See the crespelle. See Ken photograph the crespelle. See the crespelle run away from Ken. Run, crespelle, run. See the crespelle run all the way to Brooklyn, where Jody cooks a Thanksgiving dinner for Ken and Jody’s son Oliver and 12 of his closest friends who had to work on the actual holiday. See Ken stuck in Boston. See Ken get his revenge. Ken makes a batch of crespelle with Lemon-Rosemary Ricotta and he doesn’t share.
Revenge, says Ken, is sweet.
Making risotto with the remains of the holiday bird is tradition in our family. Thanksgiving or Christmas, turkey or goose. No matter. One decent risotto polishes off all the goose leftovers, but turkeys tend to be a bit more generous, with enough leftovers for sandwiches and a risotto, like this week’s Turkey Risotto with Saffron and Preserved Lemon, and maybe even a soup (e.g. Turkey Soup with Baby Bok Choy and Rice Stick Noodles).
The idea was to come up with a side dish for Thanksgiving. But after much soul searching and a brainstorming session based on What do you do with Brussels sprouts? we decided that the world wasn’t crying out for another version of brussels sprouts with bacon.
You’re welcome.
Instead we’re offering Seared Brussels Sprouts with Vietnamese Dipping Sauce. People who do not love Brussels sprouts (me) love these.
Hey, wait, didn’t you guys make Celery Root Soup with Gorgonzola last year? Well, uh, yeah, holy crap, heh-heh, looks like we did. OMG, I’m living in Groundhog Day.
Unfortunately we didn’t realize it until after we cooked and photographed this soup. But this is different! [Insert pleading face.] Seriously. This is Celery Root and SUNCHOKE Soup with Gorgonzola.
Did you carve a pumpkin last year? Did you carve a pumpkin this year? Did you carve the exact, same face on both? I thought not. Keep reading.
“Hot-buttered groat clusters!” –Firesign Theater.
One of the pleasures of travelling is tdrawing close to the seemingly familiar only to suddenly discover it strikingly different, like this Puglian Barley Salad with Pecorino Cheese. Looks ordinary. But the taste – not like barley on this planet. Many of the more forward thinking participants in Italy’s agritourismo movement are attempting to preserve regional variations on farm products that for one reason or another have fallen from grace or never gained the favor of larger commercial ventures. Barley is a case in point–in Puglia, where it’s often hulled, rather than pearled, it’s chewy.
And chewy barley is a delight.
Truth be told, we eat more red meat as as a flavoring in a pasta sauce or a stir-fry than we do as the straight-up center of attention. However, Lamb Steaks with Herbs and Caramelized Garlic make a great indulgence, especially with the Puglian wrinkle of using olive oil scented with rosemary, sage and thyme instead of a butter sauce. The aroma of lemon, herbs and olive oil is a Proustian ticket to the sun-drenched Adriatic coast of your choice–and you’ll definitely want some bread to mop everything up.
Making your own shaped pasta like cavatelli or orecchiette (as versus rolling out noodles) is so gleeful, so hilariously liberating, that I can only compare it to being a little kid running naked down the street hollering, “Look at me! Look at me!” It’s just that great. Er… what? You never ran outside naked as a kid? Really? Never? Well, sounds to me like somebody’s got some serious catching up to do. No, don’t take your clothes off–we’re all adults now–the naked-in-the-street developmental train left the station some time ago. But that’s okay–you can still make Homemade Cavatelli with Tomato-Eggplant Sauce. You don’t believe me now, but if you share the joy and invite a friend to help, a friend with a bottle of wine, after seeing each other’s first dozen cavatelli, hilarity will ensue. Nobody’s cavatelli are bad–some are just different–and you do get better, fast.
Another panna cotta recipe? Really?
As well ask, Does the world need another saxophone riff? Another short story? Another poem? Of course it does. Look, if you’re filleting fugu or sautéing false morels (not advised), you want a recipe nazi with hairy calves and an I summitted K2 without O2 tattoo. But panna cotta? Ah, no. Panna cotta is a melody that invites riffing, if only because sometimes no matter how wonderful the last iteration, the simple tune of cooked cream cries out for variation, a what if . . . and because sometimes things just don’t work the way the recipe says they should, so you need to improvise. That’s how we ended up with Goat’s Milk Panna Cotta with Star Anise and Grape Compote.
Okay, so this is the week without a regular posting because one or both of us was out gallivanting about the Old World. In the absence of a post from us, I have a few recommendations for recent goodies from other blogs that I follow. Nothing really connects them, except my idiosyncratic taste and great writing.
Just remember, we’ll be back next week. We know where to find you.
Jody is still in Europe, hobnobbing with her fellow wizards, while I’m back home, working on my fourth expresso of the morning since my circadian clock stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that I’m no longer in the Mezzogiorno, the land that W. H. Auden aptly dubbed the sunburnt otherwhere. I thought I’d post a few pictures of our trip (Wait! Come back!) and offer a few observations about Puglia, food and biking.
The Garum Factory 