I Sing The Body Electric

"I float through this town like a cosmonaut, reminding me of the things I haven't got. Like time and space, a smile on my face... and you." -- Pat Monahan

I'm a traditional cook -- give me a pot, a bowl, and a good knife and I can rule the world -- and I generally try to avoid single-function appliances. But I'm also a frozen dessert fiend with frequent cravings for fro-yo, the granita version of whatever I'm drinking, or ice cream with crazy mix-ins (like bacon on chunks of Marshmallow Peep). The plastic bag approach to making ice cream works amazingly for simple recipes, but if I wanted to try anything more complicated, I was out of luck.

So, last weekend, I broke down and bought an ice cream maker. I got a cheap one -- this one, in fact -- but it doesn't take up too much room in my kitchen and it does the job just fine. I then spent two nights experimenting and now have two pints of homemade frozen goodness in my freezer. I used fresh fruit for these, since it's the time of year when my grandfather's fig tree is full of bursting fruit and I had a couple of Costco mangoes overripe in my fridge.

Three tips for making ice cream using an ice cream maker: your custard must be super-cold when you add it to the machine, don't keep your freezer bowl at room temperature for more than five minutes before adding your ingredients and turning your machine on, and wait until your ice cream is almost fully frozen before adding alcohol to the mix.

Fig and Honey Gelato

(adapted from The Perfect Scoop via Vanilla Garlic)

About ten large fresh figs (I used white figs)

1/4 cup water

1/3 cup sugar

1 tsp orange zest

1 tbsp honey

1/2 cup heavy cream

Remove fig stems and roughly chop fruit. Add figs, water, sugar, and orange zest to a medium saucepan, bring to a low boil, and cook for 10-15 minutes until the mixture thickens. Stir the pot occasionally, mashing up the figs as you go. Remove from heat, transfer to a container, and refrigerate for a few hours until the mixture is chilled through. Puree chilled fig mixture with heavy cream (which whips the cream... bellissima!), pour into your ice cream maker, and operate according to the manufacturer's instructions. Makes one serving for you and one pint for the freezer.

Mango Frozen Yogurt

1 ripe mango, peeled and cubed

1/4 cup sugar

1/3 cup orange juice

Couple of drops of vanilla extract

2 cups Fage 0% Greek strained yogurt

Add all ingredients to blender and liquify. Pour into your ice cream maker and operate according to the manufacturer's instructions. Makes one serving for you and one pint for the freezer.

Jacked Up

"Two drifters off to see the world; there's such a lot of world to see. We're after the same rainbow's end. It's just around the bend, my huckleberry friend." -- Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer

New York City experienced a heat index of 110 yesterday, but instead of spending the day in front of the AC in shorts, I braved the weather and the subway system to patronize the Union Square greenmarket. Most of the fruits and vegetables I examined looked pathetic and wilted because of the heat, but by some miracle, I found a basket of perfect red currants.

I brought them home and decided to turn them into red currant mini-muffins, but halfway through adding the ingredients to a mixing bowl, I realized that I was craving chocolate. So, inspired by my new favorite Lindt chocolate flavor and this amazing cake on Epicurious, I broke out the cocoa powder and a bottle of Jack.

I've been in a rut with baking experiments lately, but these mini muffins turned out amazing. The whiskey made the chocolate flavor more complex, and the currants provided a little pop of tartness in every bite. These tasted even better the next day, so I'd recommend waiting overnight before enjoying them (or, if you're impatient, leaving the tray in front of the AC for twenty minutes when they come out of the oven... not that I did that last night, cough). You can also substitute a shot of orange juice or espresso for the whiskey in a pinch.

Red Currant Mini Muffins... With Chocolate and Whiskey

3/4 stick salted butter, softened

2 tbsp olive oil

3/4 cup sugar

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

1 egg

1 tbsp baking powder

1 cup flour

1/4 cup cocoa powder

1 shot of whiskey

1 cup red currants, stems removed and washed

Confectioner's sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Beat butter, olive oil, and sugar until fluffy, then beat in eggs, whiskey, and vanilla. Add baking powder, flour, and cocoa powder and mix until incorporated. Stir in red currants. Spoon into greased or lined miniature muffin trays; cups should be nearly full. Bake for 22 minutes or until muffin tops are browned. When muffins have cooled, remove from trays, arrange on a plate, and dust with confectioner's sugar. Makes thirty miniature muffins. (This will also make a dozen regular muffins -- bake for about 30 minutes instead, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.) These also taste better the next day, so patience is a virtue.

Dinner With Friends

"I'm back with scars to show. Back to the streets I know. They never take me anywhere but here." -- The Weakerthans

I spent the weekend in DC, and to my surprise, the weather was mild and completely bearable. Of course, it was probably only bearable because it rained for most of Saturday. The rain didn't turn into a brilliant sunny day until late afternoon, so when that finally happened, I took a walk to the supermarket to grab some groceries for chicken cacciatore with farfalle, roasted broccoli, and bruschetta. Everything came together in an hour and I got a request to steal the recipes after we finished eating, so to make that process easier, I'm posting them here. Make the chicken first, then prepare the bruschetta topping, then make the broccoli, then finish preparing the bruschetta, then serve everything together.

Chicken Cacciatore with Farfalle

1 pound farfalle (bowtie) pasta

1 pound chicken cutlets

1 large (24 oz) can chopped tomatoes

Small basket of mushrooms, sliced

1/2 cup marsala wine

Five large basil leaves, shredded

1/2 tsp oregano

5 cloves garlic minced

1/2 large white onion, chopped

Pinch of salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Coat the bottom of a 9 x 13 baking dish with olive oil. Wash chicken and place in one layer in the bottom of the baking dish. Sprinkle on salt, pepper, oregano, and basil. Dump onion, garlic, and mushrooms on top of the chicken. Pour in the wine. Dump tomatoes on top of everything. Bake for one hour. Remove from oven and, using a knife and fork, shred the chicken into manageable pieces.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Prepare farfalle as you see fit, then drain pasta and mix with chicken cacciatore. Makes a formidable vat of pasta that can easily feed four hungry people.

Bruschetta

Half a loaf of Italian bread, sliced into 3/4" pieces

1 clove of garlic

1/4 white onion

2 plum tomatoes, diced

5 shredded basil leaves

Pinch of salt

1 tbsp olive oil

4 tbsp shredded parmesan cheese

Cut the clove of garlic in half -- reserve one piece and slice the other. Combine tomatoes, onion, basil, salt, olive oil, and sliced garlic in a small bowl and allow to marinate for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Lightly toast Italian bread slices, then rub one side of each slice with the half-clove of garlic. Top each slice with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese. Toast slices in the oven or a toaster oven until the crusts brown and the cheese melts. Allow slices to cool, then spoon some tomato mixture atop each slice. Serves four as an appetizer.

Easy Roasted Broccoli

1 large head broccoli, washed, with stem removed

Salt, pepper, olive oil

Toss broccoli florets in salt, pepper, and olive oil. Place on a baking sheet and roast at 375 degrees for 15 minutes. Serves however many people are capable of eating a head of broccoli.

Crab Gravy

"I am on your side. This house is empty. We could cross the line... yeah, we could make a big mistake. The silence breaks and you hear me say, 'Don't go! Don't go so far away!'" -- Jack's Mannequin

It's summer! Summer equals fishing trips, which equals fresh seafood -- and, last weekend, summer equaled someone handing me ten feisty blue crabs in a Hefty bag. They were too beautiful to turn into crab rolls or crab cakes, so I cooked them, cleaned them, and decided to use them in a pasta dish. (This decision also meant that my dinner guests, not me, would be responsible for shelling those bad boys. Score!)

I made crab gravy last night, and since it's my favorite way of eating crabs that doesn't involve frying or mayonnaise, I'm sharing it here. This dish is a bit labor-intensive, but it yields a sweet, delicate, flavorful tomato sauce that can't be matched by any other method. Add a vegetable and/or a big salad and you've got yourself an amazing meal. This recipe makes a pretty huge vat of gravy, so definitely halve it if you're feeding fewer than four people. You can also substitute shrimp for crabs -- or three cans of lump crab meat for whole crabs -- in a pinch.

If you've never cooked and cleaned live crabs before, read this for a quick-and-dirty primer.

Crab Gravy with Linguine

Enough whole crabs to feed six people, cooked and cleaned

Half a large white onion

Six cloves garlic

1/2 stick butter

1/2 cup white wine

2 tbsp lemon juice

1 24-oz (1 lb) can chopped tomatoes

1 24-oz (1 lb) can pureed tomatoes

1 tsp chili powder

1 tsp Old Bay seasoning

1 tbsp chopped fresh parsley

Pinch of salt and black pepper

1 lb linguine

Chop the onion and garlic. Add to the largest pot you own and sautee in butter until the onions become translucent and the garlic starts to brown. Add white wine and lemon juice and simmer for five minutes, then add tomatoes, one cup of water, and seasonings. Stir well and bring to a boil, then add the crabs to the pot, submerge in the sauce, and cover. Cook for one hour, stirring occasionally.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the linguine and cook to your preference. Strain cooked linguine into a large bowl and spoon crab gravy over the top. Feeds six hungry people, or four hungry people with leftovers. (You won't mind eating this one two nights in a row, though.) Make sure to have a nutcracker or a hammer handy so you can attack those crabs properly.

Frozen

"We had a drink in each cafe... you talked of politics, philosophy and I smiled like Mona Lisa. We had our chance. It was a fine and true romance. I can still recall our last summer. I still see it all." -- ABBA

When the weather is disgustingly warm (like it's been for the last few days), I get frozen yogurt cravings. Often. And since Pinkberry, Berrywild, Yolato, Red Mango and their ilk aren't located anywhere near me (and aren't exactly inexpensive, either), I sought an alternative today. I researched frozen yogurt recipes, I studied ice-cream making techniques, I brushed up on basic chemistry, and, miraculously, I created an absurdly easy fifteen-minute recipe that turned out one delicious serving of fat-free tart frozen yogurt.

Here it is, and you don't even need an ice cream maker for it. (You can still make it with an ice cream maker, of course -- simply mix all the ingredients in the bowl of the ice cream maker then process according to the manufacturer's instructions.)

Frozen Yogurt

1 level tablespoon sugar

1 tablespoon water

3 heaping tablespoons Fage 0% strained Greek yogurt

Two drops vanilla extract

Two sandwich-sized zippered freezer baggies

One gallon-sized zippered freezer baggie or one round coffee can with a lid

Two trays of ice cubes (or enough to half-fill the gallon Ziploc bag or completely fill the coffee can)

1/4 cup coarse salt

Add sugar, water, and vanilla to one of the small baggies, seal, and shake around until the sugar dissolves. Add yogurt to baggie, seal, double-bag with the second small baggie (removing as much air as possible) and squish with your fingers until thoroughly mixed.

Fill the large baggie or coffee can with half the ice and all the salt, place the baggie of yogurt atop the ice, then cover it with the rest of the ice. Seal the large baggie or can, removing as much air as possible, and roll it around for fifteen minutes.

Once the yogurt firms up, remove it from the ice and scoop or pipe it into a bowl. Top with whatever you want -- I used strawberries and honey on mine today -- and serve.

Incidentally, this was my first experiment using baggies, salt, and ice to make ice cream since fourth grade science class. Now that I know it works so well, expect lots more frozen dessert creations from me this summer!

Gnocchi

"Here's the cushion. I'm putting it on the sofa. Now, watch me! I'm sitting down, and what do I do on my final approach? I... oop! Move the cushion! You see? It's not involved! It's not part of the whole sitting process! It just lies there! It's fat litter! It's a sofa parasite!" -- Steven Moffat, from Coupling

It's been cold and dreary in New York City these past few weeks. The skies are grey, the wind is howly, the streets are covered with dirty ice from last month's snowstorm. It's the sort of weather that encourages you to do nothing except wrap yourself in a Snuggie and curl up on the couch with a stack of DVDs. Every good hibernation requires a good meal, though -- and in my estimation, there's nothing more filling or satisfying on a cold winter's day than a big steaming bowl of potato gnocchi drenched in delicious sauce. Supermarket gnocchi are too heavy for my stomach to appreciate, so I use a few simple ingredients and a little intuitive technique to make them from scratch. The trick to making light, pillowy gnocchi is twofold: remove as much water from the potatoes as possible, then use only enough flour to hold them together.

Here's my recipe for homemade potato gnocchi, followed by a recipe for the easy bolognese sauce I made to accompany them last weekend. If you don't have time to make fresh tomato sauce, use Mario Batali's brown butter and sage sauce on the gnocchi instead -- it's super-quick and insanely delicious.

Gnocchi di Patate

(NYO-kee dee pa-TAHD)

1 lb (2 large or 3 medium) russet potatoes

1/4 cup coarse salt

1 egg, beaten

1/2 cup flour, plus a little more for dusting and rolling

1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Scrub your potatoes, then repeatedly jab at each potato with a fork so the skin is covered in holes. Spread the salt in a thick layer on the bottom of a baking pan, place the potatoes on top of the salt, and bake for once hour, turning occasionally. Your goal here is to remove as much moisture from the potatoes as possible -- the holes aid in evaporation and the salt acts as an absorbant.

When the potatoes are just cool enough to handle, slice them in half and run the halves through a potato ricer. (The ricer will press the flesh clean off the skin -- no peeling necessary! If you don't have a potato ricer, you can use a lot of upper-body strength to press the potatoes through a mesh strainer or sieve.) Dump the salt off your baking sheet, spread the riced potatoes on it, and let them stand for 20 minutes so they can cool (and so more moisture can evaporate).

Sprinkle the parmesan cheese, half the beaten egg, and half the flour over the potatoes. Flour your hands and gently mix the ingredients, adding more flour until the dough is workable, pillowy, and not sticky.

Divide the dough in half. Flour a work surface -- I use the baking sheet again for this -- and roll out each half into a long log 1" in diameter. Cut each log into 1" segments, then sprinkle flour over each segment and gently roll it across the tines of a fork to make ridges. Arrange finished gnocchi on a plate and refrigerate until your sauce is cooked.

No-Time Bolognese

1/2 white onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup wine -- I used white, though any wine works

1 12-oz can diced tomatoes

1/2 lb -- a good-sized hamburger's worth -- of chop meat

1/2 tsp oregano

1/2 tsp dried basil or 4 large shredded basil leaves

Pinch of salt and pepper

Brown chop meat in a large skillet, then add garlic and onion and cook, stirring often, until onion is transparent. Add wine, tomatoes, and spices, cover, and cook on medium-low heat for one hour, stirring occasionally.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Drop gnocchi into the water a few at a time -- they'll sink to the bottom, then bob near the surface, then float to the surface and stay there. Scoop them out of the water with a slotted spoon when they float to the surface and stay there for at least ten seconds. Toss the cooked gnocchi into the sauce as you make them.

When all of your gnocchi are cooked and transferred to the sauce, give it a good stir and cook it on low heat for another ten minutes. Serves four as a first course -- double the recipe if you're making a meal out of it.

High School Traditions

"I just can't wait for my ten-year reunion. I'm gonna bust down the double doors. And when I stand on that table before you, you'll know what all that time was for." -- John Mayer

Last Saturday, I spent my evening at my high school celebrating the fifth anniversary of my graduation. I had a wonderful, amazing time in the company of people I love (i.e. the same six people from high school that I still hang out with on a regular basis), and I officially became one of the first alumnae to ever take part in one of my school's legendary all-years reunions. We laughed, we reminisced, and we discussed the traditions that bind all graduates.

My particular group of friends had a few traditions of our own to remember, too. Between wasting free periods on the gym balcony, tap-dancing in the hallways late at night, finding back entrances into locked rooms, injecting theatrical spectacle into religious services, and eating The Big Cookie several times a week, we'd patronize the Flagship Diner.

The Flagship, a dive diner on Queens Boulevard, is not a culinary paradise by any means. It has two things going for it, though: killer matzoh ball soup and a bread basket filled to bursting with fresh, steaming popovers. The popovers are perfection -- crispy on the outside, tender and airy on the inside, and light enough to justify eating about six in one sitting. Even after we graduated, my friends and I would routinely head back to the old neighborhood, visit our former teachers, spend some time on the gym balcony, and head over to the Flagship for soup and popovers.

Saturday was the first time I'd been to my high school in a long time without patronizing the Flagship, and despite the reunion's cocktail hour, open bar, dinner, and dessert, I found myself missing those popovers. A recipe for them fatefully appeared on The Kitchn this week, which inspired me to spend my Friday morning making a batch of my own. I was in the market for popovers a little sweeter than The Kitchn's recipe would provide, though, so I added some sugar and spice to my batter. (I also added some baking powder to aid in the rising process, since I made them in a muffin tin instead of a popover pan.) These should be eaten while they're hot, so make a half-batch if you're dining solo. Leave out the cinnamon, chocolate, and sugar if you'd like to use them as dinner rolls.

Cinnamon-Chocolate Popovers


2 tablespoons butter
3 eggs
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup milk
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tbsp sugar (raw, preferably)
2 tbsp chocolate shavings -- I made these by attacking two squares of Lindt chili-infused chocolate with a microplane grater
1 tsp cinnamon

Melt the butter, then let it sit for a while to cool. (Eggs and milk should also be left out for a little while to warm to room temperature -- gas laws being what they are, the popovers will rise better if the ingredients aren't too cold). Whisk eggs, then whisk in butter and milk, then add salt, flour, baking powder, chocolate shavings, and cinnamon and whisk until just incorporated. Spoon batter into a greased muffin tin (as close to the rim of each cup as you dare) and sprinkle a little sugar on top.

Bake at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, then lower the temperature to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 25 minutes. Do NOT open the oven at all during that time, since any escaping heat may cause the popovers to fall. Remove from the oven, allow to cool for one minute, then pierce the side of each popover so the steam can escape. Makes fifteen popovers.

Comfort Food

"Just give me a chance to hold on. Just give me something to hold on to. It's so clear now that you are all that I have." -- Snow Patrol

I just finished preparing my favorite meal -- baked fish with roasted potatoes and string beans -- and since it's elegant, delicious, and ridiculously easy to prepare, I thought I'd share it with you all. I used mahi mahi today, but tilapia, flounder, sea bass, and even salmon also work. I get all of my fish from the freezer section in Costco -- each serving is individually vacuum-wrapped and the quality is first-rate, believe it or not. My Italian bread was semolina, but I've used whole wheat and white with delicious results.

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Prepare the potatoes and put them in the oven first, then prepare the fish while your potatoes are roasting, then prepare the string beans while your fish is in the oven. Dinner serves four and will be ready in one hour.

Roasted Potatoes

4 potatoes, scrubbed
1/4 cup chicken or vegetable broth
Spice of your choice -- sage, thyme, parsley, and chili all work, though I used paprika today
Olive oil, salt, and pepper

Cut each potato in half lengthwise, then cut each half into slices approximately 1/2-inch thick. Place in a 9x9 baking pan (or a pie pan, or anything you have that snugly fits the slices) and toss with salt, pepper, a drizzle of olive oil, and whatever spice you chose to use. Pour broth into the bottom of the pan and bake for one hour, turning every fifteen minutes.

Buon Pesce

4 fish steaks, thawed, rinsed in salt water, and dried
A good three-inch-thick chunk of crusty Italian bread
2 tbsp Smart Balance or butter, melted
5 cloves garlic, peeled
1 tbsp dried parsley or 2 tbsp fresh parsley
Juice of half a lemon, plus four slices from the other half
Olive oil, salt, and pepper

Cut the bread into cubes and throw it into a food processor with the butter, garlic, and parsley. Pulse until crumbly. Coat the bottom of a 9x9 baking pan with olive oil, then squeeze in the lemon and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Arrange the four steaks in the pan, then flip them over so both sides are coated in seasonings, olive oil, and lemon juice. Spoon breadcrumb mixture atop each fillet and top with a slice of lemon. Tightly cover in foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil and the lemon slices and bake for an additional 10-20 minutes, until the crust browns and the center of the thickest piece of fish flakes.

Sauteed String Beans

Four handfuls of fresh string beans, washed with the ends snapped off
Two cloves of garlic, sliced
Olive oil, salt, and pepper
Dash of balsamic vinegar

Blanch the string beans in boiling water until they reach your desired level of softness. (I like my string beans al dente, though you may like to go softer.) Heat a large skillet, then sautee garlic in olive oil on low heat until it begins to brown. Add string beans, salt, pepper, and balsamic vinegar, quickly toss until coated, then remove from heat and serve.

Changes

"Though we may not know it now, things are never gonna be the same. Here on Second Avenue, I tip my old top hat to you. I hope you find somebody who will love you like I do... and our time is running out and we still have to say goodbye. Goodbye Philadelphia." -- Peter Cincotti

I have so many things going on in my life that I feel deserve blog entries of their own, but between a massively increased workload, a sorrowful goodbye, a cautious hello that turned into an angry goodbye, and an anticipated hello that never actually materialized, I'm too physically and emotionally drained to put pen to paper with any semblance of heart. I'll try though, and if any of these half-assed snippets spark my desire to write more, I'll expand upon them another day.

Oddly enough, my hellish recent existence began with the most relaxing five days I've spent in recent memory. I went upstate for Fourth of July weekend -- far enough upstate that my cell phone barely worked, internet access was nonexistent, and my pager was as good as a paperweight. For five days, I let people cook for me and clean for me, amused myself by reading, crocheting, and taking ten-mile aimless hikes through the woods, and talked nonsense until three in the morning with two of my oldest friends. I felt closer to nature and more appreciative of the beauty of life than I have in a long time.

Then I had a very long workweek. And a very long half of the next workweek. After my Nth fourteen-hour workday in a row, I went out with my cousin and had my pedicurist paint my toenails blue. (The color is called Dating a Royal, actually.) I haven't had blue toenails since I was about eight years old, and I'm not entirely sure I had them then, either.

I went to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the film version of my favorite J.K. Rowling novel, on Friday and again on Saturday. Friday's viewing was a muted early-morning affair with Rutila and Saturday's viewing was a raucous all-day spectacle with thirty of my college classmates (including Q, Charles, and Wink). To kill some of the three hours we spent waiting on line outside the IMAX theater, we patronized a farmer's market and loaded up on quick breads and fresh fruit. I bought a carton of red currants, and when I got home around midnight, I pulled a recipe out of my ass and used them to make Sunday morning breakfast.

Red Currant Mini Muffins

3/4 stick salted butter, softened
2 tbsp citrus-infused olive oil (or 2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil and 1 tsp citrus zest)
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg + 1 egg white
1 tbsp baking powder
1 cup flour
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
1 tbsp whole milk
1 cup red currants (or blueberries), stems removed

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Beat butter, olive oil, and sugar until fluffy, then beat in eggs and vanilla. Add baking powder and flour and mix until incorporated. Stir in red currants. Spoon into greased or lined miniature muffin trays; cups should be 3/4s full. Bake for 18 minutes or until muffin tops are browned. When muffins have cooled, remove from trays and arrange on a plate. Add milk to confectioner's sugar and stir until a thin glaze forms, adding more milk if necessary. Drizzle glaze over muffins and allow glaze to harden. Alternatively, you can dust the tops of the muffins with powdered sugar -- these are pretty tart so they'll need some sort of sugar on top.

Makes thirty miniature muffins. (This will also make a dozen regular muffins -- bake for about 25 minutes instead.)

Today, I went to New Yankee Stadium for my fourteenth Old Timers' Day, the once-a-year event where retired Yankees greats put on their old uniforms, line up on the field, reminisce about the good ol' days, then play a few innings for old time's sake. On Old Timers' Days back in the mid-1990s, my father used to point out the ballplayers of his youth -- Nettles and Gossage and Jackson and Dent -- and say to me, "Sooner than you realize, you'll be sitting here with your kid, Tino Martinez and Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera are going to be playing in the Old Timers' Game, and you're going to know how I feel right now." I scoffed for a decade, then the first two players from Yankees teams I watched as a child, Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry, showed up on Old Timers' Day. Last year, David Wells, Paul O'Neill, and Tino Martinez took the field. This year, Chad Curtis, Charlie Hayes, and my precious, cherished, beloved Mike Mussina (who won 20 games for the Yankees just last year) joined the ranks of "old timers." I'm starting to realize what Dad meant more than a decade ago, though I can't pin down the emotion just yet. I have some time before Jeter and Rivera are up there, though, and I don't plan on facing my thoughts until that day comes.

Bigger is Better

"At last, I think I know. The past is where we keep what might have been, but it's best to let it go because we'll never be December boys again." -- Peter Cincotti

I'm fastidious about food and choose freshly prepared dishes filled with quality ingredients whenever possible. That is, until it's time for dessert. Marshmallow Peeps, the infamous "mystery pastry" my hospital serves during Grand Rounds, anything made by Hostess -- it's all fair game. Oddly enough, I grew up with diabetics on one side of the family and pastry chefs on the other side; if I ate dessert at all as a kid, it was prepared by a master. I wasn't corrupted until I started high school and met The Big Cookie.

The Big Cookie was a lunchtime legend: six inches in diameter, loaded with chocolate chips, burnt around the edges, raw in the middle, and so buttery that the grease would soak through the wax paper wrapping. I delightfully consumed one of these monsters every other day or so for four years and would practically start experiencing withdrawal symptoms during long vacations and summer holidays. Even after I graduated, I'd make pilgrimages from college every few months to pick up a Big Cookie or two.

Then, about three years ago, my high school switched cafeteria companies and The Big Cookie went the way of the dodo. Students protested and alumni ranted, but nothing could be done. Every once in a while, the administration heralds the return of The Big Cookie and we all rush back to campus... but they always hand us a small, crisp, dry, inferior cookie and pretend like they can't see the difference.

My college's chocolate chip cookies were a decent enough substitute, but since I graduated, I've been on a mission to find a beautiful, perfect, crave-satisfying chocolate chip cookie recipe. This week, I gave my quest another shot using a modified version of a recipe I found online.

Trouble was, my culinary experimentation coincided with a telecast of Dancing with the Stars. Thus, Gilles Marini sensuously dipped his partner and I boiled my butter instead of melting it. I added it to a bowl with sugar and vanilla anyway and started mixing the ingredients. Then Dmitry Chaplin sashayed around the dance floor with half a shirt on and I let the mixer run for five minutes. When I came to my senses and checked the bowl, I had a thick, viscous, caramel-colored goo instead of creamed butter and sugar

I had inadvertently created butter toffee. And because I wanted chocolate chip cookies more than I wanted toffee, I continued with the recipe (with the addition of some chopped almonds to enhance the toffee flavor). I ended up with something unbelievable: a rich, complex chocolate chip cookie that's soft when eaten hot and brittle when eaten cold. It's not The Big Cookie by a long shot, but it's a keeper.

[Insert yet-to-be-chosen recipe name here]

1/4 cup + 2 tbsp salted butter
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 tbsp vanilla
1 egg
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/4 cup crushed almonds, pecans, or walnuts (if desired)

Mix sugars and vanilla in a large bowl. Melt butter in the microwave or in a small saucepan until it begins to bubble, then add it directly to the sugar mixture and mix for five minutes. The mixture should be thick, viscous, and similar to caramel in color and consistency. Add egg, then add flour, baking soda, and salt, mixing after each until fully incorporated. Stir in chocolate chips and nuts, and if you have some time to kill, refrigerate the dough for a few hours before baking.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Drop spoonfuls of dough onto a greased or lined cookie sheet. (They will spread out in the oven, so make sure to leave 2-3 inches of space between spoonfuls.) Bake for 18-20 minutes or until edges are browned. Yields ten big cookies, twenty medium-sized cookies, or a ton of small cookies.

You Bet

"I thought I knew, but now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City." --Elton John

Costco sells Fox's U-Bet in gallon jugs. I nearly bought one last week and thought better of it, but I've been craving a chocolate egg cream ever since.

I don't know if it's a result of my Queens upbringing, my family's bakery roots, or my "world revolves around New York City" outlook on life, but it flat-out never occurred to me that anyone could ever find those two sentences incomprehensible. My universe tilted on its edge when I uttered them at work yesterday and, instead of the sympathy I craved, they garnered these two responses:

1. Egg cream? Easter is coming up...
2. What about foxes?

It took me a few minutes of stilted explanations to realize that my colleagues didn't know what an egg cream was and didn't recognize the brand name of the key ingredient. "Maybe it's a local thing?" suggested one of my compatriots, so I did a little research, learned that both originated in Brooklyn, and was satisfied with that explanation.

Later that night, I marveled to a few fellow native New Yorkers that my coworkers had never heard of egg creams or Fox's U-Bet. I was met with total confusion once again, and this time, the universe imploded outright. What did these people drink after school as kids? Did no one else's father scour every kitchen supply store in the tri-state area looking for pressurized seltzer bottles? Was I the only person not allowed to consume Hershey's syrup during my formative years? How can you go through two-odd decades of life without having the "milk first or syrup first" argument?

Thus, I'm writing this as a public service. Read, my poor deprived friends, and learn. [Clears throat so Brooklyn accent becomes more pronounced.]


An egg cream does not contain eggs, nor does it contain cream. It is a delicious frothy drink that originated a century and change ago in the fountain soda shops of Brooklyn, New York. You can make your own in five easy steps:

1. Find a tall glass and stick it in the fridge for a few minutes to chill it.
2. Pour an inch of chocolate syrup into the bottom of the glass.
3. Pour an inch of cold milk into the glass.
4. Fill the rest of the glass with cold, fresh seltzer water, preferably from a pressurized bottle.
5. Stir it up and enjoy.

You can use any old chocolate syrup in a pinch, but a real, authentic, honest-to-God egg cream must use Fox's U-Bet chocolate syrup. U-Bet, like the egg cream itself, was born in Brooklyn and its parent company still operates out of Brownsville. I grew up on this stuff, and we always made sure that at least one yellow-labeled jar -- it was only available in jars back then -- was stashed in the back of the fridge. Hershey's, Nestle, and even Bosco syrups were (and are) never purchased as long as U-Bet was (and is) available, since, owing to its inclusion of real cocoa, cane sugar, and powdered milk, the flavor is distinct from anything else on the market. I can taste the difference between U-Bet and any other syrup brand with little effort.

If you have the ingredients on hand, make an egg cream for yourself and see what I'm talking about. If you don't, let me know and I'll treat you to one, preferably in an outer borough dive diner where the seltzer man still delivers pressurized glass bottles every morning. You'll never feel more in touch with traditional New York City, I promise.

Eruption

"And suddenly, the whole world exploded." -- from Jersey Boys

Sorry about my absence; it's been a busy, fretful fortnight. I spent many long nights performing data abstraction, but I met a seemingly impossible deadline and have two new credentials to show for it. I was ill for two days last week, which I'm blaming on dehydration. I'm also rereading Jane Eyre and have written several drafts of a blog post in an effort to isolate my feelings about it, but it's still a work in progress.

In the meantime, here's a recipe for miniature cheesecakes that I invented tonight. The quantities and methodology don't differ too much from my Polish grandma's old recipe (save for lots of ingredient swaps and the wholly Italian use of ricotta), but for some odd inexplicable reason, these babies puffed up like muffins in the oven! It was all for the best, though -- I chilled the tray after I pulled it out, which caused the puffs to collapse upon themselves in superdense black holes of deliciousness. I either didn't beat the filling long enough or overfilled the trays, but for the first time in a long time, I have no intention of trying to rectify the culinary mistake.

Miniature Cheesecakes

Crust:
3/4 cup crushed Oreos
2 tbsp melted butter

Filling:
½ cup cream cheese
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg
½ cup ricotta cheese
½ cup sugar

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Food-process Oreos and butter until a crumbly paste forms, then press into the bottoms of two lined miniature muffin trays. (One regular muffin tray or half a dozen small ramekins will probably work as well -- just add ten minutes to the baking time.) Mix filling ingredients until smooth, then spoon filling into trays within 1/4 inch of the top. Bake for fifteen minutes or until the filling starts to brown. Chill before serving. They'll look hideous but they'll taste delicious.

Four on the Fourth

"I wander lost in yesterday, wanting to fly but scared to try. But... if someone like you found someone like me, then suddenly nothing would ever be the same." -- from Jekyll & Hyde

Back in the day, I wrote three blog entries likening the game of chess to the game of love and explained how my playing styles in both games are shockingly similar. In the last of my three posts, I pinpointed the endgame as one of the weaker parts of my chessplay and likened my inability to achieve checkmate to my astonishing inability to seal a romantic deal. Anyway, after umpteen more failed exchanges with a favored opponent, I realized that the sense of frustration I was enduring felt EXACTLY like trying to win a rook-and-pawn endgame under time pressure with the fifty-move mark looming.

"If I see her standing there alone at the train station three stops from her home, I have half a mind to say what I'm thinking. Anyway, I don't know. I don't know." -- Sufjan Stevens

In accordance with the MTA's ridiculous new plans for beating their deficit, the W train is slowly being phased out of service and the Q line is being extended. Thus, I rode a Q into Queens today. It was an odd, odd feeling.

"'Would you like me to do it now?' asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. 'Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?'" -- J.K. Rowling

I received The Tales of Beedle the Bard, J.K. Rowling's collection of fables "from the world of Harry Potter," as a gift and read it through in twenty minutes. Yeah, it was interesting and yeah, I love the fact that the title page states that the book was "translated from the ancient runes by Hermione Granger with extensive commentary by Albus Dumbledore," but I wasn't overly enthusiastic about the complete product. J.K. Rowling killed my favorite character in a really crappy way in the seventh book and nothing has really mattered too much since. Could it be that I'm finally starting to outgrow the Potterverse?

"He don't eat no meat? What you mean he DON'T EAT NO MEAT?! Oh, that's okay. That's okay. I make lamb. Come." -- Aunt Voula, from My Big Fat Greek Wedding

For a quick, easy, and delicious lamb marinade, whisk together 1/4 cup lemon juice, 1/8 cup extra-virgin olive oil (or, for an extra kick, an infused olive oil from O&Co), six sliced-up cloves of garlic, half a chopped-up large white onion, 1 tsp dried or 2 tbsp fresh parsley, 1 tsp dried oregano or rosemary, pinch of salt, pinch of pepper. Throw all the ingredients into a large Ziplock bag, shake it up, then throw in 4-8 eight lamb chops, shake it up again, and place the bag flat in the fridge for at least four hours. Grill the chops without brushing off the seasonings. Alternatively, bake the contents of the bag (minus the bag itself, of course) for 30 minutes (which will yield medium-well chops) at 400 degrees. Let chops rest for ten minutes before serving.

Milk In A Can

"I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose." -- Woody Allen

The title of this post is pretty self-explanatory, I think. After going years without using canned milk in anything besides macaroons, I had the epiphany of substituting it into recipes in place of heavy cream and now I'm finding more uses for it every day. Here's a pair of them -- the lower-fat vodka sauce I promised last week and a slightly more fatty yet gloriously simple recipe for pistachio fudge minimally adapted from Nigella Lawson.

Vodka Sauce

I love vodka sauce, but for some reason, cream sauces seem to make me violently ill. (Case in point: I've fainted every time I've had risotto in the last eight years.) This recipe is easier on the arteries and easier on the digestive system than any I've ever seen, and it still tastes like good homemade vodka sauce.

½ white onion, minced
5 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp butter or buttery spread
3 tbsp minced pancetta or prosciutto
½ cup tomato sauce
½ tsp each of tarragon, basil, and parsley
Pinch of salt and black pepper
Pinch of powdered cayenne pepper
½ cup vodka
1 cup (or 1 small can) evaporated skim or 2% milk
¼ cup grated parmesan cheese
Pinch of nutmeg (because, as I learned from the staff at my favorite restaurant, every cream sauce should contain nutmeg)

Sautee the onion and garlic in the butter until the onion is nearly transparent. Add the pancetta or prosciutto (and I like to add a little olive or sun-dried tomato paste here as well, if I have it on hand) and sautee until the meat stats to brown. Add the tomato sauce and all the spices except the nutmeg, lower heat, and bring to a low boil. Once the sauce starts to thicken, add the vodka and simmer, stirring occasionally, for about ten minutes to boil off most of the alcohol. Lower the heat a little more and add the milk in a thin stream, stirring constantly, Heat until the sauce begins to bubble, then stir in the cheese and nutmeg and remove from heat. Serve over one pound of your favorite pasta, preferably something with ridges to catch the sauce. Serves six as an appetizer or four as a main course.


Chocolate Pistachio Fudge
(Adapted from Nigella Lawson's recipe)

Chocolate and salt is one of my favorite flavor combinations, thanks in large part to the pistachio and sea salt-encrusted molten chocolate cake served by the Dessert Truck. Thus, even though I wasn't a big Nigella Lawson fan, I couldn't pass up trying this recipe. Needless to say, I'm now a Nigella convert! It's one of things you make, taste, and really can't believe you made yourself. I'm definitely planning on working on this recipe a little bit and passing out boxes of it at Christmas.

Half a bar of Lindt 85% cocoa chocolate
1 1/4 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 14-oz can of sweetened condensed milk
1 tbsp butter
1 cup salted pistachios, shelled and crushed

Place all ingredients in a saucepan over low heat and stir constantly until melted. Pour into a wax paper-lined 9" x 13" pan and spread into a thin layer. Allow to cool for about two hours, then cover and refrigerate until firm. Remove from pan, and with a sharp knife, make seven horizontal slices and seven vertical slices to yield sixty-four pieces of fudge.

This $#!% is bananas

"I'm your genie, I'm your friend, I'm your willing slave. Take a chance, just feed me... and you know the kind of eats, the kind of red-hot treats, the kind of sticky-licky sweets I crave." -- Audrey II, from Little Shop of Horrors

Back in my college days, every student with a meal plan and no qualms about reappropriating food from the Dining Hall inevitably had plenty of bananas around. Since these bananas tended to get old faster than they got eaten, my suitemates and I would pool our resources once a week or so, turn out a few loaves of banana bread, and feed ourselves until the bananas piled up again.

I thought my surplus banana days were over until I started work and encountered The Fruit Man whose cart lives across the street from my clinic. In an insanely crafty business move, he charges 33 cents per banana but will gladly give you four for $1. Of course, since most people on the upper east side -- myself included -- are more willing to dig out a buck than a handful of change, we always end up buying four bananas when we really only want one. I usually share the extras with my coworkers, but sometimes, those bananas end up coming home with me, where they pile up once more.

I bought my bananas this morning, and as luck would have it, I had a major cake craving by noon. I left work that evening fully intending to walk over to Crumbs for a red velvet cupcake, but, on the walk to Third Avenue, remembered the two bananas in my bag and the two more on top of my microwave at home. Thus, I headed south instead of north, went home, and started baking right after dinner. I made some adjustments to my usual recipe and baked it in Corningware souffle dishes rather than digging out my loaf pans. The result was delicious, super-simple, and because I used whole-wheat flour and substituted equal parts Smart Balance and applesauce for the butter, healthier than it looks. I've already frozen a few slices for when the crave strikes again.

Ashley's Banana Bread

½ cup butter, softened (or 1/4 cup buttery spread and 1/4 cup sugar-free applesauce)
2/3 cup sugar
2 tbsp cocoa powder
2 eggs
4 old bananas
1 tbsp vanilla extract
½ tsp cinnamon
2 cups flour (or 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour and 1/2 cup all-purpose flour)
2 tsp baking powder
½ cup chocolate chunks (usually semi-sweet, but I used white this time)
½ cup dried cranberries

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter (and, perhaps, applesauce) and sugar together, then beat in eggs. Add cocoa powder, mashed-up bananas, vanilla, cinnamon, flour, and baking powder, in that order, and mix well after adding each ingredient. Stir in chocolate and cranberries. Coat one large loaf pan, four small loaf pans, or four souffle dishes with nonstick cooking spray, divide batter equally between the pans, then bake for 1 hour or until a toothpick inserted into the center of each loaf comes out clean. Cool in pan for ten minutes before serving. Makes one large loaf or four small loaves.

Gravy

"When the stars make you drool just like pasta e fagiole, that's amore." -- Dean Martin

There's nothing in the world quite like a good homemade tomato sauce -- a delicacy which I was raised to call "gravy." The texture, the taste, the catharsis of chopping and peeling and stirring the ingredients, and the way it makes your house smell on a Sunday morning all defy description. And since I feel like everyone should be able to make a decent tomato sauce from scratch and feel the joy of it for themselves, I'm going to share my family's recipe with all of you.

Unlike many of the recipes I post here, this one will be delivered in paragraph form. I can't supply exact quantities of ingredients or give you an abbreviated description of the motions because I don't cook my gravy that way. A few posts ago, I described the essence of Italian cooking as simple and classic with clean flavors and a focus on seasonal items, but in retrospect, that isn't a complete definition. Italian cooking also involves community -- the random cousins and neighbors who bring you figs, cucuzza, and fresh bread for no reason, the army of paisanos in the kitchen helping you to prepare the ingredients, the second army who shows up for dinner, the third army who shows up for dessert. Every meal is a conversation from start to finish, so a conversation is how I'll teach you to prepare one.

First, you find yourself a gravy pot. I like to use an insanely heavy, three-gallon, yellow enamel pot I inherited from my great-grandmother, but anything big will do just fine. (I'm investing in one of these once the yellow one finally wears out.) Next, you choose your tomatoes. I think plum tomatoes make pretty excellent gravy, but it's up to you. In any case, estimate how many you'll need by filling your pot with whole tomatoes.

When you get all those tomatoes home, wash them and cut a big X into the smooth end of each one. Fill your pot with water and turn the burner on high. Fill a big bowl with ice water and set it next to the stove. When your water is boiling raucously, drop in your tomatoes a few at a time. After about a minute -- when the skin has started to peel near the Xs -- scoop them out of the boiling water and plunge them into the ice water. You can remove them and set them aside once they're cool to the touch. Once all of your tomatoes have been boiled and shocked, dump out and dry your pot and your bowl so you can reuse both. Peel all the tomatoes, remove and discard all the seeds and stems, and break up the flesh into some semblance of a puree (either by mashing or food-processing). Place the puree back into the big bowl and set aside.

I've done this much a grand total of once in my life. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, I buy two boxes of Pomi strained tomatoes (or one big can of San Marzano crushed tomatoes) and use that instead of pureed fresh tomatoes. It's the exact same thing, only Pomi does the hard work for us.

The rest of the instructions assume that you're using about six cups of pureed tomatoes for your gravy, so scale as needed. Mince one medium white onion and sautee it in a generous amount of olive oil over medium heat in the big pot until the pieces start becoming translucent. Add five minced cloves of garlic and continue sauteeing until everything starts to brown. I like to add a little bit of minced pancetta, prosciutto, or anchovy here for flavor, but you can omit that. Once everything is nicely browned, deglaze with a cup of marsala wine or dry sherry. Let some of the alcohol boil off and add your tomatoes. Stir in six or seven torn-up fresh basil leaves, two pinches of oregano, and a pinch of black pepper, then lower the heat a little and cover. Cook for at least two hours, stirring every ten minutes or so. As it cooks, the gravy will darken and thicken. This recipe yields enough gravy for a pound of the pasta of your choice (plus a little extra), and if you're not planning on feeding an army, it freezes exceptionally well.

This makes a lovely plain marinara sauce, but, of course, you can transform it by adding meats or vegetables to the pot along with the garlic. Add diced red pepper and a little bit of cayenne for a romesco sauce, tuna or crab meat and a little chili powder (with parsley swapped for the basil) for seafood gravy, mushrooms or eggplant or spinach for a vegetable gravy (or all three for a modified puttanesca sauce), or, of course, crumbled-up sausage, chopmeat, or meatballs for traditional meat gravy. You'll want to cook your vegetables until they're soft and cook your meat until it's browned before deglazing.

It may seem like a lot, but it becomes second-nature after a while. And really, jarred sauce can't compare.

Caprese-ious

"Once upon a time I had plenty of nothing, which was fine with me because I had rhythm, music, love, the sun, the stars, and the moon above. Then time went by and now I've got plenty of plenty, which is fine with me because I've still got love and still got rhythm, but look at what I've got to go with 'em!" -- Stephen Sondheim

Every Sunday morning in the late summer, I go out to the backyard to pick tomatoes and basil for the day's meal. I can't use our tomatoes for the gravy -- our plants thrive in joint-compound buckets and don't yield nearly enough fruit for that -- but they're sweet, fleshy, and seedless enough to make excellent caprese salad.

Caprese salad is probably the easiest Italian mainstay imaginable. Slice two tomatoes, arrange the slices prettily on a plate, top with a handful of torn-up fresh basil leaves, slices of mozzarella, and a drizzle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and serve. It's simple yet classic, the flavors are clean, and it showcases seasonal items to perfection -- all of which, in my book, illustrate the very essence of proper Italian cooking. And maybe I'm biased, but I prefer caprese salad the way I make it, in its purest form, using tomatoes and basil I grow myself, fresh mozzarella from Rosario's, and olive oil personally pressed by a cousin in Abruzzi.

Unfortunately, my family's balsamic vinegar tastes fell to the mercy of Costco Syndrome: someone bought a million-gallon jug of it somewhere along the line and we lived off of it for far too many years. Then, when I was finally old enough to recognize the syrupy beauty of a good balsamic, I became a poor college student and was forced to live off of economy brands once again. Thus, I became an expert at preparing reductions -- even the nastiest balsamic becomes palatable if you boil it down enough.

This morning, I prepared my caprese salad with a recent acquisition: fig-infused balsamic vinegar from Oliviers & Co. It's thick, it's syrupy, it's sweet, it's complex, and an eight-ounce bottle of it cost me a quarter of a day's salary. It's far removed from the simplicity of my other ingredients, but it produced the best caprese salad I've ever experienced in my life. It felt incredibly strange pairing such a precious, extravagant ingredient with things I nurtured from seedlings, but it'll be a long time before I resort to reductions again.

Sweet and Sour

"For a candied sweet or a pickled beet, step up to my smorgasbord. Walk around until you get your fill. Baby, you won't ever be bored!" -- Comden and Green, from On the Town

A few weeks ago, my dear friend Red introduced me to Chocolate Chipped, an incredible dessert blog that never fails to trigger my sweet tooth. They featured this recipe for vegan white chocolate lime cookies the other day, which I absolutely couldn't resist testing out. Between us -- and I can almost hear the cries of countless Italians across two continents just by thinking this -- I actually enjoy vegan baking. It came in handy in college when I never kept eggs around and it's about as health-conscious as desserts can get.

That didn't prevent me from completely de-veganizing the recipe before I attempted it, though! See below for my full-fat, animal-products-galore version of the recipe, which turned out a batch of gorgeous cookies. I don't usually like white chocolate, but combining it with lime results in a unique, refreshing, and altogether delicious flavor.


White Chocolate Lime Cookies
(Adapted from a recipe by Celine of Have Cake, Will Travel)

1/2 stick of softened butter
2 heaping tbsp brown sugar
3 tsp (or packets) sugar-in-the-raw
Zest and juice of half of one large lime
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup white chocolate chips
1 tbsp whole milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Beat butter, sugar, lime juice and zest, and vanilla until light and fluffy. Add flour, baking powder, vanilla, milk, and chocolate chips and mix by hand until the batter holds together. Drop batter by the teaspoonful (for small cookies) or tablespoonful (for large cookies) onto a parchment- or foil-covered cookie sheet. Flatten each ball of dough to desired cookie thickness before baking, since the batter will not spread in the oven. Bake for 15 minutes or until the edges have started to brown. Makes 10 large cookies or 20 small cookies.

La Cucina

"I'm a man's ideal of a perfect meal, right down to the demitasse." -- Comden and Green


I'm sitting at home in our windows-on-three-walls-plus-a-skylight den, watching a torrential downpour all around me. Sundays are long, slow days in these parts: I wake up at 8, spend the morning cooking, have dinner with my family at 1:00, then spend the rest of the day lazing around the house.

Sunday dinner -- when the whole extended family gathers at someone's house for an early afternoon meal -- is one of the few true Italian traditions we strictly honor. It happens every week, it's always a feast, and there's no excuse for missing it. Seriously. If you don't have to be at work, at school, at somebody's wedding, or at somebody's funeral, you'd better be there or risk the wrath of a dozen angry paisanos. And though I've been called an anti-feminist because of it, I delight in putting on an apron once a week, lugging out my great-grandmother's gravy pot and cleaver, and preparing this meal for my family. A normal, non-holiday Sunday dinner should include a little cheese and cured meat for antipasto, a pasta course with homemade gravy, some sort of meat (often cooked in the gravy), at least two vegetables, a simple salad, and, later on, coffee and cake. My grandmother prepared the same plain-yet-delicious homemade tomato gravy every week, but after learning how to work a whole meal's worth of nutrients into a pasta dish during college, I prefer to mix things up a little. This was today's offering: a flavorful pasta light enough for summer yet rich enough for a rainy day.

Penne with Goat Cheese and Sun-Dried Tomatoes

1 pound penne, pennette, rigatoni, or similar pasta

1 jar (8-10 oz) sun-dried tomatoes in oil, finely chopped or food-processed, plus 2 tbsp of the oil

1 small onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 box Pomi strained tomatoes

½ cup white wine

2 heaping tbsp herbed goat cheese

Salt and pepper to taste

Sautee the onion in the sun-dried tomato oil until nearly transparent, then add the garlic and sun-dried tomatoes and sautee until the garlic is lightly browned. Slowly add the wine and reduce for five minutes, then add the Pomi, stir, and cover. Cook on medium heat for one hour, stirring periodically. Pour over cooked pasta, crumble the goat cheese on top, and toss until the goat cheese melts into the sauce. Serves six hungry people plus leftovers.