow". And, Henrietta was good for something. She taught me how to make one of my signature dishes.(The trick is to use two different sauces which are not mixed; use one jarred sauce on top and one homemade sauce in the middle. That way you get a different flavor depending upon which section of the entree your fork happens to cut into.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)