Mamma mia, questa pasta!

Sometime in the past six months, a Florentine woman became an Em-i-lis reader and is, now, a friend. In that funny, to-be-determined web way. She doesn't know my sister, and vice versa (so that's not the link), but it is my hope that all of us can meet in person at some point next time I'm in Florence. This kind of improbable connection is yet another reason I love the internet.

Eli recently told me that she believes Garofalo makes the best dried pasta. I wasn't familiar with it so did some research. It's a company based in Gragnano, a Neopolitan town named for wheat (grano), and that has been making pasta for more than two hundred years. 

It's not available locally (as far as I could find) but you can order it via amazon, and so I did. Though I'm not a penne fan, the variety pack appealed to me because you cannot go wrong with gemelli and casarecce (similar to strozzapreti). 

This evening, having cooked all day and then realizing T and I were hungry yet unprepared for dinner, I figured, "What better time to try a new pasta?" and so chose the gemelli.

I had some tomatoes that needed to be used and while basil is not yet in season, thyme always is, and keeping old Parmesan and Pecorino rinds in your fridge saves the day on a regular basis. Long story short, it was easy enough to whip up a fresh tomato sauce, and boy were we glad I did so.

This pasta is delicious. It's the sort in which al dente means toothsome but not remotely underdone. That's a tough line to bridge, so bravo Garofalo. I mean, you can see the texture in my photo, yes?? Creamy but firm, magnificent!

Mille grazie, Eli, per la tua raccomandazione. 

Pie crust is so personal

You know how people often preference the climate in and traditions with which they grew up? Take me, for example. I was raised in the tropics of Louisiana and to this day prefer to be in the warm-hot sun, while others, from more northern climes, enjoy (or at least don't mind) wearing sweaters and cords on a regular basis. I like the way my family celebrated Christmas (gifts on Christmas Eve, Santa comes overnight, stockings in the morning, a big family lunch) versus those who wait to do everything on the 25th. Personal preferences honed over a lifetime of experience.

The same is true, I believe, for pie crust.

My family pie crust is an oil-based one with a confident measure of salt that incorporates neither butter nor lard. Nanny picked the recipe up at the Wesson Oil booth at one of the restaurant conventions she and Papa used to attend when they had their place, Frank & Bob's. Those conventions were in the 1940s and '50s, in places like Chicago, and I remember Nanny telling me how she and Papa would take the overnight train to them from Louisiana. Those conventions always sounded so grand.

my food historian pal, Laura, found this old wesson ad. see the pie crust recipe in the text. my family has always called the pie crust our "stir and roll." here's why!

Anyway, once that pie crust recipe made its way into our family, all others fell out of favor. I don't think I had one pie growing up -those made by folks in my family- whose base wasn't that simple, four-ingredient shell. Not one.

It really spoiled me, frankly, in the way that getting used to great food does. I could taste a sub-par or store-bought pie crust in a second flat. And it wasn't until I was an adult that I remember tasting butter-crust pies.

Butter-based doughs are so wonderfully pliable. They roll out like a dream and can be cut into whimsical shapes that are easy to transfer and mend. Butter crusts cook to a gorgeous golden-brown hue, and they are sturdy. I love them for savory pies and tarts, for gougères and anything that requires pâte à choux, like éclairs and cream puffs.

But I simply cannot abide by butter crusts buttressing dessert pies. In my opinion, fruit and other sweet pies need a foil, something to cut and thereby enhance their sugary insides. Butter has no bite. It is sweet and creamy, two elements that are inherently part of any sweet pie. And so the whole always tastes less to me than its discrete parts.

Surrounding a rich filling of sugar-encrusted blackberries, pecans swimming in Caro and brown sugar, chocolate, and even lemon meringue, the butter crust tastes flaccid and weak. It is beautiful but it disappoints. It is a flabby distraction rather than a critically important partner in the dance. 

An oil crust, like my family's Wesson one, lacks some of the butter crust's pros. It really cannot be rolled out more than twice, you can't double the recipe or even make it in advance.

But oh how it flakes! How its salty underpinning perfectly offsets even the sweetest of fillings and in doing so makes everything taste that much more alive! How the whole is always more than the parts, as each lifts the pie to greater heights!

I made a butter crust for the sour cherry pie yesterday because I wanted to try yet again to make one I like and also I wanted to maximize the aesthetics. It was beautiful, but the crust again left me cold.

Lard does a better job than butter in the flakiness department, but I still prefer the flavor and crunch of that oil + salt impart. And so, henceforth, I'm swearing off the old butter crust and know I'll never look back.

Kumquats, ricotta, pie and self-care

We have finally graduated from winter. It's so thrilling that I'm very nearly beside myself. Yesterday, the boys and I planted tulips and snapdragons, some herbs and a beautiful pink geranium Ol picked out. Our gardens are writhing with earthworms both robust and newly born, and we found just one grub which was immediately relocated to the garbage. It's taken years to get our yard in good health, but in the absence of chemicals, things thrive, and the proof is out there in every shovel of earth.

People, I want you to go get some kumquats. Gently cut them into thirds and take out the seeds. Candy them in a simmering mixture of sugar and water. 

While you're at the store getting kumquats, pick up some buttermilk, heavy cream and 2% or whole milk if you don't have those items on hand. Buy some cheesecloth too. I want you to make fresh ricotta.

Once you've done that, find a pretty bowl and spoon some ricotta in. Top that with some of your candied kumquats and syrup. Close your eyes, and take your first bite. Chew, taste, swallow, breathe. Shiver with pleasure.

ricotta and candied kumquats

Do this because you love yourself and you're worth this beautiful, decadent treat. Because it will stick to your ribs and fuel you with real and simple food. Because it's a joy to feed yourself thoughtfully and lovingly, to nourish yourself by spending time to make good food and also to eat it.

If you do this and then, like me, feel you must keep going with this whole creation-nourishment thing, make a pie.

Spend time rolling the crust and carefully cutting lattice strips with a pastry wheel. Think back to your childhood when you cut Play Doh with plastic tools, creating something new and of yourself just like you are now. 

sour cherry pie

Feel the butter grease your hands, and watch the flour coat the buttery spots, rendering you a breaded cutlet.  Enjoy it.

If you have some of last summer's bounty in your freezer, use it. It's time. If not, perhaps  you have some fruit lingering in the bowl on your counter, or maybe you picked something wonderful up while you were at the store getting kumquats and ricotta supplies. 

If you have extra pie crust scraps, roll them out and dust them with cinnamon and sugar. When you slide your pie in the oven, put the sweet extras in too; just remember to pull them out before they burn. You'll love this little snack while you're waiting for that pie.

When you remove the pie from the oven, place it carefully on the stovetop or a wire rack to cool. Don't leave it just yet; lean over it, until your nose is almost touching the bubbling filling, and inhale deeply. Hints of vanilla, caramelized fruit, butter and all the supporting elements will tickle your olfactory nerve. You'll feel shot through as if with a rush of endorphins. Bliss.

Let the pie to come to room temperature at least. It's hard to wait but worse to burn your tongue. Plus, you might want to share a slice with a good friend, a neighbor, one of your child's teachers, your spouse. Or maybe not, but either way, you don't want to scald your mouth.

Anticipate the pleasure you'll feel when your fork grabs the first bite of pie, when your hand draws that bite towards your mouth. Remember how wise it is to tend to yourself, treating yourself as you do so many others around you.