You can watch individual restaurant segments as well as view the entire episode online. The website also provides restaurant information not specified on the show, written reviews from the guests and restaurant recipes. If you have opinions on the restaurants featured please feel free to share your thoughts. This season, Leslie Sbrocco will be sharing wine tips with each episode.
John Pauley and Anna Li of Mattarello are what so many farmers market vendors aspire to be but never quite pull off. They're organized, friendly and smiling in the early morning hours, make an effort to get to know other vendors right away, and maintain fierce standards of quality. They even have pretty awesome matching shirts with their company badge on the sleeve. They've got it together. And although they've only been selling at The Marin Country Mart for a few months now, customers can sense this: their booth is getting increasingly busy with last week their best Saturday ever.
I had a chance to chat with them about their business, how they got started, what inspires them, and where they eventually want to be. They work at La Cocina and spend two days making pasta for Saturday's market, rolling out the pasta with a little pasta machine and hand-cutting it the night before. John also makes incredible sauces; Anna helps streamline the processes and packages the products. Without further ado, meet John and Anna, and hear their story through John's own words.
John hand-cutting pasta
1. Tell me a little about your business and how/why you decided to start it.
We are a small artisanal pasta company with a traditional, hands-on approach to making pasta. As a veteran in the food business, I (John) spent a lot of time in fine-dining and working for other people. This was an opportunity for us to open our own business and run it the way we wanted. Our goal is to stay close to the traditions that inspire our products, so being our own bosses means that we won't compromise on the quality and authenticity. This is also a great opportunity for us to work together for the first time.
2. Why pasta?
I've been cooking for over twenty years with a focus on French cuisine. During my years of cooking, I've always enjoyed making pasta, but I was mostly self-taught. After my first trip to Italy in November 2005, I became more fascinated with Italian cuisine and culture. In March of 2008, Anna and I visited Bologna and went on a culinary walking tour in the center of the city. There, we met Franco and Grazia Macchiavelli of Salumeria Bruno e Franco who make all of their pasta by hand and are considered one the best pastaficios in Bologna. I returned two months later to apprentice with them for 3 1/2 months in the art of "la sfoglia," which is traditional, hand-made pasta. We return to Italy every year and explore different regions each time so we can expand our knowledge and our experience of the cuisine. Italy and food are our passions, so this company is a perfect expression of those sentiments. Each of our ingredient labels has "love" as the last ingredient, and believe it or not, each ball of dough that's rolled into a sheet is infused with love and care. I consider each sauce and each pasta a culmination of my cooking experience and travels.
3. Do you think living in the Bay Area allows your business to flourish? If so, how so?
The Bay Area has a rich and informed food culture. People here appreciate and seek out food that is made with respect to its heritage and with the best ingredients. In Bolgona, I was accustomed to making and eating pasta that met a certain standard. There, egg yolks are so rich, they are almost red in color. In fact, they actually call the yolk the "red part" of the egg. When I returned, I spent years searching for the closest egg I could find to what I had in Italy. That led me to Yenni Ranch in Sonoma which is where we get our eggs. These eggs lend the right texture and color to the pasta. We also use their grass-fed beef, not only because it's delicious, but because we want to know where our products are coming from. In sum, our goal is to put the best possible ingredients into the best tasting products, and the Bay Area consumer has the same mission to find those products.
4. What have been the highlights of being a small business owner in the Bay Area thus far?
Opening Mattarello is the pursuit of our dream on our own terms. The satisfaction we get when we have repeat customers who have overwhelmingly positive responses to our products is confirmation that we are on the right track.
5. What challenges are you facing right now in terms of growth or vision?
Our greatest challenge is exposure. It's hard to be a small company just starting out and trying to get our product to consumers. We are confident that once people eat our pasta, the number of Mattarello converts will grow. We have had multiple people come up to us stating that after they've eaten our pasta, they can't go back to eating the "status quo."
6. What inspires you, day to day?
After many years of working long hours in hot kitchens, the summer I spent in Bologna, I lived like an Italian and everyday I pinched myself, saying, "Wow, am I really doing this?" Of all my life experiences, I am the most proud of this. I ate, lived and experienced things that I never thought possible. Through Mattarello, I can share the experience I had in Bologna and tell the stories of the people I met and worked with.
7. What are the goals for the future?
We don't have a specific goal, but we have a broad vision of several possible goals. We could develop into a company that just sells at more farmers markets or at grocery stores, we could become a catering business, we could open our own free-standing shop or restaurant. If we were pinned down, ultimately, we would like to have a small shop where we sell handmade pasta, sauces and ready-made foods which, on the weekends, would turn into a restaurant that would serve a family-style dinner.
As I'm sure you know, macaroni and cheese is all the rage right now. With entire restaurants dedicated to the creamy, comforting stuff, it's clear that it's a childhood favorite that we don't outgrow. Vegans have long been in the practice of creating amazing versions of animal-ingredient-free varieties. There's even an entire blog dedicated to it called the Noochy Noodle. But what if you are vegan and also gluten-free? Just because a vegan gets diagnosed with celiac disease or gluten sensitivity his or her ethical stance about animal products doesn't change. So, the elimination of gluten gets added to their vegan lifestyle.
The two main components in traditional mac and cheese are dairy and wheat. So, you may wonder how a gluten-free vegan could possibly, of all dishes, manage to eat some. Believe it or not, it's possible to create a delectable, velvety, savory bowl of noodles that will satisfy even an omnivore. I know of four restaurants in the Bay Area that serve gluten-free vegan mac and cheese: Source, Nature's Express, Cafe Gratitude (and a raw variety at that!), and Homeroom. However, everyone knows that nothing beats homemade. So, let's start with some cashews and some rice pasta and take it from there...
Gluten-Free Vegan Macaroni and Cheese
Summary:This makes a cheesy, gooey mac and cheese. I prefer not to bake it so that the nut base doesn't get too dry or congeal. The base for the cheese sauce was inspired by the Raw Cashew Cheese recipe on Chocolate & Zucchini.
Prep time: After soaking cashews, 15 min Cook time: 10 min Total time: 15 min (some steps are done simultaneously) Yield: 4 2-cup servings
Ingredients
1 1/2 cup cashews (soaked for 6 hours or overnight -- measure after soaking)
1/2 cup vegan milk (I used homemade cashew milk, but any other type would work)
1/4 cup roasted red peppers (from a jar works fine)
1 tablespoon Earth Balance (I prefer the soy-free variety, which would also make this a soy-free recipe.)
1 large clove of garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon salt
black pepper to taste (but I recommend a lot)
1 bag Trader Joe's Organic Brown Rice Fusilli Pasta (This is the best gluten-free pasta I have found, and it's only $1.99. It comes in other shapes, but fusilli is the best.)**
*The addition of wine and vinegar helps give the sauce the sharp taste that the fermentation in dairy cheese produces.
**If you are not gluten-free, you can totally use regular wheat pasta here as well.
Note: If you're not feeling the macaroni part, you can also just make the sauce and use it for other recipes that call for cheesy concoctions, like a vegan fondue, over veggies, or drizzled on vegan pizza.
Instructions
Start cooking the pasta according to directions. I've learned that exactly 8 minutes is the ideal time for the Trader Joe's brand.
In the meantime put all other ingredients into a blender and gradually increase the speed to the highest possible, and blend until completely smooth. I highly recommend using a good quality (preferably high-speed) blender like a Vitamix to get the creamiest consistency possible. But whatever blender you use, the key it to get it as smooth as possible and without any gritty texture.
Pour "cheese" mixture into a pot and over medium low heat, gradually heat sauce while constantly stirring with a whisk.
Drain noodles, rinse for a second, and while still wet combine with cheese sauce.
Stir.
Eat.
You can also customize this recipe easily. Add a little cayenne or jalapeños for a kick. Sprinkle with gluten-free bread crumbs or crumbled potato chips. Stir in peas or broccoli florets. Use your imagination! Then grab a bowl, pile in the creamy pasta, and relive your childhood (maybe add some grown-up cartoons for even more authenticity).
Pasta Puttanesca roughly translates as "pasta in the style of a whore" -- no doubt an enterprising whore who's a little salty, a little spicy, and has plenty of bite to her. You may be wondering how this dish got its colorful name. Legend has it "ladies of the night" would lure customers into houses of ill repute with the enticing aroma of this sauce simmering away. Alternately, they would make this for themselves because it was a quick and easy meal that wouldn’t take much time away from their biznaz.
Quick, easy, cheap, delicious…qualities any busy working girl/harlot could appreciate. Pasta Puttanesca makes a great spur-of-the-moment meal because it can be thrown together using ingredients in your pantry.
Pantry staples
The dish is full of salt and brine -- olives, capers, anchovies -- flavors typical of Southern Italian cuisine. Canned Italian tuna soaked in olive oil plays well off of the anchovies and tomato sauce, and adds protein and body to the meal.
Fresh elements
I've thrown in some fresh touches to this Puttanesca, but in a pinch you could omit the eggplant, onion, garlic, or fresh herbs, and the essence of the dish would remain intact.
Chive blossoms
I would normally garnish this with fresh oregano or parsley, but a sly animal had just stolen the parsley from under my nose. Luckily, my mom’s garden had a lovely bunch of chive blossoms still intact. The faint oniony twang worked well with the other aromatics, and the tiny purple blossoms even accented the deep hue of the eggplant.
In no time, we had a steaming hearty bowl of pasta to dig into, full of vibrant, sassy flavors. Those ladies of the night were on to something when they came up with this. Who would've thought? Whore-y pasta: customer satisfaction, guaranteed.
Perfectly acceptable pasta and mediocre slices of pizza are easy to find. If you haven't had a decent interpretation of either in a while, you can easily forget what a great version tastes like.
Let's just say I've now been reminded.
Osteria Coppa in San Mateo is owned by the folks who run Sam's Chowder House in Half Moon Bay; a Peninsula institution. Executive Chef Chanan Kamen takes pride in his handmade pastas and hand-stretched pizzas, and it shows. His resume includes Michelin-starred Quince and Jardinere in San Francisco, and Picholine and Tabla in New York City.
Osteria Coppa is a farm-to-table restaurant, meaning they use organic, locally sourced, artisanal ingredients. They cure their salumi in-house, fire up hand-made pizzas in their stone ovens, and artfully make their own pastas.
Braised Radicchio, Panchetta and Aged Balsamico Pizza
I tried both the house-made sausage, speck and crimini mushroom pizza, as well as the pancetta, braised radicchio and aged balsamico. Both thin-crust, Neapolitan-style pies were fantastic for this simple reason: the fresh, creative topping combinations worked perfectly on an exceptional crust.
The flavors on both pizzas were well conceived, but I was particularly impressed with the pancetta, braised radicchio and aged balsamico pie. It was one of the best pizzas I have had in a while. I fell in love with the wonderfully tangy sweetness of the balsamico. It made me wonder why I hadn't tasted balsamic vinegar on a pizza before! It was the perfect match for the meaty, fatty goodness of the pancetta bits. And the radicchio was an edgier stand-in for the typical red onions.
My dining companion at one point declared, "Even the crust is great on this pizza!" The crust was perfectly crisp and charred on the bottom, pillowy soft and sweet on the inside. If you order just one pie while you're there, this is the one.
As far as Osteria Coppa's pastas go, the San Jose Mercury News has called them "exquisite," and even named the Tagliatelle Bolognese one of the Top Ten Dishes of 2010.
Tagliatelle Bolognese
There are plenty of places that make their own pastas, but they either make the mistake of overcooking it so that it becomes mushy (fresh pasta should take no longer than a few minutes to cook), or the flavor is way too doughy and floury, without enough focus on fresh, quality ingredients.
There's no risk of either here. Preparation, ingredients and technique all have equal importance. The Fettuccine Marinara with cauliflower and broccoli rabe was perfectly al dente, and the noodles were delicious with a wonderful eggy, almost buttery flavor. The freshness of the vegetables was obvious and actually made the dish seem light.
But I can confirm that the recent attention on the Tagliatelle Bolognese is well warranted. The dish was nothing short of fabulous with its smooth, rich pork and deliciously creamy sauce. And once again, the noodles themselves were the star in both texture and taste. But for all the richness of this dish, it never seemed overly heavy.
Blood Orange Lemonade
Aside from the pizzas and pastas, the house-made blood orange lemonade is more proof of the inventive items on the menu. It's a fun twist on the typical lemonade and it shows how the restaurant takes advantage of having access to a wealth of fruits and vegetables. They use unconventional ingredients and combine them in a way that makes you feel like every item is fully realized.
Service is casual but professional. There's no pretentiousness from the staff, and families are welcome. In the Bay Area, that's a welcome change for a restaurant of this caliber. They've done a successful job creating a warm, sophisticated yet relaxed atmosphere. Chef Kaman was an expert pasta maker while at Quince, and the peninsula is lucky he's decided to bring his four-star talents to suburbia.
Osteria Coppa Address:Map
139 South B Street
San Mateo, CA 94401 Phone: 650-579-6021 Hours: Lunch 11:30-2:30, Mon-Fri (closed for lunch on weekends)
Dinner 5:30-9:30pm Mon-Thurs, 5-10pm Fri-Sat, and 5-9 Sun
Every year, usually around the beginning of February, I notice that the ornamental plum trees in Golden Gate Park are starting to burst into clouds of pink and white, covering the lawns with a pale, fluffy blanket of springtime splendor. But as much as I love how these 10-foot tall pastel bouquets line the streets, my mind instantly goes to another sign that the season is changing. Soon local farmers markets vendors will start stocking my very favorite bit of produce, which is only found this time of year: green garlic.
For those not in the know, green garlic is simply early season garlic that hasn't yet matured into a fully bulbous state. Green garlic is special for many reasons, but the reason I love it so is that it takes the strong, pungent qualities of mature garlic and lightens up the game a bit. Infinitely more subtle and nuanced than its full-grown brothers and sisters, green garlic has a less intense flavor and a sweetness that only early-season produce can impart. Perfect for both strong and mellow dishes, green garlic can be used wherever you would use regular garlic, in the same amounts. Give it a try in garlic bread or mashed potatoes. As well, green garlic's flavor is gentle enough that it can be eaten raw in a lovely green salad. Seriously!
Perhaps the coolest thing about green garlic, though, is the fact that you can eat the entire thing, from it's long, frondy leaves to it tiny root system. The younger the garlic the more tender it will be, and you'll know true baby garlic by its nearly complete lack of a bulgy, bulb-y end. As the season progresses week by week, you'll notice that green garlic at your local farmers market will get thicker and thicker towards the bulb-end, until it looks almost like a fully matured bulb of garlic with a long, green stalk. At this point you can still eat the entire thing, though the fibrous membrane that separates the individual cloves will have begun to form by this stage in its development. The cloves will have a strong, more traditional garlic flavor as they mature as well.
When shopping for green garlic, look for specimens that are long and green, without any browning or wilting along the stalk. Green garlic should be eaten within a week of being harvested for the best possible flavor, though it can be stored in the refrigerator for up to three weeks if you end up with a bunch of it. To store young garlic, I'd recommend wrapping the stalks in foil and leaving them in the crisper drawer of your refrigerator, where the humidity will work to keep them fresher, longer. If you're not planning on eating them right away, a little spritz of water in the foil every few days will help keep green garlic tender and fresh.
The best way to enjoy green garlic is in a dish where it's the star. For anything even remotely herb-y, I always try it out in a pesto recipe, where its flavor is front and center -- and in this case, green garlic plays the lead role with aplomb.
Green Garlic Pesto Pasta Serves 2
Ingredients:
6 green garlic shoots, trimmed of the dark green tips and cut into 2 inch pieces
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/2 cup pine nuts
3/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons kosher salt
6 cups water
2 cups uncooked penne pasta
Preparation:
1. To the carafe of a food processor, add green garlic, parmesan, pine nuts, sea salt and pepper. Pulse 10-15 times, until ingredients are relatively well-blended, scraping down the sides in the middle of blending. Slowly drizzle in olive oil and continue blending until you get a well-combined pesto texture. Scoop into a bowl and set aside while the pasta cooks to let the flavors meld.
2. Add kosher salt to water and bring to a boil in a large pot. Add pasta and cook until al dente, about 9 minutes. Drain and rinse pasta.
3. Spoon pesto over hot penne pasta and serve immediately.
Let's pretend for a moment you were asked to translate yourself into a plate of food.
If you were to turn the phrase "You are what you eat" on its ear and attempt to eat what you are, what exactly would you be eating? What would it look like if you laid bare all those little bits of yourself-- your own, personal ingredients, I suppose-- and put them on a plate for all the world to see?
And what would you taste like? Would everyone want a piece of you? Would you wind up as bland and dry as Zweiback toast? Or would you be so off-putting that you'd just sit there, scorned, like a half-melted aspic on a cruise ship buffet table? It's a little unnerving to think about.
Unnerving, but interesting.
At least, to me it is.
Discovering My Inner Dish
Wandering into work one evening not very long ago, I grabbed a little food and sat down to eat in the back of the restaurant at the long, oaken table where my co-workers were doing likewise.
My friend Amelia, who was sitting across from me and quietly folding napkins, looked up said in a sing-songy voice:
"Uh-oh, Procopi-o's."
And then she went back to folding. It was just her silly way of saying hello.
"Uh-oh, Procopi-o's?" I repeated.
"Sure, just like Spaghetti-o's, but more Procopio-ier." In all my years on earth, no one had ever set my last name to a commercial jingle for canned pasta, nor had anyone ever used the adjective "Procopio-ier".
Amelia alternately suggested I might make a lovely breakfast cereal of some sort, but I was more enamored with the idea of becoming pasta. Perhaps if she had pitched the breakfast food idea at one of our pre-lunch service meals, I would have been more inclined to see myself as coated with sugar and drowned in milk.
All evening, I kept hearing her voice in my head singing that little, highly-personalized jingle, which made the instance when she came up behind me to sing it in my ear all the more wonderfully disturbing. I may have been chatting with my guests about goat stew and fried cheese, but all I could think about were Procopi-o's.
I needed to get them out of my system. And, according to my own, special brand of logic, getting them out of my system could only be done by getting them into my system. I decided to make myself some Procopi-o's, whatever those might be. I would take little bits of myself-- metaphorically speaking-- and put them into a recipe. I was going to find out what I was made of, throw it all together, and see how I turned out.
In essence, I was going to eat myself.
I tossed the idea around for days. Pasta? Of course. And said pasta would have to be circular because, after all, I was making Procopi-o's. But what to serve them with? How should they be dressed?
I wanted something cheesy and saucy and spicy, but with a little bit of ham thrown into the mix. I thought about adding a bit of bitterness to the dish but, upon second thought, I decided to remain intentionally self-delusional and opted instead for a little bit of flat-leafed parley-- purely decorative, which is how I like to see myself on my better days.
But there was something missing. "Oh, it needs a little booze," I thought. Not to function, mind you, but merely to loosen things up.
I would look up recipes, because I allow myself to be influenced by others. I would sift through them and filter them to suit my tastes. And, being the genetic mutt that I am, I would hybridize: Pasta alla Vodka meets Pasta all' Amatriciana. Boozy, hammy, and biting.
How appropriate. How perfect.
Or so I had hoped.
There was one small problem with this idea-- I have a low opinion of vodka. To me vodka: a) It doesn't taste like anything and b) serves no purpose except to make fruit juice boozier (see: girl drink drunks). I'm a gin man, so gin it would have to be. But would gin actually work in a pasta sauce?
Why not? It would certainly add a little note of interest that vodka could never provide. And, before you ask: yes, I do like to think of myself as interesting. Doesn't everyone? I think it's part of how we all get through the day.
Putting Myself Through The Wringer
I'd never given much thought to pasta-making, but when I pulled out my grandmother's old machine, I realized three important things:
1. I haven't made pasta since the late 20th Century
2. I lost the little clamp that holds the pasta maker in place at some point during the 21st Century.
3. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to form my pasta into cute little "o" shapes.
And then I thought to myself, "This is exactly why you should make this-- you never really sure of what you're doing anyway, so just do what you always do and make things up as you go along."
I hunted around the kitchen looking for a way to make "o" shapes. At the back of a little drawer where all the small, unused cooking implements go to die, I found my grandmother's cannoli forms. Those would do very nicely, I thought.
The making of the dough was simple enough: two kinds of flour, some eggs, a little olive oil, and a splash of water. Make a little well, mix it all up, and knead, knead, knead. Rather than knead by hand, I remained true to my own laziness and let my stand mixer do all the work. I thought about how that little machine was working so hard at developing the dough's gluten. And then I thought about how it has been more than a year since I've been to the gym. I took another drag off my cigarette and continued to watch.
I turned the dough out onto a floured cutting board and shaped it into a disc and let it sit, covered, for thirty minutes to let it rest. I followed its lead by crawling back into bed for the same amount of time with a collection of James Thurber's short stories.
You know, for inspiration.
After the dough and I were sufficiently rested, we met up again in the kitchen. I fed it bit by bit into the pasta maker, holding onto the machine with my free hand so that it didn't fall over onto the floor and onto my feet, all the while imagining myself being put through that same wringer. "Well this feels familiar," I said to the dough as I thought of the ghosts of boyfriends past.
I managed to achieve the shape I wanted for my pasta by rolling it around the cannoli forms, but worried how the pieces would perform when thrown into hot water. Would they hold up or would they fall apart? It amused me to think that nearly every step of this whole food preparation process had some sort of glaring corollary to my own life.
There was nothing to do but plunge the Procopi-o's into hot water. It was mildly discomforting to stand over a pot of boiling pasta and stare into it as though one's life depended on it. But, there they were-- those little bits of me slowly floating to the top of the foaming water, surviving. And mostly intact. I scooped those babies out of the pot with a little bit of their bath water and let them cool. Then I tasted one of them.
I was disappointed.
It's hard to imagine what it was I expected from a small circle of flour and egg. It tasted like pasta. Of course, it was pasta-- a little doughy, but pasta, nonetheless. I was disappointed not because it was bad, but because it wasn't perfect. I caught myself staring at a bowl of pasta-- one that was supposed to represent me-- with scorn.
"Well, there you have it," I thought, "So self-critical that I'm shaming myself over a fucking bowl of pasta." Was I really so upset that it wasn't perfect? Temporarily, yes. I stepped back for a moment and thought how ridiculous I was being.
And then I thought back to what a friend of mine said to me the other day. He left a comment on one of my previous blog posts stating that he was a little relieved I couldn't come to a party was throwing, because I would have "spotted the flaws" in his desserts. He was nervous about "having a gaggle of food bloggers" standing around, judging them. In response, I wrote the following:
Dear Honky,
But here’s the thing… I adore flaws. Flaws are like fingerprints; they express an unavoidable individuality. To me, a home made dessert with a little flaw thrown in is infinitely preferable to the factory-made, calibrated sameness of anything that is store bought.
Long may the flawed flag wave.
Well, helloooo, hypocrite! Suddenly, I thought of a little song and hummed it to myself, though not as tearfully as the little girl below:
I tend to give others (or so I like to think) very good advice, but I very seldom follow it myself. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Everything that's worthwhile is flawed. If anyone on this earth were perfect, he or she should probably be whisked up into heaven like Jesus's mother because there would be nothing left to do or learn here.
Flaws are what make people interesting, myself included. If I were perfect all the time a) everyone would hate me and b) I would be a complete bore. And since I consider being a bore a major character defect, we'd just be getting back around to being imperfect, now wouldn't we?
Flaws are what make us individuals.
With that in mind, I tossed my little Procopi-o's into the gin sauce, put great spoonfuls of it into a bowl, topped it with its awaiting garnishes, and dug in. Not perfect, but warm and cheesy, a little smoky and a little spicy. And it did not smell of booze. It was oddly satisfying.
Just like me.
Pasta alla Gin
I hope you'll forgive me for not writing down the recipe for Procopi-o's. Like myself, the recipe needs a bit of work. Besides, very few of you reading this are real life Procopios anyway, and those of you who are more than likely won't be making "o"-shaped pasta any time soon. I suggest you find your own shapes and dishes- ones that better fit your own preciously flawed self.
The sauce, however, is worth making. Seriously. With gin. If you've got pancetta or guanciale lying about, you could certainly substitute that for the bacon but, other than one or two people I know, who has guanciale sitting in their refrigerator? I've used ingredients that are more or less easy to find because, well, I'm more or less easy to find.
Serves two to four of you. Or two to four of me. Given the subject matter of this post, it's nearly impossible for me to tell.
Ingredients:
1 28-ounce can of crushed tomatoes (San Marzano, if they're available to you)
1 pound of any tube-shaped pasta you like (penne, rigatoni, mostaccioli, etc.)
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons butter, salted or unsalted (it really doesn't matter)
1 cup finely diced yellow onion
4 cloves finely minced garlic (garlic is minced, onions are diced-- please discuss)
As much crushed red pepper flakes as you dare.
1 teaspoon of salt (or more, if you feel it needs it)
1/4 cup gin, stirred, not shaken. And very dry, please.
1/2 cup cream
Freshly-ground pepper, as much as you please
About 1 cup of freshly-grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
Finely-chopped Italian parsley
4 slices of bacon, cooked, cooled, and chopped into adorable little chunks
Preparation:
1. Bring six quarts of salted water to a boil, which means turning the burner all the way up to "11". Dump pasta into the boiling water and stir. If you are using dried pasta, cook for 8 to 10 minutes (until al dente), if using fresh pasta, just cook it until it's done. You're a big boy/girl; go with your instincts. Save about 1/2 cup of the water, drain pasta, place in a bowl, and mix with the water (to prevent the pasta from drying out).
2. In a food processor (or food mill), purée the tomatoes. Stare at them for a moment or to for no other reason but that you think they're pretty and wonder that, if you stick your finger in for a taste and accidentally cut yourself on the blade, would any one notice? Would it change color? Would bleeding into the sauce take this whole "cooking myself" business a step too far? Add salt.
3. In a large skillet, heat olive oil and butter until hot and bubbly, but not so far as to brown it. Add onions and cook over medium heat for about two minutes. Add garlic and crushed pepper flakes. Cook for another minute.
4. Add your (blood-free) purée of tomatoes to the pan and stir. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Add gin: 1/4 cup for the sauce, 1/2 cup for the cook. Continue to simmer for another five minutes or so.
5. Turn off the heat and add the cream, gently incorporating it into the sauce. Add ground pepper and about 1/2 cup of grated cheese and stir in. Taste again, adding more salt and pepper flakes, if you feel the urge.
6. Add pasta to the sauce, gently tossing so that each piece is coated thoroughly.
7. Transfer the pasta into either a) individual serving bowls or b) one, enourmous communal trough. Garnish with bacon (or pork product of choice), parsley, and more grated cheese.
8. If you are eating this dish alone, pour yourself a large glass of wine (or a martini, because it pairs nicely with this particular dish), pick up a fork, and slowly cannibalize yourself. If you are serving this pasta to guests, sit back and watch them dig in, all the while saying, in a quiet little voice, "Eat me."
Whenever I mention fava beans, it seems someone -- usually a person who has never eaten one -- ends up deadpanning Hannibal Lecter. I'm sure you've heard it, and maybe you're even the dinner-party comic who likes to throw in this quip when some poor bookish vegetable lover like me tries to talk seriously about broad beans. Now I'll admit that Anthony Hopkins seemed alluringly creepy while chatting with Clarice Starling (aka Jodie Foster) in The Silence of the Lambs, but his chilling tale of enjoying beans and a nice Chianti with some poor census taker's liver just doesn't do justice to the fava. I mean, come on, liver with fava beans?
For the last 20 years, the fava bean has been associated with this movie, which is unfair as it's been around for millennia. It was one of the earliest plants to be cultivated in Asia and North Africa, and has done more than its part to keep both ancient and modern people fed and happy. It even had an important role in early democracy, when ancient Greek and Roman voters would submit a white bean for a yes vote, and a black bean for a no vote. Imagine all those hunky scantily clad Greek men (because let's face it, there were no women voting in Ancient Greece) tossing beans in a ceramic pot. Now that's some food history. So the next time someone brings up Hannibal Lecter at a dinner party where you're serving fava beans, mention this interesting fact. Sure, your dinner guests' eyes may glaze over with your nerdy tale, but you'll end the Hannibal Lecter laughter full stop.
But don't eat fava beans because they're historical; eat them because they have a lovely verdant sweetness that is perfect when cooked in olive oil. Or eat them because they are rich in vitamins and minerals. Some researchers think they may even be used as a natural alternative to Viagra. They're not sounding so bad now, are they?
So Why Use Fava's in Ravioli?
My love for fava beans made them a natural choice for a ravioli filling recently, although I didn't realize this when I was planning the menu. I was hosting a pasta party for some friends, which included two people who do not eat meat. I knew I wanted to make ravioli, but because my stock ravioli filling of late has been a short rib ragu, I had to think outside the box. So as I walked the aisles at Berkeley Bowl, I surveyed the piles of fresh vegetables around me seeking ravioli-filling inspiration. And then it hit me, right in the bean aisle. Raviolis made with my favorite seasonal bean pureed with cream and cheese. What could be nicer for a June pasta dinner eaten on the patio with friends?
The raviolis were a hit. The beans pureed texture held up nicely in the ravioli and the addition of cream, ricotta and Parmesan aligned nicely with the fresh pasta dough. Even the meat eaters -- two of whom were avowed fava-bean haters -- said they loved the dish. I decided to believe them as one is a good friend who has a tendency to be brutally honest in a very kind way, so I know she would tell me if she hated my ravioli; and the other is a lovely man who is far too polite to announce his displeasure with a meal, but is sincere enough to just leave whatever he doesn't like on his dish -- and he had seconds.
So if you're looking to delight your friends and family with a seasonal alternative to meat ravioli filling -- one that also includes an interesting history plus may additionally rev up your love life -- look no further than favas. Just please don't eat them with liver.
Note: If you're not up for making raviolis, you can also use this filling as a creamy sauce for regular pasta.
Pureed Fava Bean Ravioli Makes: Enough for 4-6 people
Ingredients:
2 cups shelled fava beans (just fill up a produce plastic bag with them and you'll have enough)
1/4 cup chopped shallots
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup ricotta cheese
1/4 - 1/3 cup Parmesan cheese (according to taste)
2 Tbsp whole milk
1 Tbsp chopped basil or mint (optional)
1 batch of homemade pasta dough
2. Shell fava beans from pods. Bring a medium pot of water to a boil and then drop the beans in. Simmer for 2 minutes and then remove the beans from the pot and rinse with cold water.
3. Gently remove the outer bean casing from the tender inner bean. I usually just separate one side a bit and then gently squeeze the bean into a bowl. Do this for all the beans.
4. In a medium pan, sauté the chopped shallots in the olive oil for about 2 minutes on medium heat. Add in the fava beans and 2 Tbsp butter and cook until the beans are cooked through. Add in salt to taste.
5. Let beans and shallots cool and then pour them in a chopper along with your heavy cream, milk, ricotta, and some freshly ground black pepper. Puree until smooth.
6. If the puree seems too chunky or thick, add more heavy cream or milk as needed. Add in the Parmesan Cheese and any herbs you're using and then puree further until the mixture is completely smooth has the consistency of thick batter. Taste and add more salt and pepper as needed.
7. Roll out your pasta dough so you have long strips 4 inches wide. Spoon about 1 Tbsp puree 1 1/2 inches apart.
8. Brush egg wash on each side and in the strips between the puree and then place a 2nd pasta dough strip on top. Press down on each side in between raviolis so the pasta dough adheres along all sides of the filling and then cut out your raviolis. I like to use a pizza cutter to do this, but if you have a fancy ravioli cutter, go for it.
9. Boil pasta in salted water for about 3 minutes (or until raviolis are cooked) and then gently remove them from the pot and set in a serving dish.
10. Brown the remaining butter (around 2/3 of a stick) in a sauce pan and then pour on top of the cooked raviolis. Sprinkle on some Parmesan or other good hard Italian cheese and serve. I served my ravioli with roasted baby summer squash, but roasted shitakes or morels would also be great. You can also serve the raviolis on their own.
If you are a fan of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, you probably buy chunks of it. You grate them and devour them. Eventually you are left with rinds that are too small to grate, but too precious to throw away.
If you are like me, these rinds pile up in the cheese bin of the fridge. At $16 a pound or more, how could you possibly throw them away?
Then the time comes to utilize these rinds. Tossing them in a stock or soup is a time-honored tradition. So is simmering them with fresh tomatoes for a pasta sauce.
Parm rind in a pot of stewed tomatoes, later to be strained for a soup
Yet there are other ways to utilize these rinds. I am sharing a method I learned from a line chef at Oliveto, after I asked him about pasta recipes for a dinner party.
His suggestion was simple. Take a large rind, and simmer it in a pint of cream or more. Add herbs, sauteed garlic and/or grated cheese. Season with salt. Work your cooked noodles into the sauce with some pasta water, add a pop of butter and serve.
I followed his instructions, using fresh hand-made pasta. My friends were in awe. One friend, Rex, said I had served him the best dish of pasta he'd ever eaten.
Clearly Rex doesn't get out much, but he was right: The dish was a delight. By slowly cooking the cream with the rind, the earthy, rustic taste of the Parmesan was infused throughout the pasta, which was draped in a velvety sauce.
So give it a try, especially when friends come over. If you are going to prepare a dish with this many calories, it is always better to share.
Gemelli with Parmesan rind cream sauce, roasted squash and tomatoes
Pasta ala Parmigiano Reggiano rind
Serves: 4-6
Ingredients:
1 rind of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, about 2x4 inches, and 1/4 inch thick
1 pint of heavy cream
3 tablespoons butter
2 cloves finely chopped garlic
Up to 1 cup of reserved pasta water
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
1 pound of dried pasta, or 2 pounds of fresh egg noodles, either homemade or store bought
Kosher salt for pasta water
Preparation:
1. Clean rinds, if needed, with a damp towel. Grate cheese and chop garlic.
2. As water starts to heat in your pasta pot, cook garlic slowly in a separate skillet with the olive oil. Do not let it get brown, but cook it until most of the raw garlic taste is gone.
3. Add cream and parm rind to skillet. Turn up heat until cream bubbles and foams, and then turn down to maintain a low simmer. If cream gets extremely thick, turn off heat and let sit.
4. Once your pasta water comes to a boil, add a small handful of kosher salt to the water, stir and add pasta to the water. Cook until just short of al dente. Remove from water and save at least one cup of the water.
5. Add pasta to skillet. Turn up heat and serve. Ladle a small amount of the pasta water to the skillet as you stir. You want to maintain a creamy but not a thick or soupy sauce. Add butter and stir. When pasta is al dente, add half of the cheese and stir. Check a noodle for seasoning, and add salt, if needed. Turn off heat and use tongs to place pasta onto plates. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top of each plate and serve.
Note: This dish lends itself to multiple treatments. Cook chopped leaks with the butter instead of garlic. Top the final pasta with blanched vegetables, such as asparagus or green beans. I added the parm cream to gemelli noodles and topped them with chopped roast squash and tomatoes.
I've been making meat sauces for years, but only now -- after two months as an apprentice at Oliveto -- have I learned some of the secrets behind a superlative ragu.
A ragu is a basic meat sauce for pasta. The first authentic version I tried was years ago, in Emilia-Romagna, the region of Italy that invented the classic Bolognese sauce.
That first ragu was bold and brooding -- much like a Pavarotti opera. The sauce was entangled in a nest of perfectly cooked tagliatelle, with the flavor infused into the noodle.
Numerous cookbooks offer suggestions on making a Bolognese sauce and other forms of ragu. Yet nearly all of these recipes, in my opinion, are flawed. Most suggest cooking a mixture of diced onion, carrots and celery before adding your meat to brown it. The sauce that results tends to be lifeless or, even worse, infused with chunks of burnt vegetables.
Vegetables sweating on top of meat as the meat brown
At Oliveto, the chefs have reversed the sequence. First they brown the meat and then allow the vegetables to steam, or "sweat," on top of the meat. This process produces a dark layer of caramelized meat solids at the bottom of the pan -- a foundation of flavor. This foundation, or "fond" as the chefs call it, is then deglazed by the natural juices of the vegetables when added on top. This is allowed to cook down so the fond is rebuilt and deglazed two or three times.
Paul Bertolli, the former head chef at Oliveto, describes the technique in his 2003 book, "Cooking By Hand." Bertolli's successor, Paul Canales, who had a role in developing this technique, has continued to refine and perfect it since becoming executive chef.
Cooking a ragu in this manner is not difficult, but it cannot be whipped out in an hour or two. A ragu is truly slow food -- time-tested and refined by Italian grandmothers over many centuries.
Ragu ready for a long simmer, after broth and tomato paste have been added
Ragu for pasta
Makes: 8-10 servings of sauce
Ingredients:
2 pounds ground meat (Beef, pork or equal amounts of both. For beef, try ground chuck or get adventurous with ground hanger steak, beef cheeks, etc. For the pig, try ground pork shoulder.)
4 medium yellow onions
5 stalks celery
5 carrots
4 tablespoons finely chopped fresh sage
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh oregano
6 cups dark chicken or veal stock
½ cup white wine
½ cup high-quality tomato paste
1 cup cream (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste
Preparation:
1. Dice the onions, celery and carrots into a mirepoix -- cubes smaller than 1/4 inch in size. As you are dicing the vegetables and mincing the fresh herbs, start cooking your meat. Use a heavy bottomed Dutch oven or stew pot. This is essential. The bottom of the pan has to be thick and heavy enough to brown the meat, without scorching it.
2. Use high heat to start your browning process. But keep an eye on it, and adjust the flame accordingly. It’s okay for the meat to stick and brown, but you don't want it to blacken or burn.
3. After you have built an even layer of fond on the bottom, toss your vegetables on top of the meat. Leave them there for at least 15 minutes, allowing them to release their juices to the bottom of the pan.
4. Give your meat and vegetable a rigorous stir with a wooden spoon, and scrape up the fond layer that has now been deglazed by the vegetables.
5. Turn up heat slightly, and allow this to cook down and brown again, then add a shot of wine -- no more than a cup. Stir and scrape.
6. Allow this to cook down again. When browned, add a cup of stock. Repeat the process and add your tomato paste, diluted with a half cup of stock.
7. Watch your ragu carefully at this point. The addition of tomato paste could lead to scorching. Keep the heat up, but stir it regularly as the fond starts to reform. When it is nice and brown, but not scorched, add two or three cups of stock -- enough to make it slightly more soupy than you'd want for a sauce.
8. At this point, your ragu should have a lovely, brownish-red color. Bring it to a boil and then turn down to a simmer. Allow it to simmer for two to four hours, stirring occasionally and adding more stock, if necessary.
9. Before serving, you have the option of adding cream -- as much or as little as you want. Too much cream will dilute the intensity of the sauce, so be judicious at first.
10. You can take this basic sauce in many different directions. Add minced porcini mushrooms early in the cooking for an earthier flavor, or cinnamon or nutmeg to give it a spicy edge. Use different combinations of fresh herbs.
11. The final step, of course, is marrying the ragu with the pasta. Don't just ladle it on top. Cook your pasta just short of al dente, then mix it thoroughly in a skillet with an appropriate amount of sauce and then serve it immediately. Sprinkle some Parmesan cheese on top, and you will be ready to sing.
If you are a fan of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, you probably buy chunks of it. You grate them and devour them. Eventually you are left with rinds that are too small to grate, but too precious to throw away.
