Soft Pretzels

Saw a new recipe in the usual way... On Pinterest. If you know me, you know that nothing goes straight to fond memories for me like a soft pretzel. They evoke lots of memories of my father, and yes, Hot Sam at Lincoln Mall.

Here is the recipe link. Everything went very smoothly and fairly effortlessly. I used my own little hands, and no paddle attachment. The only changes I made were:

1) The amount of baking soda stated will not dissolve in the amount of liquid stated. Add a little water, and it will still all go well.

2) I used half whole wheat flour, and half APF. I like whole wheat pretzels, and I was hoping these would taste more like an Auntie Anne's pretzel. They do.

3) I rubbed vegan butter all over these bad boys when they came out, then covered them in cinnamon, salt, and Sugar in the Raw. If that sounds naughty, that's because it is. They might look like little piles of doggie doo in my photo, I dunno, but they taste unbelievably, sinfully good. Quite unlike doo.

Mine only took about six minutes to bake, on a sprayed cookie sheet. This will be happening again. I think next time I might make a chocolate spread for them just like they used to have at Hot Sam, though that's just for nostalgia, because they surely don't need it.

Thanks for pinning, Susan M.!

Acorn Squash

Dad used to make acorn squash now and again, and it was always like getting dessert for dinner. He slathered it with all kinds of butter, salt, cinammon, and a handful of brown sugar. Everyone got their own half to scoop out with a spoon.



Chris and I found some acorn squash at one of this year's last farmer's markets. I was going to pass them up, because I thought that the last time I made them, he wasn't so crazy about them. But he said, "Hey, do those again! I loved them!" Oh! Okay!

I just cut them in half, dotted a little I Can't Believe It's Not Fabio on each one, and brown sugar, salt and pepper. I got a little fancy with the spices, but afterward I wished I had just done a little cinnamon. Keep it simple. Oh, and also I think they are better when covered: about 400 degrees for 40 minutes, or until soft when pierced.



I served each one (1/4 is actually a big serving) with the shepherd's pie I had cooked right out of the freezer. (Which, by the way, came out very well: 350-375 degrees for about 1.25 hours or until the very middle is warm).

I! Have Made! Pasta! (Spinach Gnudi)

I've already admitted to the whole universe, here on this blog, that I'm not the greatest Italian in the world because I don't ALWAYS make my own sauce (that's because that world that I live in? It's the REAL one. Join me, there are babies here... Messy, but worth it!) Anyway, now I'll tell you another purulent, grotesque truth: I don't make my own pasta.

The last time I tried to make homemade pasta was when I was in grade school, with my father (who was Sicilian, and from New York, and bought his pasta from the store like most other Italian-Americans). We tried the same ravioli roller thingie that everyone else purchased during the time in the eighties when Julia Child, the Galloping Gourmet, and Jeff Smith were at the height of their popularity, and Dad sat with a pad and pencil next to our 13-inch black-and-white TV set every Sunday, trying not to miss any ingredients. (See if you can name all the technologies I pre-date with that sentence... It's fun!) We tried it once and only once. We kneaded and re-kneaded, rolled and re-rolled, cooked fillings, pressed and patted, and created a gigantic mess that culminated in the two of us declaring "Oh, eff this" and going to Arby's. Our roller thingie, along with all the other roller thingies from the eighties, ended up in a garage sale. Perhaps we aimed too high.

That's why I knew that when I saw this recipe from Giada (Yes! Yes, I AM the Everyday Italian!) it was ju-u-ust right. I had never heard of gnudi. They are a ricotta and flour dumpling that is larger than gnocchi, but smaller than... I dunno, a big meatball. I made mine smaller than hers, about the size of a Chicken McNugget (that way there is more sauce per bite). It came together so quickly, and just worked. No special knowledge or equipment needed. And it was filling yet light. It was just delicious. One thing you should know: the mixture may be kind of wet in the proportions she states... Just add a tiny bit more flour at a time until the dough is still moist and pliable, but not sticky. Then be sure to dust each in flour before dropping in the water. Simple enough to make on a weeknight.



I stored the leftovers with the sauce, and they re-heated beautifully. I printed this recipe, cut it out, and glue-stick-ed it into my recipe index file. Now with THAT commitment, you know I loved it!

Artichoke Cream Pasta

Chris recently brought a regular sale to my notice through Amazon.com. You can get subscriptions to lots of magazines, many times, for $6-$10 for the whole year (or sometimes two years.) I treated myself recently to a dirt-cheap subscription to Cooking Light. I really like it. I've read many foodie periodicals over the years, starting with my father's old addiction to Gourmet magazine. Cooking Light is one part lifestyle mag (like Gourmet), and the second half has most of the recipes. I've already tried several, and they've all turned out well.

This one is an artichoke, lemon zest and pea pasta that is based on a recipe that they had. Of course I took my usual cursory look at the recipe, but I put onion and garlic in a liberal amount of oil first. Then I added drained and rinsed artichoke hearts, and peas, a little white wine and the zest of a whole lemon. Then I seasoned the mix. Lastly, you add cooked pasta and about a half-cup of ricotta cheese, and just stir until mixed.



It was good, but I must say, I have never eaten a dish that so BEGGED for bacon. I think if I had started the mix with a little diced pancetta, it would have been so much better. As it was, it tasted a little flat. Either that, or leave out the ricotta, and I think the zippier flavors (like the lemon) may have come through more. Quick way to make a cream pasta, though!

Easy Galumpki Bake

Recently, I was at my friend Beata's baby shower. She and her husband are Polish, and they had lots of Polish friends, who brought quite a bit of Polish food. And when I say, "they brought quite a bit," I mean in the way that Sitting Bull brought quite a bit of Cheyenne to a small party with Custer. It was astounding. After we all ate our fill, Beata announced, "And now, we eat dinner!" Holy crap. That's when the meat really came out. Dear lord, the meat! If meat makes for a healthy baby (and I think I'm a testament to that), then this kid is gonna be Herculean.

One of the many tasty, meaty items was galumpki, which I think most people have had at one time or another. They're also called cabbage rolls, and that's just what they are: rolled cabbage leaves with rice and pork in the center, and tomato sauce on top. All through my childhood, my father made them, and mistakenly called them "pigs in a blanket," which they are not.

They're great, but not so easy to make. The cabbage leaves have to be blanched, and the rice pre-cooked, and then of course there's all the rolling. I made a sort of "deconstructed" galumpki in the slow cooker, which is also a bit healthier because it uses turkey. It tastes great (much like the original), and utilizes a much simpler "open package, dump contents" sort of technique.



Ingredients:
1 carrot, peeled and broken up
1 celery stick with leaves
1/2 onion
1 clove garlic
(if you made the Turkey Chili Mac, then you already have these in your fridge)
1 cup uncooked brown rice
1 bag of cole slaw mix (shredded cabbage and carrots)
1 lb. ground turkey
1 cup water
1 29 oz. can tomato sauce (puree)
salt and pepper

In layers, place half the bag of cabbage mix, then half the mix of the first four veggies, which you've pulsed to a fine chop in the food processor. Add half the rice, then tear half the turkey up into chunks to complete the first layer. Make sure you season the meat. Then repeat each layer once more, and season again. Add the sauce to the top, and the water. Cook on low for six to eight hours.



Serve with crusty bread, with parmesan cheese on top. Mm!

Marinara Sauce from Scratch

I have some friends who, since the advent in recent years of competitive cooking shows, have flattered me by saying that I should try out for one of those shows. The truth is, I am really just someone who likes to eat, and experiment at home. I have no clue as to certain types of cooking technique. There are areas I just haven't ventured into yet (see the following), and areas I never intend to venture into (why would I try and make great Chicago-style pizza at home when Lou Malnati's makes the perfect pie?) I would be sure to make a total ass of myself on national television. Want a for instance? Here is my shame: until last summer, I never ever made marinara sauce from scratch - meaning, from real, whole, fresh tomatoes.

But you can't say that about me now!



I have friends, blog-reading friends, and adamant strangers tell me that (especially as an Italian) I should be loaded into a cannon and shot straight into hell for not making my sauce from scratch every week. Maybe they're right. But how do you sustain this 100% of the time? Humbly and truly, I just do not get it. The sauce I was taught to make comes from canned tomatoes. That's not really "from scratch." (Maybe that's what some of these people mean, as opposed to jar sauce. Well, if that's what they mean, then THEY'RE not making sauce from scratch, either.) Anyway, that's all I've ever done: either dad's sauce or marinara from canned tomatoes, or a good jar sauce when in a hurry, sick, or hung-over. (I know, I know. But don't throw your tomatoes. Save them for sauce!)



Here's what happened. Ma came to visit, and brought (sorry Ma) a SHIT-ton of beautiful, fresh tomatoes and a lorry-load of okra. What I usually do with tomatoes from her garden is grab a salt shaker, slice, and eat. But this was more than we could have gotten through before the fully ripe beauties went bad. We ate our fill (she, Chris and I) at every meal, and I still had a ton left when she left. So I called my brother and said, "How the hell do I do this?" He said to wash up the tomatoes (natch) and to dip them for a minute or two in boiling water. Then you could peel off the skin, and seed them. These garden tomatoes were so ripe, I just had to run them under hot tap water. I peeled off the skin, split them open in my hands, and scooped out the seeds with my fingers. I set them all aside in a bowl.

I heated a deep skillet with some olive oil, then heated some garlic in it. I finely diced as much onion as I wanted in it, then heated that. I added some "baby bellos," (small portobello mushrooms), and sweated those. Then I added the tomatoes, as much fresh oregano and basil as I thought proper, and some red wine. I kept letting it cook down, adding salt, pepper and about a bit of sugar as I went (it cuts the acid). I just kept tasting it, and soon it was definitely sauce. Whoopee! The bellos are optional, and I like to add a bit of red pepper flakes, but if you don't care for a spicier sauce, you could leave that out, too. You could add green pepper but... guh. Not for this kid.

I had plenty of sauce left over for pizza and pasta throughout the week, so perhaps if I ever get a deep freeze and the garden going next year, I can make enough over a summer to ALWAYS make my sauce from scratch (or at least defrost it that way).

Spam 'n Eggs, Yes, I Said Spam 'n Eggs

I am my father's daughter. Though the cooking I do is typically healthy, one thing I have in common with Dad is that I sometimes get a craving that is undeniable. I don't mean the type of craving you get where you think, "Hmm, I think stir-fry might be nice for dinner." I'm talking about the kind that starts as a nagging voice in the back of your mind, and builds over days at a time. Should you try to suppress the Craving, and allow days to turn into weeks, you will find yourself making a trip to the store at the most inconvenient time, and doing your food shopping at places like Walgreen's. Because you just have to get whatever-it-is you've been trying to tell yourself that you don't need, or is too high in fat, or doesn't fit with your ideals. And you have to get it right then.

Spam is not for everyone. In fact, I don't think it appeals to a lot of people, even those who are dedicated meat-eaters. I remember walking into my friend Jen's house one morning in high school. Her father worked for Dial corporation, which had recently acquired the company that produced Treet, a rival product of Spam. He had gotten a lot of free Treet as a result of the merger, and was packing Treet sandwiches for all the kids. One of them, Jason, was having none of it. As I walked up the stairs, I heard her dad saying, "Jason, do you like pork? Do you like chicken? Do you like beef? Well, good. Because IT'S ALL IN THERE." I'm sure Jason tried unsuccessfully to trade his lunch that day.

Well, I've never tried Treet. But I grew up with Spam, and for me it is a fond memory. In my younger days, before I turned fifteen and my metabolism came to a screeching halt, I ate as much as four grown men at every meal. I also had no standards or "ideals" to speak of, and I only obeyed my instinct -- to eat what was tasty. And oh baby, I could eat those pan-seared slices of Spam just as long as Dad would cook 'em up, and the stockpile of cans in the cabinet held out.

Now, I still adore the idea of Spam for kitsch value (a reputation I think the company is well aware of, due to their production of an extensive catalog of items, a museum, and a pretty awesome, if slightly obnoxious, website). But come on. I'm not that girl anymore. I can't stand most Hormel products (Dinty Moore beef stew gives me the shivers just to think about... And remember the Frankenstuff hot dogs with chili inside? In the commercial the dog was struck with lightning, and the chili gushed out. Uhhhk.) I don't generally eat mystery meat, or pork of any kind. Except, of course, for those times when I do.



And don't bother with the Spam Lite. It doesn't taste the same, and that unsatisfied craving just might get rolled over to another day. When you experience the Craving, just go for it. Serve a bit of it diced in scramble eggs with onion for dinner, some green veggies on the side, and enjoy. If our lives are like houses, then a good home is all about balance. And sometimes the cracks can be patched up nicely with Spam.

Grilled Turkey Sandwich

When I toured the campus at Illinois Wesleyan when I was 18, I fell in love with it. Winter had fallen on the campus, and a beautiful white blanket lay over the "quad." All was quiet, and I busily began imagining all the brilliant students hard at work learning SCIENCE and LITERATURE with delicious fervor. I would fit in here, I thought. It's okay for me to be a nerd here. These are my people. My dad chewed his lip and wondered how he could afford it. He had really just brought me to Bloomington to tour the campus of his alma mater up the street, Illinois State. In typical daughter fashion, I'd fallen in love with a more expensive option.

But Wesleyan smiles on the low to moderate-income honor student, and I found out that day that the "Green Weenie" (unofficial mascot name) financial plan for me included my choice of three meal plans. The school was starting a new system that next autumn, in which your student ID card functioned as a debit card for food. You could get a) all your meals in the school cafeteria, b) most of your meals there and a little "virtual money" at the school snack bar, or c) one meal a day in the cafeteria and $300 credit at the snack bar. I grimaced when the campus tour guide told us proudly, "and we're getting a new food service this year... MARRIOTT!!" My heart sank. My stomach flopped.

I knew for a fact that Marriott food service was just a new name for the same food service that I'd had all through grade school and high school: S.A.G.A. Food Service. I probably don't need to tell you that the food was awful. I never knew what it stood for, but the long version of the name that students had given it was "Soviets Attempting to Gag America." Enough said.

I went to Wesleyan anyway, and some of the food in the cafeteria was palatable. Some was not. I had a friend who swore that while working there, he read "Grade C Meat, But Edible" on the box of frozen burgers he unpacked. "BUT edible!" he repeated many times for emphasis, "BUT EDIBLE!" (This tale is an urban legend, I now know, but the school made it oh-so-plausible.) I know that I was stupid enough to give the Sweet and Sour Pork and something called Beef Ragout not one, but two tries each. I gagged them down, and was sent sprinting to the bathroom to gag them back up again for a total of four times together. The Soviets were winning!

Needless to say I opted every year for the maximum amount of money at the school snack bar, "the Dugout." The day the $300 credit ran out was a sad day, indeed, as there would be no real money to replace my play money. Far from the reaches of corrupt food service giants, the simple food there was made the way the counter ladies had been making it since the sixties. My favorite meal was a bag of Doritos, an iced tea, a banana, and a grilled turkey sandwich. "The Dugout" did this very well, and it not only got me through school and saved the fate of the free world, but it is still my favorite sandwich.



The sliced turkey (deli) meat was first grilled by itself on the flat-top grill, THEN placed on the bread with cheese to grill as you would a regular grilled cheese. You have to grill the meat first in the skillet when you make it. This is key. I like to dunk mine in a homemade 1,000 Island-style dressing: low-fat sour cream, Western dressing, and pickle relish. This addition was inspired by the Steak 'n Shake turkey melt, which I also love.

Long story, short recipe. That's how I'm doing it today. Also, I wanted you to know in advance why, if you say the word "ragout" in my presence, I will quite literally turn halfway inside out. Uuwhhhh. I can't abide by that!

Dad's Pasta Sauce

Okay, here it is -- the big one. Our dad's pasta sauce. Which he never would have called it. This is really Dad's "tomato gravy." Born to Sicilian parents on Long Island and raised in Queens, the word "pasta" was not really in Dad's lexicon. All pasta was called "macaroni," and the sauce was "red sauce" or "tomato gravy."

This is how his mother taught him to make sauce. As a side note, I'd like to address those who say that meatballs in sauce are not Italian. You don't know what you're talking about. The meatball is "native" to many European cultures, including Italy. You may not find Italians putting meatballs right on the pasta (it is more common for them to be served on the side), however, Sicilian-Americans definitely do. They (we) also tend to make meatballs larger than they do in the more northern regions, and we cook the meatballs (at least partially) right in the sauce. I've heard Alton Brown say that "he's never seen an Italian do that..." Well, he never came to our house I guess. Anyway, authentic native Italian food or not -- this is authentic Americano Siciliano food, you can believe that.



Dad's "gravy" is a vegetarian's worst nightmare. A veritable slaughterhouse buffet, the variety of meats contained in the sauce is the whole linchpin to the flavor. Without the meat, it is just runny red stuff. However, we didn't eat this stuff every day -- the way to do it is to freeze a few batches for later, or the arrival of last-minute company. Making this sauce is one of the only occasions on which I will buy red meat to prepare at home. And truly, it just has to be red meat. I've tried the sauce with all turkey-based products, and the outcome is nothing similar. So if you're gonna do it, go for it, and ask the animals' spirits to forgive you afterwards.

The sauce contains the Holy Meat Trinity: meatballs, Italian sausage, and short ribs. David prefers to use a leaner meat, like pork chops, instead of the short ribs (we argued about this once in the meat section of the grocery store). Well, Dad tended to use what was on sale. But for me, my memory is strongly attached to that tender short-rib meat falling off the bone after slow-cooking. You can fish the bones out before serving.

You prepare the meatballs, sausage, and short ribs as follows. Then you simmer them all in sauce, in a gigantic sauce pot or a couple of large standard pots, for half the day. That's pretty much it. So here are the ingredients, one at a time:

Meatballs:
I like to use about three pounds of meatloaf mixture, or a mix of beef, pork, and veal. (I usually do the beef and pork). Again, it is the mix of different types of meat that is really key here.

Add to that:

• about a half cup of Italian-seasoned breadcrumb


• one meduim, thinly diced yellow onion


• two or three cloves of minced garlic


• about 1/2 cup finely chopped parsely


• two eggs


• one cup of milk and a little water


• salt and pepper


• a couple of shots of worcheshire sauce

Hand-mix the meatball mixture. Start slowly with the breadcrumb -- too much will take away from the flavor of the meatballs, and cause your cantankerous Zia to complain that "those meatballs were just terrible... that's all I gotta say." Make sure that the mixture is still moist when you form the meatballs, but not too wet.

Dad used to brown the meatballs in oil. To me, this is a bit time-consuming, and adds a little more fat than you really need for flavor. I prefer to put the meatballs on tin foil atop a cookie sheet in a really hot oven while I brown the rest of the meat. You have to brown all the meat. You need that caramel-y flavor, and it seals the juices inside the meat. Trust me, I've skipped it before. Don't skip it. The meatballs, especially, will fall apart in the sauce if you skip this part. So -- 375-400 degrees, for ten to fifteen minutes. They just need to be brown on the outside, and they will still be raw on the inside. Note: Let the sauce simmer for about an hour-and-a-half before you add the meatballs, or else they will fall apart too early.

Sausage:
I use one package of sausage, but I will split one package of hot Italian sausage with one package sweet sausage, so that I have one package of half-and-half, and then save the other package for later in the freezer.

Brown the sausage in a skillet, and then place them in a large sauce pot. Again, the meat will be raw inside.

Short Ribs:
I use two packages. I like to trim some of the mega-fat off the ribs, but not all of it. I also trim off the membrane that's on the side. Then I sprinkle the meat with garlic powder, salt, and black pepper. Then you brown the meat in a skillet, drain them a bit on paper towels, and put them each in the large pot with the sausage.

Sauce:
These proportions will make the one giant batch of sauce that dad used to make:

• Two large cans of tomato puree (I think it is 32 oz., but truthfully I don't even look anymore. There's one in the next picture.)


• Two small cans of tomato paste


• One of each empty can (one puree can, and one paste can), filled with mostly water and a little wine


• Three or four minced cloves of garlic


• Italian seasoning to taste -- about 1/8 to 1/4 cup (use minced fresh oregano and basil if ya got 'em)


• A sprinkle of red pepper flakes, to taste


• Salt (start with about 1/8 cup or a couple healthy pinches) and pepper

Making it:
This takes at least four hours. Five is better. Stir all the ingredients, starting slowly on all the seasonings. Then bring it to a boil, and lower it to a simmer. Every twenty minutes or so, use a tablespoon to skim off the deep red grease from the top. When you've skimmed it, stir it again. Wait and then skim, stir again. After an hour or two, add the meatballs and continue. If it needs more seasoning, add it. The sauce starts off very watery, but remember, it will reduce and thicken a lot with the lid off. If it thickens too much, you add more wine or more water.

My problem was that some of the meat always stuck and burned to the bottom, no matter how diligently I stirred it. I think this is because I can't shell out the dough for a decent stock pot (large ones with a non-stick base are expensive), and the metal on mine is very thin. Also, all that meat sinks and there is so much of it, it becomes very difficult to push it around without breaking it all apart.

So I came up with a solution. Now, I brown all my meat, lots and lots of it, and split it into smaller batches (still raw inside.) I put packets that each contain a few meatballs, a couple of sausages (halved so that they are easier to manage on a fork), and a couple of short ribs into the freezer in foil. Then, when I want sauce, I just unwrap one packet of frozen meat and put it into the crock pot (including the meatballs -- you can add them all at once this way). I add half of the amount of liquid in a normal batch: one can puree, one can paste, and about one can (of the puree) or the water and red wine. I season it, turn it on, put the lid on it, and walk away for five hours. Then I only skim it once or twice just before we eat it. Much easier, and no burning at the bottom.



I know it seems complicated, but really it is so simple, and you can feed an army with one batch. Or your family, four or five times if you freeze batches of the finished sauce.

And you gotta go all the way if you've come this far -- tons and tons of parmesano or romano, and real garlic bread to mop up what the pasta left behind.

Mangiare bene! E la ringrazia, il papa!

Chicken Parmigiana

My favorite places to eat in my hometown, as a kid and as a teenager, included some of the following (in no particular order):

• Pee-Wee Golf (for sliders)


• Hardee's (for frozen cookie dough)


• Jiffy's (now Bill's Diner on Kennedy Drive, a great place itself) where you used to be able to phone in your order from your table to the kitchen -- also, they had a jukebox at each table


• Monical's Pizza


• Aurelio's Pizza (my favorite still, thank goodness for the one in Addison)


• Chicago Dough Pizza


• Woolworth's (eat chicken nuggets, homemade pie and a cherry Coke with REAL cherries at the counter, then look at the parakeets and the Colorforms all in the same place! Jaffee Drug still has a soda fountain/counter open...)


• Jesse's Fine Dining (champaign chicken, seafood bar, or a black-cherry glazed bird -- fancy)


• Hunan Chen on Court Street


• Mickey's Gyros -- which reminds me of Jen's little brother Jason going, "TWOGYROPLAATES!" like he's yelling to the back of the kitchen


• Davidson's West on Court -- a favorite of the Kankaee Valley Theatre crowd in my later years


• Blue's Cafe -- Dad used to meet his buddies there, and bring me sometimes, too. Great food, still kicking.


• Howard Johnson's for hot dogs with buttered, toasted buns, or fried clams. For my first grade birthday dinner, I selected Howard Johnson's.


• Hunk's, for clown pancakes


• Lum's with mom, where I always ordered the French dip sandwich and stared at the Picasso and Matisse prints on the walls


• The Golden Bear, and I swear mom used to bring me to a Sambo's, a restaurant chain with perhaps innocuous, yet subtly racist overtones... Maybe that was in Carbondale?


• The Redwood Inn smogasbord... we came up with the word "bevam?" that expressed how they guy at the end of the line always asked "beef or ham?" in a quick, mashed-together way


• Mother McGee's, where my parents could get cocktails, and I had escargot for the first time


• Jaenicke's for sauce buns, and I'm sorry, but the one in Bourbonnais is better


• Boz Hot Dogs, for Italian beef, not hot dogs (you go to Jaenicke's or HoJo's for that!)


• Poor Boy Restaurant on Court (Dad knew the owner, and she'd drop off beans and cornbread or shrimp po' boys at the house)


• Dionne's in Momence (I always felt so fancy, and imagined my future life would be eating at places like this every week)


• Ryan's Pier in Manteno


• Sam n' Ella's on the river... and if you're not from the area, seriously, that was the name! They had great food and and unbeatable view.


• Town and Country, the red building out on Rte. 17. We used to get shish-kebab and duck there, or liver with onions. Dee-licious.


• Council Table (though I always just got cereal)

I'm sure there are more that have slipped my mind... a lot of these places have been closed for years. Does anyone have any memories to add? I would love to hear them... I plan on doing individual posts on some of these in the future.

Anyway, none of these places compared to "The Little Corporal" restaurant. The Little Corporal was a Napoleonic-themed diner in the front of the building, with drum-shaped table lights and French soldier figures throughout. I kid you not. You could sit in a generous booth, or at the large counter in the center of the diner. As you walked towards the back, you first encountered the restrooms. (I can't vouch for the men's room, but the ladies' was painted bright pink.) In the rear of the building, there was more of a nightclub atmosphere, with runner lights and a piano bar. (And those rumors that Barry Manilow got his start, and got fired from the Little Corporal? Well, those aren't rumors, friends.) The seating in the rear was my absolute favorite: striped Napoleonic tents over each private booth, with the names of different French generals, and pennants at the top. Many were the times my father sweet-talked the lunch-shift waitresses into letting us sit back there in the daytime (turning into rather long lunches when they subsequently forgot we were there.) The place was too good to be true.

I always ordered the same thing at the Little Corporal: the veal parmigiana. It came on top of spaghetti with meat sauce, and lost beneath a blanket of mozzarella cheese. Early in my high school years, I found out how veal is raised, and I've never eaten it since. The last time I had veal was probably at the Little Corporal.

Now, when I get that craving for the Napoleonic/Italian/trashy diner fare of my youth, I make it with chicken. (I know, I play favorites with my meat.) I pound the cutlets, dip them in flour, then egg, then breadcrumb and fry them up. Then I place them atop a mountain of pasta in a baking dish.



Then, I load it with enough cheese to fill up the Kankakee Valley, and bake it with some foil loosely over the top. If the cheese isn't bubbly and golden enough after everything is heated through, I take off the foil and broil it for a few.



Then I simply make a general's tent with the bedsheets, and I'm ready for my stroll down memory lane... Quite a FEW strolls, and Chris and I can separate this into several meals and eat chicken parmigiana all week long.



Sadly, the Little Corporal is now some pizza place, and I think part of it is called Liquor World or something. When the restaurant closed, I skipped the opportunity to attend an auction for some of the items, and I have since seen a few things show up on Ebay... I do still have a coffee-cup shaped magnet from the Little Corporal that was on our refrigerator for many, many years. I had it in my pocket when I went to the Barry Manilow concert last year at the Allstate Arena just in CASE I got called up on stage and could get him to sign it. Didn't happen.

Oh well... I'll always have my memories (and the parmigiana.)

Family and Fajitas

Okay, just three more posts about my trip to California. I told you we ate a lot. Oh, and about that posting every day thing? Well, I aimed for "every day," but I landed on "a lot more often." So that's something, right?



On day two, we made our own fajitas. Dave has a huge charcoal grill on his large balcony, and any trip to visit him must include what he calls "smoky meats." Dave and I share a huge love of fajitas, and this dish, with its accompanying massive trip to the grocery store, pretty much happens automatically. And I think we get better at it each time.



With us, cooking usually includes a little bickering, as well. What kind of meat do we remember Dad using in his sauce? Does lettuce wilt in the presence, or absence of liquid? Is is easier to skim the fat off the broth when it is hot, or cold? We are both Alpha Cooks, which means we are equally hard to convince that our way isn't the best way. And we are territorial about our kitchens. See, when you come to our house, it is understood that we are cooking for you. So I think that having me hovering over David telling him "how I would do it" is just about the limit of what he can stand. And what's more, it is his kitchen. His rules. Me and my hours of Food TV and my fancy laws of physics can just about kiss his ass.

But considering that our model for "cooking together" is either A) my father pushing my mother clear out of the kitchen, or B) our father and his sister screaming at one another at the top of their lungs, I think we do pretty well. In the end, he lets me do things my way quite a lot. And what we make together is inevitably tasty. The entertainment for our guests is just a bonus!

In this instance, he allowed me to convince him to pick up some flank steak for the fajitas. All the stuff he'd had was sort of stringy and tough. But I told him that my friend Katherine showed me how to cut it properly -- across the bias, or perpendicular to the direction that the fibers run in. This gives it lots more elasticity and tenderness. And thanks to my friend Pen, I use a very simple and tasty marinade that works for any red meat: olive oil and soy sauce. (If you have a little sesame or chili oil to toss in for flavor, that's great too.) You can add garlic, salt, and pepper. I also added a little of David's Tapatio sauce to it.

It came out really tender, and Dave cooked it and sliced it perfectly. It melted in your mouth. (Even if you don't like your meat quite this pink, I would recommend it. The beef gets tossed into the fajita sauce at the last moment, so it cooks just a bit more at that time. You don't want it well-done when you toss it in.)



On day two of the Guacamole Bender. I made what I think was the best guac we had out there. I was really just imitating what I've seen them do in our favorite Mexican restaurants in the mortar and pestle. I used very finely diced jalepeno, red onion, cilantro, fresh garlic (Dave has the coolest garlic press...), salt and pepper, and plenty of lime juice. We ate 3/4 of it before I remembered to take a picture, shown atop Dave's work-in-progress mosaic table.



Dave likes the combo fajitas, so we cooked chicken, too. The marinade for this was just margarita salt, pepper, olive oil, lime juice and chopped cilantro. We sliced it after grilling and put it atop the peppers and onions that we added butter, chicken stock, and Worcheshire sauce to at the very end. Then we added the sliced beef, and chowed down with all the fajita fixings. Juicy!



I really miss my brother. The ones you bicker with are the ones who understand you best!

Tiramisu

PHOO! I've been gone a long time. October was particularly busy, with all-weekend anesthesia courses to complete (on my other blog, I may post pics of me getting, and giving, nine injections in the oral cavity on a Sunday night. Nothing like it.) Now that I've primed your appetite, let me tell ya, I'm still taking pictures!

I had never heard of tiramisu, probably, until I began dating my husband. In my family, we rarely ate Italian in restaurants. Aside from our favorite restaurant which used to on Wabash called Cafe Angelo in the Oxford House hotel (now the Hotel Monaco), *** an order of tomato gravy that invariably came with green peppers in a sauce that was gorily undercooked to a bright red would leave us disgusted and seeking Chinese cuisine the next time out. But Chris' family? Oh, they love to eat in restaurants. And my mother-in-law, who moved here from Italy at eight years old, always selects Italian or "just regular American." And they always pay, so who am I to argue? Chris and I pretty much leave the experimentation in exotic cuisines to our own time.

Anyway, something that always seems to be on the menu in any Italian restaurant (especially the nicer class of them that my in-laws favor that by the way, can also competently cook a white or a red sauce) is tiramisu. It also frequents the Food Network. It looked so easy that a couple of years ago I tried Giada's recipe.

I made a few alterations that I think made all the difference. First of all, authentic or not, I can't make anything with rum in it. Let's just say that a few experiences in my twenties left rum on my "never drink again" list. So I substituted with amaretto liquor. While tasting the marscarpone mixture, I also doubled the sugar (still just 6 tablespoons total), and added a capful of vanilla extract. I've used fresh bakery ladyfingers, but the shrink-wrapped kind from the Italian grocer actually seem to work better. I have an unsweetened cocoa and chocolate mixture that my brother got me some time ago from Ghirardelli, and I dust that between layers and on top. Lastly, I don't usually have espresso on hand, so I substitute with strong coffee, preferrably the stuff that has been evaporating/condensing in the pot since morning.



Chocolate chunks on top of this one, I know, totally unnecessary, but I didn't have block chocolate, and I was too lazy to shave each individual hunk. Now ask me if I regret it. NO.



The Witt family seems to like it. For the Christmas holiday shown above, my MIL had gotten some wonderfully fresh torrone -- the best I've ever tasted. She also had the panettone. My bro brought the amaretti cookies. It was a real meeting of the minds. Stomachs.

*** Cafe Angelo is STILL my favorite Italian restaurant. I read some time ago that the former owner opened another restaurant in the suburbs... and then I lost the name. They have a dance floor and they play Sinatra tunes. If anyone out there knows, let me know!

UPDATE: Holy crud, I'm getting good at answering my own questions. Angelo Nicelli now owns the Porto Bello Italian Steakhouse in suburban Lake Zurich. We'll be checking that out soon (and taking pictures, of course.)

UPDATE on the UPDATE: Sadly, it appears that Porto Bello is no longer open. Nuts.

Italian Roasted Veggies

My father used to buy finocchio, or fennel. He said it like "finoy-kya," which is how everyone on the Sicilian side of my family says it. However you wanna say it, I never wanted to go near it. I thought it was the foulest, funkiest vegetable that God had ever seen fit to drunkenly turn his back and create while blindfolded. An aberration, that's what it was. Sure, I would find the occasional fennel-flavored pastry or cookie acceptable. But the way that my father would brazenly crunch into a whole rib of the raw vegetable, clad in his wife-beater t-shirt and black socks, while on the sofa in front of the tube was not acceptable. For several reasons, really.

Anyway, last year I saw Michael Chiarello making some lovely roasted chickens with fall vegetables, including fennel. He said that fennel caramelized in the oven, and even if you don't like the stuff raw, that he still recommended you try it this way. So I did.



I chop up various veggies: Yukon gold potatoes, fennel, garlic, carrots (okay, as you can see I buy peeled baby carrots so there is no chopping there), sometimes onions, and celery if I have that on hand. Just drizzle olive oil over them, and season them with Nonno's seasoning (sage, rosemary, red pepper and yes, more garlic), salt and pepper, and stir. I roast them for about an hour at 375 degrees. After roasting, I add toasted pignolis (pine nuts).

The resulting veggies are sweet and aromatic, and do not at all induce the dragon-breath that I associate with raw fennel. I like to have them with a dollop of fat-free sour cream, because well, you know me and my condiments. (My brother and I, even after years of viewing this, went straight out and lived the opposite lifestyle.) I recommend using the base, or bulb part of the fennel instead of the thinner stalks. They tend to stay sort of fibrous, even after roasting. I'd also recommend chopping into one-inch pieces so that they cook through and get all melty. At some point, I think I will actually roast a chicken atop these, but for now I'm just enjoying them as a side to whatever meat I have on hand.

Happy roasting!

Chili Mac

About once a month for oh, my whole life, my dad would get a craving for Steak 'n Shake chili mac. We'd have to rush out and get it. I've often said that I think he was under the misgiving that there was a little fetus growing in his little potbelly, and he would get the cravings that would correspond to that condition.

I could never figure out why the chili mac I made at home never tasted like the mac at Steak 'n Shake. I even bought the chili that they sell there out of a can, and it still didn't taste right. Later I realized that there was chili sauce under the chili. Now I put the pasta sauce in the bowl, a healthy glug of chili sauce out of the bottle, and warm chili. Then the cheese, onions, and sometimes some sour cream. Shown in the picture above is my buddy Cameron's fantastic Howitzer Death Fart Chili that he was kind enough to send home with us. Well, that's what I call it. The effects last up to five days (that's tested fact, and not a joke), but lordy. Worth every green swamp cloud that the stuff emanates. Just make sure you look ahead on your calendar to what you have going on during the weekend.

Insalata Caprese

Oh, my very favoritest food in the entire world. Probaly. Probably almost always sometimes. The fancy and proper Christian name here is "insalata caprese," but it is only tomatoes, fresh buffalo mozzarella, and basil drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, and salted and peppered.

We likes ta scoop it up on crusty French or Italian bread, precious. Uhh.

Heaven, Bryan Adams... heaven.

Clam and Gorgonzola Pasta

Something I've been going back to a lot nowadays is clam fettucini. I seem to be posting a lot of nostalgia lately... But like a lot of things, here is something Dad used to do, with my own twist on it:

1 can chopped clams
olive oil
toasted pine nuts
chopped garlic
a tsp. lemon juice, or more if fresh
chopped parsely, if you have it
red pepper flakes
about 1/4 cup of white wine
crumbled gorgonzola cheese (also optional, but dear god, worth it)
fettucini or whatev

Before you put any olive oil in the pan, heat it and toast a handful of pignolis (pine nuts) in it until they are fragrant and browned. I always toast the pine nuts, because it makes a big difference in the flavor you get out of them. Then add a few tablespoons (you're coating pasta with this, so use a little more than you would in other things) of olive oil and chopped garlic (as much as you like). After the oil is heated, throw the whole can of clams in, liquid and all. Then add the wine, and let it simmer for just a few minutes. You can add the red pepper now, if you like a more generalized heat, or add it when you toss the pasta if you like those occasional "surprises" of heat. When the pasta is cooked, drain it and add in the clam sauce. Crumble in the gorgonzola, and toss in the chopped parsely and lemon juice. Easy peasy.

I could eat this every day. It is slightly salty, tangy and rich comfort food, and it only takes about as long as opening a jar of sauce.

Oh, and check out Costco for good prices on the gorgonzola and pignolis.

Egg Creme or Egg Cream

No egg, no cream.

Thanks to my father, a native New Yorker, I have had the rare Midwestern privelege of growing up with the egg creme. I haven't seen them much around these parts. In high school, my friend Jen had ballet classes once a week in Chicago in the evening. As her friend, who was free from the shackles of any such talent, I would accompany her to the city and roam around downtown until she was finished with class. It was then I discovered that egg cremes were sold at a little place deep in the Roosevelt Metra train station. But other than that, my only experience with it has been at my own house (outside of New York).

Pour enough chocolate syrup into the glass to cover the bottom. Add about three fingers of milk, and pour in the seltzer water. Leave several inches at the top -- the foam will really come up and you'lll be striving to suck it out before it flows over the sides. Stir it up, chug it down.

The secret to a good egg creme is to buy the seltzer in small bottles or cans. If you buy the big bottle, it will lose its fizz and that lovely foam will be absent. Very refreshing, and if you're like me, nostalgic too.

Bolognese Pasta Sauce

Pasta Bolognese is actually not something I grew up eating. My father?s sauce had whole pieces of meat cooked in it (short ribs, meatballs, and Italian sausage), and I sort of looked down on sauces with ground meat in them, in the same vein as those who put green pepper in their sauce. (Blecchh). I much preferred the ?runny? style that Dad and my aunt called ?tomato gravy.? Then, I married someone of northern Italian descent, and began watching FoodTV incessantly. I still never ordered Bolognese at a restaurant, because I?m always trying something that seems a bit more ?special.? However, Chris and I went to an Italian restaurant in Libertyville last Valentine?s Day, and the meat sauce was screaming my name so loud I wondered if others could hear. Mmm. Good stuff.

I made this recipe for a dinner party, and I didn?t allow enough cooking time, and we didn?t eat until about 9 pm. It takes a couple of hours (DON?T skimp on the cook time), but it is really simple and doesn?t require much supervision (I had several drinks before it reached completion and it still came out well). I think it was well worth the wait, and it freezes and reheats beautifully. This recipe (and enjoy this, it is a REAL recipe and you won?t see those here that often!) is from the Italian Cooking Encyclopedia ? a beautiful book that I?m pretty sure my mother-in-law bought us. Pictures for every recipe! (Note to Rachel Ray ? you need more pictures in your cookbooks).

2 Tblesp butter
4 Tblesp olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 Tblesp. pancetta or unsmoked bacon, finely chopped
1 carrot, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
12 oz. lean ground beef
salt & pepper to taste
2/3 cup red wine
? cup milk
1 x 14 oz. can plum tomatoes, chopped, with their juice
1 Tblesp. tomato paste
1 bay leaf
? tsp. fresh thyme leaves

Heat the butter and oil in a heavy saucepan or earthenware pot. Add the onion, and cook over moderate heat for 3-4 minutes. Add the pancetta, and cook until the onion is translucent. Stir in the carrot, celery and garlic. Cook 3-4 minutes more.

Add the beef, and crumble it into the vegetables with a fork. Stir until the meat loses its red color. Season with salt and pepper.

Pour in the wine, and raise the heat slightly, and cook until the liquid evaporates. Add the milk, and cook until it evaporates. The book says these take a few minutes, but it took about ten each for me (I had doubled the recipe).

Stir in the tomatoes with their juice, and the herbs and tomato paste. Bring the sauce to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, and simmer, uncovered for 1 ? to 2 hours, stirring occasionally. Remove the bay leaf and correct the seasoning before serving. Garnish with fresh basil or chopped Italian parsely, and plenty of parmesan cheese! The sauce that comes out isn't very "tomatery..." although I made the pictured batch with too much tomato paste (accidente), and it still came out tasty.

I pretty much always use ground turkey meat, but in this recipe, you?ll regret it. It just ain?t the same. Use the beef. Shown served on aneletti pasta (like they use in Spaghetti-O?s) as leftovers ? but excellent on tagliatelle (traditional), pappardelle, fettucini or other broad-noodle pasta.