Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli / All Kinds of Rants

This is an easy, quicker version of the Italian staple, Pasta e Fagiole soup which, for some inexplicable reason, is pronounced "Pasta Fazhool".  Linguists of the world, please do not unite and try to explain to me exactly why this is.  I can actually work some, less-abstruse parts of it out for myself.  I just prefer to hyperbolize.  I would say this is an "x-ingredient recipe" except that the actual number of ingredients is not impressively-sounding low enough although, for the record, neither is the typical "x-ingredient recipe" if you count the actual number of ingredients required.  Let me rant a little here: if the recipe boldly highlights, possibly with full-color pictures, a can of some kind of soup, a jar of ketchup, and a package of ground beef, that does not mean those are the only ingredients if the rest of the (text) part of the recipe goes on to explain that you also need an onion, 4 different kinds of spices, a tub of sour cream, specialty cheesecloth, and a yak.  If an illiterate person combined the "three ingredients" he or she would not get a result like unto the picture.  Also, literate persons are then required to make a trip to a) the regular grocery store for two of the four spices that they don't have and the sour cream (who keeps sour cream besides people with serious nacho fixations?) and b) the specialty grocery for the cheesecloth and yak. 

Anyway, while the number of ingredients in this recipe is not of an Olympic-quality lowness, it is a pretty short list.  And, more importantly, the actual time to make this is about 12-15 minutes.  The end result is a pretty decent pot of Pasta e Fagioli soup that is hearty enough for a big bowlful for dinner or as an accompaniment to other things.  The tomato flavor is considerably rich, so if you want a lighter (or just brothier) soup, put in half the tomato sauce and substitute the missing volume with water.  (Or prepared broth of your choice.)

Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli

2 14-oz. cans red kidney beans, drained
1 15-oz. can prepared tomato sauce (your favorite jarred spaghetti sauce might be good here too)
8 oz. pasta
1 clove garlic
2-3 C. boiling water on hand
1 tsp. salt (or less-- I'm happy with the flavor I got but it could be less salty and still be flavorful)
1-2 TB. cooking oil
mint flakes, ground red pepper, and Italian seasoning to taste (I used about 1/2 tsp. each)
plenty of grated Parmesan cheese to serve it with*

Get your hot water ready in a separate pan (or microwave it, or use an electric tea kettle...whatever works for you).  Mince the garlic.  In a medium-small soup pot, heat the oil, then saute the garlic over medium heat just until it starts to release its flavors.  Then, add in the spices and salt (or you can wait to add the salt until the end) and stir them around in the bottom of the pot for a few seconds to allow them all to frizzle and release their flavors.  Then, dump in the cans of beans and tomato sauce.  Bring all that to a rapid simmer, stirring to mix the spices and garlic in thoroughly.  Then, dump in the uncooked macaroni.  Yes, you read me correctly.  No extra water (at this time).  Continue to stir, making sure to frequently scrape the bottom of the pot.  As the pasta starts to cook, it will begin to absorb the excess water from the beans and tomato sauce.  Once the mixture starts getting thick, add in a little water, about 1/2 C.  Continue to stir until all this is absorbed, then repeat the process until the macaroni is fully cooked and the soup is the consistency you like it, about 10-12 minutes.  It's a given that the pasta will absorb the remaining liquid overnight, so be prepared to add a little water in the next time you eat it...or just enjoy it the way it is.)  Serve piping hot with plenty of Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top. 

I know I have been remiss in posting the amount a recipe will make, so here, for the first time (I think) is the quantity:

Makes 6-8 side dish portions or 3-4 dinner-sized portions.
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*It is officially the Italian way to put a heap of Parmesan on top of whatever you may be eating, whether it be soup, meat, or dessert.  (Okay, I'm kidding about the dessert.)  But you can leave it off if you have lactose issues, or are having difficulty finding cruelty-free dairy options.  I will confess that this is a frustration of mine as well.  All the Fancy Dancy Grocers I've ever been to have all kinds of specialty liquid dairy and, to some extent, yogurt options.  In the realm of liquid dairy, I am pretty sure if I wanted to find milk from a genetically-modified emu raised in a host family from Honduras where it was given a primary education and attended church with the family once a week, I could.  But when it comes to actual cheese, mysteriously there are no longer any choices.  "But what if I want to know if the cows who were integral in the making of this cheese lived lives similar to a cow's natural inclinations and also not fed gummy worms because grain or hay was too expensive (not making this up)?" I mentally ask the Fancy Dancy Grocers.  "Too bad for you," imply the Fancy Dancy Grocers with their lack of options.
 

Polenta Gangnam Style

Yes, I just went there.  Ever since I saw the music video which [spoiler alert] features Psy on the toilet [end spoiler], "Gangnam Style" has been my version of "Like a boss".  Which, I guess, was the point.  It's true.  I go around the house at times sounding like a bad impersonation of Kim Jong Il.  Returning to the subject, polenta is my new favorite meat substitute.  In order of likelihood, I will address your violent protests.  "But it doesn't hardly have any protein!"  Please.  When was the last time you chowed down on some plain tofu with salt and pepper for the sheer protein quality?  Thank you.  I would posit that the majority of the protein in a typical low-meat diet comes from: eggs, cheese, and beans.  And, according to some, kale.  But not me.  You will not find me "on the kale trail", as I once heard someone put it.  Ok, that's really the only protest I could think up.  But hear me out: it takes on the flavor of whatever you put it in, much like tofu, while itself having a pleasing texture and taste (especially if you make it with a savory broth), unlike tofu.  It also holds its shape remarkably well, also like tofu.  And, completely unlike tofu, it is both cheap and easy to make in your own kitchen in a short amount of time.  With all that being said, I present to you my tutorial of how to make polenta.  I offer it as a recipe AND tutorial because the recipe I used was somewhat vague and, at the time, I was totally unsure if I was over- or undercooking my polenta.  (I wasn't.  It turned out delicate and firm at the same time, unlike polenta I have had in the past that was dense and grainy.)  So here we go:

Polenta Gangnam Style

1-1/2 C. yellow corn meal (extra style points if it's non-GMO)
5 C. water or broth
1 tsp. salt
1-2 TB. cooking oil
more water

First: put your broth or water on the stove (aka the five cups-worth) and turn the unit on high so it will come to a rapid boil.  Then, whisk together your salt and cornmeal, then two cups of water (aka the "more water").  When the water or broth on the stove comes to a boil, dump all your water/cornmeal mixture into it in one go and whisk it rapidly while it's boiling to eliminate and also prevent any lumps.  Next, turn the heat on the stove down to medium, or even medium low.  You don't want to evaporate the water too fast.  Because that, my friends, is purpose A of the cooking of polenta: evaporating off the excess water.  Purpose B is to denature the corn proteins so that your finished product "sets".  Kind of like jello, which is made from animal proteins.  Geddit?  So, your role, once you've turned the stove Bwn, is to stand in front of your pot wearing your thickest skin or long sleeves and prepare to try not to get splattered by boiling hot proto-polenta while you stir it continuously (stir always in the same direction because that will help you not get splattered as much, especially as the polenta gets closer to being finished) for thirty minutes OR UNTIL DONE. 

Yes, I threw down the "until done" card.  I already broke one rule and mentioned organic chemistry in this post with the protein denaturing, so I might as well go all out.  Organic chemistry and "until done" do kind of go together, maybe because food is made mainly of organic compounds.  Unlike non-organic chemistry, which tend to happen on a predictable and invariable schedule, organic reactions happen as a law unto themselves.  So it is with cooking.  Sometimes "done" might be shorter than thirty minutes, sometimes it might be longer.  You just kind of have to eyeball it. 

So, what does "until done" look like, since eyeballing it is your best bet?  Well, first of all, you will have reduced the volume in your pot to about half what you started with.  But that's not all, because that will happen considerably before your polenta is really done.  But when that happens, it's time to really watch while you're stirring.  So basically, as you stir and stir you will notice that the surface of the polenta will start to become glossy.  Also, you will notice that, as you stir, instead of the bubbles that form popping and splattering, they will rupture and deflate without splashing and with the majority of the bubble remaining intact.  At this point, I leave it up to you.  When you feel that your polenta is nice and thick and creamy, pour it into a greased pan and let it set, which will take around 15-20 minutes.  At this point you'll be able to slice it.  Enjoy!

Roasted Asparagus / Vladimir Lenin in a Can

I'm almost embarrassed to post this recipe, because it's barely a recipe to start with.  But, I guess I should take heart because I've seen recipes for and been subjected to many a dish made with loving hands that essentially involved dumping various premade items (the infamous Cream of Mushroom soup, for example) into a casserole and then baking it until it was all hot and bubbly.  Because, you know, I like my poison hot and bubbly.  Okay, that was a little extreme!  Those dishes are not poisonous unless you have some kind of allergy, but they definitely are not my favorite.  Anyway, returning to the Roasted Asparagus.  It's delicious, but also super-easy.  So easy that when you're savoring every mouthful you think "That was it?"  That, my friends, is the joy of much of Italian cooking-- it relies on the quality and character of the ingredients to shine on their own with little intervention on the cook's part.  Translate: a lot of it is easy to prepare!  Without further ado:

Roasted Asparagus

1-2 bunches of fresh asparagus (I always buy one and wish I had bought two!)
salt to taste
oil of your choice.  I know, this is where I should be touting Extra Virgin Olive Oil at $49.99 per 3 liter can.  But let's be honest: canola oil tastes just fine, and is also cheaper than the aforementioned liquid gold.

Preheat the oven to about 400-425F.  Wash your asparagus and trim off the ends-- I'm not sure what the official rule is for asparagus, but I cut off the white part.  I'm not super-picky, so I don't mind if my asparagus is a little tough, especially if it's later in the season and I'm feeling grateful for having asparagus at all!  Put your asparagus in a single layer (this is important) in as large a dish as you need to accomplish that.  Drizzle it with your oil, and sprinkle it with salt.  Put the dish in the oven and roast it for about 10-12 minutes, or until your asparagus is a little wrinkly-looking and is nice and floppy.  That's the best way I can describe it.  You can make your jokes to yourself about floppy asparagus, but that's how it's supposed to be.  Floppy.  Anyway, at this point take your dish out of the oven and resist the temptation to try and eat the floppy asparagus right away, because it needs to cool or it will burn your mouth.  After about 5 minutes it should be okay.  This is the best way I've ever had asparagus!  If you've done it just right the stems will be tender-al dente and the tops will be ever so slightly crispy.
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My aunt told me about her discovery of asparagus, which was just a few years ago.  The way she cooks it now is very similar, only on the stovetop.  Before then she had avoided it because all she'd ever known was the canned asparagus they had when she was growing up.  If you think properly cooked fresh asparagus is floppy, you should see canned asparagus!  It's like the exhumed embalmed cadaver of asparagus-- the Lenin of asparagus, if you will.  It somehow has retained all of the qualities that could be considered offensive about fresh asparagus and also amplified them, and yet also become in other ways totally unlike fresh asparagus.  In a nutshell, it smells like rotten eggs, tastes like pease porridge in the pot nine days old, and has the texture of newborn poop.  Additionally it is a lurid neon green in some form of travesty against the natural asparagus, much like botox on a ninety-year-old heavy drinker.  In conclusion, please do not ever eat canned asparagus.  Thank goodness for fresh asparagus!  It is so delicious and so easy to prepare!

Molto Bene Stracciatella Soup

When I first saw a recipe for (regular-style) Stracciatella soup, I was already sold.   Chicken broth?  Tiny pasta?  Parmesan cheese?  Yum, yum.  Then, when I made it the first time, I discovered that I could not be satisfied with adding the directed amounts of any of the chief ingredients.  I actually have not cooked Stracciatella the way it was intended to be prepared, ever.  But why should I?  I could do it as a creative exercise, I guess, but I like my way so much that I inevitably make it "molto bene" (mo' betta!).  I made it the first time for guests, and they liked it so much they asked for the recipe.

3-4 C. chicken stock or broth*
1/3- 1/2 C. stellini pasta**
1/3-1/2 C. fresh grated parmesan cheese
1/4-1/2 C. white wine
3 whole eggs

Heat the chicken stock and wine together until boiling on the stove.  In the meantime, whisk together the parmesan cheese and the eggs.  When the broth is at a rolling boil, slowly add in the egg mixture, stirring constantly with a fork.  Let cook about 3-5 minutes.  Then, add in the stellini and let everything cook another 3-5 minutes (until the pasta is done).  Serve with a generous amount of additional grated parmesan cheese on top.  Do not feel guilty for putting an ice-cube or two into your soup bowl.  This soup smells so good that you want to tear into it right off the stove and, of course, it is ridiculously too hot to do so.
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*If you're using plain stock, you may need to add some salt for flavor.  But almost certainly not if you're using broth, which is already salted.

**"Stellini" means "little stars".  The original recipe says you can use orzo or pastini or acini de pepe, and I guess that would be fine too.  But why use boring-shaped pasta when you can use STARS?  For "molto bene"-style the stars may work out better in the end anyway-- this soup is very thick.  In fact, after it's been in the fridge for a day it's more like pasta risotto.  Which is fine with me.

Stuffed Red Cabbage / Godzilla in the Kitchen

This is apparently the year I discover cabbage. It has also been the year I discovered eggplant. Two vegetables that I previously bore no ill will towards, but had no pressing need to eat. I had half a raw cabbage leftover from making the Blue Cabbage Pasta that I used instead of the green cabbage called for in one of the two seed recipes that inspired this, and I am so glad I did. (Incidentally, for those of us who do not have the free time to make homemade pasta, which is usually also me, Blue Cabbage Pasta would probably be pretty darn tasty with some high-quality dried egg noodles, or perhaps fresh asian egg noodles from the refrigerator case that some groceries stock).   I guess I should be more specific when I say that I am discovering cabbage.  I am discovering red cabbage. It holds its own in a pot of boiling water, makes everything it touches a beautiful, petroleum-dye-free blue that does not stain one's countertops, and has a mild spicy zip that mellows into buttery goodness when cooked. Yes, I have a crush on red cabbage. 

Stuffed Red Cabbage

1/2 head of red cabbage
3 medium-sized potatoes
1 parsnip
8 oz. ricotta cheese (I would make it fresh next time--store bought always seems so grainy to me)
1 red onion
2 eggs
oil for cooking
salt to taste
cayenne pepper to taste (a brief sprinkle was fine for me)
1/2 jar of good quality tomato sauce (yes I used sauce out of a jar, so sue me)
toothpicks (are nice, but you could get by without them)

This picture does not even do it justice.

Wash the half head of cabbage.  Put it in a pot, and fill the pot with water until the cabbage is covered.  (This, by the way, is also how you avoid setting your house on fire when you try to put the turkey in the turkey deep-fryer.  Planning ahead: a valuable skill.  Displacement: thank you, Science.)  Set the cabbage aside, add a little salt to the water, and bring the water to a boil on the stove.  Then put the cabbage in and cook it until it's tender, about 6-8 minutes.  Remove it from the water and put it in a bowl filled with cool water.  (Just tap water is fine, it doesn't have to have ice floating in it or anything.)  Anyway, while your cabbage is boiling, peel and coarsely chop your potatoes and parsnip.  Put them in some boiling water and let them cook until tender.  Drain and set aside.  Returning to the cabbage: gently peel off the cabbage's leaves one by one until you've either peeled them all off or discovered an uncooked inner core to your cabbage.  (This happened to me, but it works out in the end.)  Set the cooked and intact leaves aside (6-8ish of them).  Take the remaining cabbage and chop it finely.  Slice the red onion.  Heat some oil in a large skillet, and saute the onions for a minute or two, then add in the cabbage.  Let it cook until the chopped cabbage is soft.  While that's happening, mash your cooked potatoes and parsnips and add in a little cayenne pepper, salt to taste, and your ricotta cheese and eggs.  Preheat the oven to 425F.  When the cabbage and onions are cooked, fold them into the mixture of mashed potatoes and parsnips.  Get out a 9-inch x 13-inch glass baking dish.  One at a time, gently take a cabbage leaf and lay it on a flat surface.  (I just used the bottom of the casserole.)  Fill the middle with a heaping spoonful of mashed potato mixture.  (About the size of a stress ball.)  Fold the sides of the leaf over the top to make a packet, then either secure it with a toothpick or just lay it seam-side down in the dish.  Repeat until you've used up all your whole leaves.  If you have potato mixture left (I did), nestle the remaining amount in around the cabbage packets.  Pour the tomato sauce over the top of it all.  Cover the dish with foil and bake for about 30 minutes. 
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If it wouldn't give away too much secret information about my kitchen (like that it is small, and has appliances that are from the eighties) I would post a picture of it post-cooking all this business.  It looked like Godzilla invaded Tokyo ergo my kitchen with a willful need to leave vegetable peels all over the place, was surprised by a funny joke with a mouthful of cabbage juice, and also ate off every dish in my house.  Grandmom is way neater than that when she cooks.  Her kitchen looks like one of those photos from a ladies' magazine where they show the glossy-smiled famous person looking matronly as she pulls a perfectly-baked something out of the oven, with nary a sticky mixing bowl or bloody styrofoam meat package in the background.  I don't know how she does it, even after all these years of watching her cook.  I even have a dishwasher, and my kitchen is clean by the end of it all, but Grandmom, although she has one, does not actually use her dishwasher and her kitchen is still spotless even when she is frying those delicious porkchop cutlets.  I chalk it up to Grandmom being Martha Stewart's original inspiration.  It's true.  Grandmom may not handmake her own ricotta cheese, and has to be coaxed away from the can of cream-of soup, but she is the undisputed Queen of the Kitchen.  So much so that Great-grandmom even snookered her into "helping" her make homemade grape jelly one year.  Did I mention Grandmom has five siblings?  Who else helped?  Nobody.  Afterwards, Grandmom told Great-grandmom (who she lived two houses down from, by the way) to "find somebody else next year."  Great-grandmom said, "Who?"  Grandmom whipped back with "Julie!"  Great-grandmom protested that "she was the baby" (mind you, they were all married and had children of their own by this point), but in the end Grandmom never helped make grape jelly again!

Beefy Pizza Gein

So I was so inspired by my Pascua Pizza Gein that I decided to experiment with making another version of it that followed the same general concept (slightly eggy meaty cheesy filling in a yummers crust) but yet that did not explicitly involve salami.  Although I do love the original Pizza Gein, salami, pepperoni, and all.  So here is the fruit of my effort and I think it is pretty delicious.  Also, I have discovered that it would be fairly easy to make any combination of ingredients Pizza Gein-style, so feel free to experiment.

Beefy Pizza Gein

Filling
8 oz. flank steak, cut into thin slices
12 oz. frozen peas, cooked in salted water
8 oz. white cheddar cheese, deli-sliced and then cut into squares
salt and pepper to taste
2 eggs

Crust
1-1/2 C. flour
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 tsp. pepper
1-2 TB.shortening
1/4 C. water

Mix the pepper and flour together.  Blend the shortening into the flour.  Add in the egg and then the water.  Turn out onto a work surface and knead 5-7 minutes or until smooth and elastic.  Let rest awhile.  In the meantime, preheat the oven to 400F.  Cook your meat in a little oil in the bottom of a deep pan until it is mostly done.  (Remember, it's going to spend time in the oven, too.)  Add in the peas and toss and let them rewarm if you cooked them previously.  Turn all into a bowl and blend in the cheese, then the eggs.  At this point divide your dough into two portions and roll out each portion so that it will fit into a 6-inch x 9-inch glass baking dish.  Lay the first portion of dough in the dish, then pour in the filling.  Top with the second half of the dough, sealing together the edges.  Put the whole shebang in the oven and bake for about 30 minutes, or until the Pizza Gein is set and the crust is lightly brown.  (By the way, I forgot to cut any vents in my crust and nothing bad happened.  I guess because the crust is so short it's not so prone to making large air pockets.  So feel free to also not cut vents into your own crusts.)  This makes 6-8 hearty portions.  Don't underestimate the meat pie; it's very filling, so a piece about the size of a generous slice of cornbread (ie 3 inches square or so) will be plenty as your main dish. 

Blue Cabbage Pasta / The Temptations of Cheese Powder

half a medium-sized head of red cabbage, washed and cut into thin strips
half an onion, cut into rounds
oil for cooking
salt to taste
1-1/2 C. flour
2 eggs
a rolling pin (seriously, you need one to make this)
1/2 C. fresh grated parmesan cheese

Ahead of time, combine the flour with a little salt, if you like (I used about 1/2 tsp).  Lightly beat the eggs in a separate bowl, then combine them with the flour.  Add in a little water for consistency-- around 1/4 C.  The dough will look pretty loose.  Wash your hands (do I need to say this?) and then stick them down in the bowl and squirsh the dough until it starts to come together, about three-four squirshes.  Yes, that's a word.  It's onomonopoeic, and it means what you think it means: "squishing with extra squish."  Once the dough is a single lump, turn it out onto a (clean) counter and knead it until it's smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes.  Set it aside to let it rest while you do other things.  (Your dough should be able to rest about 30 minutes.)  Get your pasta pot ready but don't turn the heat on: add in about 4 cups of water, 1/2 tsp. salt, and a splash of oil.  Heat some more oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  When it's hot enough, add in the onions and cook them until they're soft.  Then add in the cabbage and cook it until it's soft, stirring it as necessary.  (This takes a bit longer-- about 15 minutes.)  Salt to taste.  When it's ready, roll out your dough into 1/8th inch (3 mm) thickness.  Cut it into strips about 1/2 inch (1 cm) wide , then cut the strips about 3 inches (7 cm) long.  Set them aside on a plate.  For style points, twist each strip into a tight spiral.  Bring the cooking water to a boil.  Dump the fresh pasta into the water.  Remove it when it floats to the top.  Put the cooked cabbage into a large serving bowl.  Pour about 1/2 C. of the pasta water over top.  Put your hot pasta into the bowl.  Toss everything together to coat, including your parmesan cheese. 

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This is a labor-intensive but delectable dish that combines a healthy vegetable with the indulgence of homemade pasta.  I called it "Blue Cabbage Pasta" because red cabbage, when you cook it, ends up looking a beautiful purple-blue.  It makes a large serving bowlful (about 8-10 servings as a main dish), so cut the recipe in half if you're not so into leftovers.  By the way, I'm writing this while eating caramel and artificial cheese-flavored popcorn, and I just had to stop myself from wiping my hands on the carpet.  So please do not ever think I'm Martha Stewart.  I'm pretty sure Martha Stewart is never even tempted to wipe her hands on the carpet.  In my defense, that cheese powder is so sticky that you almost instictively want to get it off your hands, and no, I didn't actually wipe my hands on the carpet.  I just almost did.

Small-Batch Pizza Gein

Dough (makes a top and bottom crust)
1-1/3 C. all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/4 C. fresh grated parmesan cheese
1 egg, beaten
1/4 C. shortening
1/3 C. water

Don't the eggs make it all pretty?

Filling
1/8th lb. (eg 2 oz.) each, each, each!!!: prosciutto, provalone cheese, italian hard salami, pepperoni
1/4 lb. shredded mozzarella cheese
salt and pepper to taste (use sparingly)
4 eggs, lightly beaten

To make the dough: Combine the flour and the shortening with a fork.  Add in the parmesan, pepper, and water.  Lastly stir in the egg, adding a little bit more water if  you need to for consistency.  The dough should be like a good biscuit dough, but slightly tougher.  Turn it out onto a floured surface, and knead it until smooth and elastic, about 2-3 minutes, adding more flour as necessary to keep it from sticking.  Set it aside to let it rest while you make the filling.

To make the filling: slice all your meats and the provalone cheese into small bites.  Combine them with the eggs, salt and pepper, and the mozzarella cheese in a large bowl. 

Use a 5-inch by 9-inch glass baking dish.  Divide your dough into half.  Roll out the first half to fit the bottom and sides of the dish.  (The dough is fairly workable, so you can press it up the sides of the dish some if it doesn't fit exactly on the first try.)  Pour your filling into this.  Then, you have one of two choices for your top crust.

Option 1: Roll out the second half of the dough the same way you did the bottom crust.  Lay it on top of the filling, crimp the edges of the top and bottom together as you would a pie crust, and cut 3-4 generous slits widthwise in the top to allow steam to escape.  Brush with beaten egg white if desired.

Option 2: Roll out the second half of the dough.  Cut into strips and make a lattice.  Nestle some eggs that you previously boiled and dyed down into the lattices at stategic points.  Brush with beaten egg white if desired.

Either way, bake it all at 350F for about 45 minutes-1 hour, or until the crust is golden brown, the filling is bubbly, and it looks set.  (Remember, there's uncooked eggs in there.)  Let it cool somewhat before attempting to slice it.  This should serve at least 4-6 generous helpings!
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Pizza Gein is one of my favorite all-time foods.  It's traditionally an Easter food, and I think it is definitely worth its own holiday.  As a kid, it was fun to get a piece with a boiled egg in it.  So colorful!  As an adult, making Pizza Gein gives me an excuse to dye eggs.  Oh snap!

For the original, immense batch size, click here.

Creamy Carrot Bolognese Sauce / A Fishy Mystery

I want to say again that I am so thankful that I have readers for this blog.  It really gives me a great deal of joy to chronicle my own and others' food adventures here and know that they will be enjoyed and appreciated. 

My latest adventure is another new take on a recipe from The Northend Italian Cookbook.  (I recently discovered, the 4th edition.  It's not like it was a big secret, I just usually don't take the time to read the dozens of pages of forwards and dedications and introductions and summaries that seem to accompany all published books, including even cookbooks and books of knitting patterns.)  The original recipe was for a Bolognese sauce, which is the authentic version of what we all usually think of when we picture the "meat sauce" part of "spaghetti with meat sauce".  Now, let me state for the record once again that I do not think that eating meat is intrinsically evil, especially if the animal in question was humanely raised and humanely led out of this life so that we could enjoy and benefit from it.  But, I think it is an uncontestable statement to say that we should all probably eat less meat for a variety of reasons, not the least of which because we are making ourselves FAT and are giving ourselves heart conditions and colon cancer.  So, I modified this recipe to be a good "weekday/meat free" alternative, but you could use the meat of your choice in place of the substitute I offer, which is....carrots. 

I know.  I'm a card-carrying member of the nut club in your minds now, right?  Carrots?  Carrots?  Yes, carrots.  "Why carrots?" you may ask.  Because...and here is another personal revelation...I think meat substitutes are nasty.  They start life almost flavorless (not taking into account their own natural flavors, which are usually odd, to say the least) and with a variety of textures to appall.  So I tend to avoid them in my cooking and in my eating.  So, since I've lately been exploring ways of cooking and eating less meat without sacrificing my favorite foods and flavors, I've been exploring vegetable options to replace the texture and role that the meat portion of some of my favorite recipes.  The eggplant experiment in my personal experience, wildly successful.  For further support of eggplant, I offer you this example: I once cooked some fried eggplant for a former boyfriend, who came across it later and ate it, totally unaware, he told me afterwards, that it was not the fish I had meant to cook.  So, with that in mind, I bring you:

Creamy Carrot Bolognese Sauce
4 large carrots, peeled and cubed*
1 small onion, chopped the Italian way (into slivers rather than cubes)
1 28oz (850mL) can ground or crushed tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
3-4 sprigs fresh parsley, minced
salt and pepper to taste, red pepper flakes or cayenne to taste
2/3 C. white wine (I used the aformentioned muscato)
cooking oil (olive oil, if you have it)
1/2 C. (120 mL)
about 1lb (450g) hot cooked pasta (I actually put it over cooked split peas with flavorful success, but I admit that this is a little more experimental than most people are willing to be when it comes to their Italian staples)

Heat the oil in a saucepot over medium heat.  Add in the carrots and let them sizzle and cook for about 5 minutes.  You can actually chop the rest of the things that need to be chopped while this is happening and cut your total preparation/cooking time down.  Anyhow, after the carrots have had their time in the saucepot hot tub alone, toss in the onions and garlic and let them sizzle with the carrots for another 2-3 minutes.  Add in the wine.  Let it reduce, another 2-3 minutes.  Add in the crushed tomatoes, parsley, and the seasonings.  My canned tomatoes came with some added salt, so I actually didn't put in any additional salt at all and that was just right.  Put the cover on the saucepot, reduce the heat to medium-low (a fastish simmer) and let it cook, stirring it every so often, for about 15 minutes.  You can use this time to find your pasta in the cabinet (emphasis find if you live in a place with limited cabinet space in the kitchen) and get it cooked and drained.  At the very end of the cooking time, remove the sauce from the heat and add in the cream, stirring it to blend.  The end!  Serve it over your pasta.  It's good just the way it is, although some parmesan is never amiss with most Italian dishes.  This makes a good bit of sauce.  I made a full batch and set some aside to use for eggplant parmesan.
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*Cubing carrots is not as hard as it sounds.  After you get them peeled, instead of cutting them from end to end into disks, cut each individual carrot into 2-3 sections, making your cuts where the carrot obviously changes sizes as it tapers from the big end to the small end.  Then, cut each section in half.  Cut each half into 3 strips longways.  Holding all the strips together, cut from end to end.  These are not perfect cubes, mind you.  This is not the haute cuisine cordon blue mirepoix carrot cutting method.  This is just the simplest way to get carrots into cube-like pieces.

Parmesan Patties in Onion Cream Sauce

1 lb hot cooked pasta

Patties
1 lb ground turkey
1 C. parmesan cheese
salt and pepper to taste
2 eggs

Mix all together.  (If you want, you can cook all of them with this dish, but what I did was save about 2/3rds of the mixture in the freezer as premade meatballs.  So you may want to double the sauce recipe (or more) if you want to serve all the patties at once.)  Heat 3TB (1/2 a stick of butter) in a large skillet.  Fry the patties on both sides over medium to medium-low heat (so they don't brown too fast and do get cooked all the way through).  Set aside.  DO NOT DISCARD THE BUTTER IN THE PAN.

Sauce
1 large onion, chopped into slivers (ie, stop chopping them one step before you get cubes)
1/2 C. cream
salt and pepper to taste
the rest of the stick of butter

Scrape the browned bits off the bottom of the pan.  Melt the butter in it.  Saute the onions in the pan until they are soft.  Reduce the heat to low.  Add in the cream and stir to mix well.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Pour the sauce over the turkey patties to comingle the flavors --or-- Serve each plate individually with pasta, patties, then a generous helping of sauce.
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This is my own take on a recipe from The Northend Italian Cookbook, "Saporite de Manzo".  I felt it deserved a rename because my version differs in some of the ingredients and quantities and also does NOT have any balsamic vinegar, and therefore probably tastes a lot different.

I really wanted to add some white wine to the sauce-- I had even bought some muscato at the liquor store-- but the cheap corkscrew I bought literally broke off in the bottle.  It was a hot mess.  I had to dig most of the cork out crumb by crumb with: a steak knife, my bare hands, and a long knitting needle.  The rest came out stuck to the bottom of the corkscrew or ended up in my wine.  Ugh.  So, needless to say, my wine-adding plans were scuttled when the corkscrew broke off in my wine bottle, since making a sauce is a time-sensitive operation that doesn't really allow for 30 minutes of cork-mining and I therefore had to set that project aside and finish making my dinner.  If you want to add wine, what you would do is: after you've removed the cooked patties from the cooking pan, add in the wine (about 1/4 C.) and let it bubble and moil about while you scrape the brown bits off the bottom of the pan.  Then, once all that's done with, add in the additional butter and continue with the recipe as written.  However, the oniony sauce as it is was pretty good, especially mixed with the flavor of the parmesan cheese in the patties.

When I made my pasta, I actually cooked a half pound of pasta and a half pound of frozen peas together.  I think it was yummy, but you could go with plain pasta, too.

Some Italian Mystery Ingredients, Revealed

This is not a recipe post as such, but a suggestion post.  I recently tried some recipes out of The Northend Italian Cookbook, which Grandmom gave me with high recommendations, and they were delicious.  Now, that cookbook is relatively current, and I feel bad about potentially defrauding the author, Maria DeMino Buonopane, who looks like a very nice woman based on her author photograph on the back.  So, I'm not going to include those exact recipes here.  However, I did discover by trying out those recipes the answers to some culinary mysteries and, since I have been eating those culinary mysteries from Grandmom's kitchen my whole life I don't feel that it's unethical to reproduce those here.

Mystery #1: Why does Grandmom's tomato sauce taste so good, and so different from, jarred sauce?

The first thing that jumps to your mind (as it did to mine) was a matter of freshness, seasoning, and ingredient choice.  However, the ingredients used (and not used) in the pasta sauce I buy are almost identical (as far as I knew) to the homemade variety.  In addition, jarred sauce avoids the metalic taste from traditional canning.  Still, it just wasn't the same.  Through happy accident, I discovered mystery ingredient number 1, and The Northend Italian Cookbook revealed the second mystery ingredient.

Tomato Sauce Mystery Ingredient #1: rendered meat fat.

If you brown your sausages, meatballs, porkchops (yes, porkchops) or whatever meat you plan on putting in your tomato sauce in your sauce pot first, set them aside, and then proceed to make the sauce, your sauce will have this delicious meaty quality.  (You will still need to add some olive oil after you remove the meat from the pan so you can saute your onions and garlic-- just not as much.)  After you've got the sauce looking like a sauce, add the meat back in and cook everything all together the way you would a meat-free sauce-- about 1 hour on a low simmer. 

Tomato Sauce Mystery Ingredient #2: fresh mint!

I haven't tried this in a meat sauce like the one I describe above,  but in a meat-free red sauce, the fresh mint in delicious.  Instead of the pepperiness of fresh basil (also good) you get a milder zip, as well as the sweetening qualities of mint.  I think this is why commercial tomato sauce typically has added sugar.  But it just can't compare.

Mystery #2: When I saute garlic for a dish, it just doesn't have as much garlicky goodness as when Grandmom does it.

Mystery Step: Frizzle the garlic in a ton of oil.  Half-burn it.  We're cooking Italian, right?  If you want less garlic, go eat a taco.  For a sauce I don't know if I would recommend doing it this way.  However, for something that has garlic as a main flavor (for example the broccoli rabe recipe I posted recently), don't be shy on the number of cloves you use, and once you've minced your garlic, heat about 3-5 TB. oil in a pan until it's hot!!!! and then throw in your garlic.  Push it around in the pan a few times to keep it from actually burning, but it should turn a deep golden brown and even puff up a little.  Basically you're deep-frying garlic on a very small scale.  But the result is an oil full of a bold, nutty garlic flavor, perfect for dipping bread in, pouring over fresh cooked greens, or tossing into pasta with some parmesan cheese.

Butteriest Butter / Great-grandmom Pulls her Tricks

You know that butter you get in a seafood restaurant to dip your crab legs or lobster in?  That butter that is somehow the epitome of butter, and of the concept of butteriness?  Well, today I discovered how to make it.  No, it's not just melted butter.  And no, it's definitely not vegetarian.  But it's great on anything!

1 stick of butter
1 clove of garlic, minced
3 anchovy filets, drained and patted dry (I didn't pat mine, but I guess you could)

Melt the butter in a small saucepan.  Once it's all melted and also stopped foaming for the most part (only a few seconds after it finishes melting), toss in the minced garlic and let it sizzle for a few seconds.  Then, remove the butter from the heat and throw in the anchovy filets.  Mash them up as much as you can, prefereably with a wooden spoon.
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That's it.  I served it over cooked cauliflower today and I couldn't get enough of it.  Not that I dislike cauliflower to begin with.  I am an adult and buy my own groceries, so I don't have to eat cauliflower if I didn't like it.  Which I do, and I did.  But that was some of the most badass cauliflower I've ever eaten.  This sauce was also poured over hot cooked spaghetti or linguine by Great-grandmom Canduci, and while I can't recall ever having it, my mom liked it so much that, despite not even liking anchovies, she still remembers that pasta and how delicious it was.  The secret is that you can't taste the anchovies, at least not in the traditional sense.  They are definitely the "secret ingredient", but the end product is not fishy or even oily.  Just buttery.  So deliciously buttery!

Grand-grandmom Canduci was a card.  I got reminded of some good stories about her when I was putting up the broccoli rabe post, and decided I would share them.

Gardening: see "How to Get a Free Trip to the Grocery Store"

Great-grandmom was a wiley and resourceful old fox and, according to her children, a wiley and resourceful young fox too.  Great-grandmom's method of getting stuff done around the house that she needed to delegate or just didn't want to do herself was to rope the unsuspecting bystander (read: family member) in with a statement something along the lines of "Hey, can you come help me with this?"  Who's to turn down a sweet old Italian lady?  HAH!  Inevitably you would look up from pulling weeds or whatever it was you were "helping her" with and she would be gone!  She even did this to me with the crab grass in her front walk, and she died when I was about 8 years old so I know I must have been a fairly small child at the time.  Wiley indeed!  To pull her tricks even with a little child!  I remember the deep sense of irritation I felt. 

This is also the method Great-grandmom used when, in her later years, she needed a ride to the grocery store.  "Can you give me ride?  Is on the way!" she would ask innocently.  "Of course!" was the only allowable answer-- remember, this is the woman who smacked her own adult sons with the wooden spoon she was cooking with for failing to compliment her cooking.  (FYI: the answer is always "Oh, it is so delicious," to an Italian woman.  Otherwise: smacking.)  So, the driver in question would load up Great-grandmom and drive over the the Acme ("Ack-em-mah") and she would then turn to them and say, innocently, "Oh, can you help me carry groceries?  Is only a few things.  Short trip."  So, the driver would get out of the car (remember, at this point she or he has been promised that it will be "short trip" that is "on the way", meaning the driver still has other business to attend to) and become more and more incredulous as Great-grandmom worked her way through the entire grocery and at least one full cartload.  It's obvious that her victims (read: family members) were truly fooled only a few times.  But what are you going to say to Great-grandmom?  No?  No.  In fact, you beat her at her own game, if you could, by claiming to have a strict appointment that you were running late for, or almost out of gas.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

Broccoli Rabe A Thousand Ways

1 bunch broccoli rabe
2-3 cloves of garlic, minced
1 onion, sliced into strips

Steam the broccoli rabe 1-2 minutes.  Strain and saute in olive oil with the onions and garlic until all are soft.  Serve hot as a side dish, over pasta, or on a kaiser roll.  Makes about 4 servings.
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I don't think I've posted this one before, although it feels like I have because Broccoli Rabe is such a common ingredient both in the recipes in this blog and in Italian cooking in general.  Let me let you in on a little-known secret about Italians: we love vegetables.  Especially soft, summer vegetables like Broccoli Rabe, green beans, zucchini, and, to a certain extent, tomatoes.  If you've been reading this blog awhile, you can probably guess what I'm about to tell you.  We love vegetables because vegetables are cheap.  Think about it.  Nonna and Mama can have their house lot-sized vegetable gardens out back with free children/grandchildren labor all summer, can the bojangles out of what everybody eventually gets sick of eating, and going to the store becomes almost unnecessary.  Throw some chickens into the mix and it isn't. 

This is pretty much how Grandmom grew up.  Whatever meat the family had frequently came out of the backyard (this was before home owners' associations) or out of the river or woods nearby courtesy of her father and brothers' hunting efforts.  My great uncles still take a great amount of pride in having regularly put meat on the table all those years ago. 

This recipe is straight off my Great-grandmom Canduci's table, and straight off of Grandmom's too.  She still makes it for me whenever I go to visit her because it was one of my favorite dishes growing up.  And that, my friends, is what they call "The Mediterranean Diet." Not that there aren't any fat Italian kids out there.  I'm sure there are, what with all the "eat eat" and "finish finish", ending with "no throw away, MUST NOT WASTE!"  I'm pretty sure that whole "you don't have to clean your plate" movement skipped the Italians, at least in this country.

Broccoli Rabe Patties

About 1 lb broccoli rabe (also known as "rapini")
1-2 eggs
1/2 to 1 C. fresh bread crumbs
oil for frying

Steam the broccoli rabe until done, 2-5 minutes.  Strain, let cool slightly, then chop into small pieces.  In a bowl, mix together the broccoli rabe, eggs, and fresh breadcrumbs*.  Make into patties and fry like a hamburger in a little oil.  Serve as is or on a bun!
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*I say fresh breadcrumbs because they're basically the only binder in this recipe.  Otherwise you would just have an omelet, also very Italian, but which does not fit the recipe's description of something you can "fry like a hamburger".  For the record, the original recipe omitted the instruction to make them into patties, but did stipulate that you fry it like a hamburger.  Hamburgers come in patties right?  Judi, please correct me if I'm misreading the original recipe.

Pan-Fried Zucchini Flower Omelet

Several dozen zucchini flowers (enough to make 1-2 C.)
1 green pepper, chopped
1 onion, chopped italian style*
1 zucchini, sliced thinly
1 potato, sliced thinly -or- green tomatoes, chopped and sugared
4 eggs
salt to taste
olive oil for cooking

Wash the zucchini flowers and saute in a little oil just for a little bit.  (They will cook fast.)  In a separate skillet, saute the rest of the vegetables until tender, starting from hardest to softest.  (IE if you opt for potato, put it in the pan first, then the zucchini, then the green peppers, then the onion.  Otherwise, go zucchini, peppers, onion, tomato.  That way they'll all get done about the same time.)  When the other vegetables are all cooked, add in the zucchini flowers and a little more oil.  Beat the eggs, and add in the salt.  Pour the egg mixture over the vegetables in the skillet, then reduce the heat to medium low and let the egg cook until set, swirling it around in the pan a little once it's set enough to come loose in a single piece.  Serve as is or on kaiser rolls. 
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I confess to getting a little lazy.  I looked at my post list and realized that it was still February the last time I posted anything.  Then I found this recipe among the ones Judi gave me to put up here.  How could I not post this!

Red Sauce with Crabs

12 small crabs*
olive oil for sauteing
6-8 cloves of garlic
a splash of red wine
Tomato sauce made with: 3 big and 2 little tomatoes, a little sugar, fresh basil to taste, and 2 bay leaves

Clean the crabs and saute them with the garlic in a little olive oil.  Add in the rest of the ingredients and cook until done.**
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*This reminds me of the time Grandmom and I decided to eat crabs since I was up there and Grandmom therefore had justification for buying them.  We both love seafood.  Grandpop does not.  Or rather, he didn't before their marriage, went through a 20-year period where he did like it after being tricked into eating it, much the same way he learned to appreciate rabbit, and then in recent years has returned to his original seafood-hating state.  So we went to the grocery store to purchase some crabs, which in New Jersey is not a difficult thing to do.  But lo and behold!  That day, there were no large, luscious Alaskan crab legs or Snow crab legs for us to take home and boil up with a hint of Old Bay and dunk in hot melted butter.  No.  The only crabs to be gotten in the midst of the summer were little blue crabs.  So we bought them, and took them home, and made this sauce with them, which we ate on top of linguine.  The funny part is that you have to understand that when this recipe says "clean the crabs" it doesn't mean "take all the meat out of the shells"-- it just means "run them bad boys under some water so you don't eat sand and crab poop."  So the crabs should be, and were, in shell.  Hard shells.  And they were little crabs.  So, we started out with a serving platter piled high, I mean high, with tiny cooked crabs, and we, seafood lovers that we are, and stubborn people that we are, commenced to eating them.  When we conceded that we were done, two and a half hours later, we had made it about 3/4ths of the way down, sucking every tiny claw to its very core along the way.  Grandpop had left the table after finishing his non-seafood alternative about a half-hour into the crab festival muttering something about how we were eating too much.  But, as anybody who has ever tried to eat a tiny crab can tell you, there ain't a lot of meat in them tiny crabs.  I think we got more calories from the linguine.  But it was a delicious and messy experience and, honestly, that's what eating crabs should be.

**"Until done."  Possibly the two most obscure words in the English language.  It assumes so much of the recipe reader, like that they know what done is, what it looks like, and about how long it takes to get there.  In this case, you should have a nice saucy tomato sauce (not cooked salsa), and your crabs should be safe to consume without fear of horrible digestive consequences.  So at least 30 minutes on medium-low (think "simmer").  Maybe an hour.  An added benefit to making this sauce is that you have deliciously crabby red sauce left long after you finish off your tiny crabs, which you can soak into good Italian bread (the sauce, not the tiny crabs) or coat more luxurious pasta with.  A good pasta sauce should go a long way.

Pickled Green Tomatoes

As many green tomatoes as you want!
plenty of salt, olive oil, fresh peppermint and leaves, sliced garlic cloves, and hot peppers

Slice the green tomatoes.  Salt them well and let them sit at least 12 hours.  Rinse them and, in prepared jars, layer the tomatoes with the fresh herbs and sliced garlic, and fill the remaining space with olive oil.  Stuff whole hot peppers down the side of the jar or wherever you can find space.*  Put the lids on the jar and can as appropriate.  Serve on slices of Italian bread.**

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It's Lent, and Lent reminds me that springtime is just around the corner, and the fresh bright taste of pickles is just what I need to suit my mood.  Technically, pickles tend to be more of a fall-winter thing, I know-- it's what you do when you're sick of eating whatever your garden is producing fresh and what you eat when the trees and garden are bare.  Maybe that's why I think of pickles in the springtime, then-- it's the freshest thing around until the first peas and baby carrots come up.  Great-grandmom Canduci made plenty of pickles in her day, as well as Great-grandpop Canduci, who is still known for his homemade smoked sausage.  Apparently the girls of the family got out of the sausage making and procuring festivities.  So while my Grandmom and her sisters were at home making pickles, my Great-uncles were off learning the ins and outs of hog-slaughtering!

*If you're new to canning, I will warn you now: spicy things get spicier the longer they sit.  I guess the flavors have a longer amount of time to come out of the food.  But the point is: don't put too many hot peppers in your tomatoes, because however hot the resulting combination is today, it will literally double, triple, and quadruple its hotness over the space of a few weeks and months.

**Drool.  If there's anything better than good Italian cooking, it's good Italian cooking served alongside a good, fresh, crusty-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside Italian bread.  It should scrub your gums a little (and hold up to a dip in the soup) but be flavorful enough to take unsalted butter in liberal amounts without a processed bread aftertaste.  In Riverside, you can buy this bread at the supermarket and pay about $2 for it.  New Jersey shoppers laugh in the face of Trader Joe's and Whole Foods for the most part, which peddle things we can get or make on our own under the guise of "gourmet" or "exotic" items.  It is a sad state of things when a good loaf of bread is exotic and saleable at exotic prices. 

Oven Baked Chicken

The Simplest Chicken Recipe Ever

1 roaster chicken
potatoes, washed and peeled, and cut into large chunks (at least 1potato per person)
garlic powder
oregano
salt

Put the potatoes in the bottom of your baking dish, which is preferably a deep but not necessarily large or wide glass dish or casserole.  Rinse the chicken in the sink.  If you're buying your chicken in the US, take out the bag of organs stuffed, aptly, in the chicken's body cavity.*  Season it all over with the garlic powder, oregano, and salt, all to taste, but make sure to rub all of these well into the chicken's skin.  Place the seasoned bird on top of the potatoes in your dish, and then bake it at 350-400F for about 1 hour, or until fully cooked.**
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*In the Canduci family, you don't throw the guts away, you save them and make something else out of them at a later time.  Like gravy.  But people tend to have strong feelings about organ meat, so I'm not going to try to sell them on anybody in this post.

**I don't buy into that BS about "until the chicken reaches 160F internally."  A) Even if you have a meat thermometer, you have to be a meat thermometer pro not to stick it in some part of the relatively small chicken that is going to give you an inaccurate picture of how hot your chicken is.  B) Meat (and most other things) continue cooking after they're removed from the source of heat (this is why you should run your hand under cool water for about 10 minutes after your burn it), so waiting until the chicken is, thermally speaking, "cooked" to remove it from the oven pretty much guarantees it will be over-cooked by the time you eat it, unless you're in the habit of plunging your chicken in an icewater bath immediately after you take it out of the oven.  There is a better way than getting salmonella or taking your chicken on a polar bear swim.  Cook the chicken at the oven temperature the recipe recommends for 30 minutes per pound of chicken.  After that time, take it out, make a slice into the breast, and inspect the color of the meat and juice.  If the meat is light pink or white and the juice is clear, your chicken is, for all practical purposes, done with its time in the oven.  If the meat is dark pink, or if the juice is pink or bloody, put the chicken back in for at least another 15 minutes and then check it again.  (More like 30 minutes if the meat is a pretty dark pink, and if it looks "rare", well, you've got 45 minutes looking at you between now and dinner.  Sorry, just sayin'.)  After it's done according to the above guidelines, remove it from the oven and let it sit out on the counter, covered in a little tinfoil tent for about 5-10 minutes.  If you feel crafty you can even stick your meat thermometer in the appropriate place on the chicken (or leave it in there, if you were using it all along) and watch the temperature of the chicken continue to rise as it sits on the counter.

White Spaghetti with Chicken

1-1/2 to 2 lbs chicken, defatted and cut into pieces
5-6 garlic cloves, sliced
1 large onion, chopped
olive oil for cooking
1/4 C. red wine
parsley and salt and pepper to taste
1-2 pototoes, cubed
1 1/2 C. frozen peas
1 lb spaghetti, cooked

In hot oil, fry the chicken pieces just a little bit-- don't let them get brown.  Then add in the onion, garlic, parsley, and potatoes.  Add in the red wine and let everything simmer uncovered for about 10 minutes.  Add in 4-5 glasses* of water-- enough to cover the chicken-- and the package of frozen peas.  Let it simmer until there is enough sauce for the spaghetti.  (Note from 4/89-- "Too much water.")
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Mystery Ingredient solved: it was a quantifiable amount of peas.  There is still no direction on spaghetti, but I'm guessing that is due to the cooking style of Great-grandmom, which basically dictated that you put in as much spaghetti as you have people to feed, and they'll eat it and like it!

Okay, first things first.  There is a mystery ingredient that I need to get with my cousin Judi to clarify what it is.  It may be spaghetti, since it's not (as far as I can tell) mentioned in this recipe other than in the title.  The 1 lb is my thought on how much spaghetti you would need to go with this sauce.

*I'm not sure if Great-grandmom Canduci was talking about her juice glasses (6 oz.) or water tumblers (12-16oz.)  Either way, it's a lot of water.  Based on the rest of the recipe, what I would do is get to the point where you would be adding in the water and peas, and add in the peas first.  Then, stir everything around in the pot so it's in an even layer on the bottom, with chicken pieces and onions and the like peeking up amongst the peas.  Then I would add in enough water to just go over the top of the peas and proceed as directed.

Zucchini Bread

3 eggs
2-1/4 C. sugar
2 C. shredded zucchini*
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 C. chopped nuts
1-1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 C. oil
3 C. flour
4 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. salt

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Mix together the eggs, oil, and zucchini.  In a separate bowl, whisk together** all of the dry ingredients except the nuts.  Combine the two mixtures, then fold in the nuts***.  Grease and flour two loaf pans.  Pour the batter equally into the two pans and bake for one hour or until they pass the toothpick test****.  Let cool before slicing.  Good with butter on top!
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"Good with butter on top!"  Once I got to four stars, I just gave up.  I think everything is good with butter on top, especially all things bread. 

****"The toothpick test" is what I call that part of the recipe that goes "until a toothpick inserted [in the middle] comes out clean."  Excuse me, but what middle, what is the definition of "clean", and why is this important?  All questions I used to ask myself when I was a less-experienced baker.  So I'm going to answer them for you. 

1) "In the middle": in all honesty, the best test is to poke the baked item in two or three places, one of which should be the middle, or the thickest part, whichever is thicker.

2) "the definition of clean": depends on your baked good.  For example, since this a fairly moist sweet bread, I would consider "toothpick emerges with a few moist crumbs sticking to it" to indicate doneness.  For a full-on cake (like a yellow cake or pound cake) I would hold out until the toothpick came out with nothing on it.  If at any time gooey stuff, even gooey crumbs, are apparent on your toothpick, put that bad boy back in the oven and try again in a few minutes.  While we're on the subject, unless you want to heat the whole house with your oven, get you some hot pads, take the baking pan fully out of the oven and close the oven door while you're checking it.  This prevents additional baking time while the oven regains all the heat lost while you crouched in front of the oven door doing the toothpick test.  (It goes without saying...or does it?...that you then set your baking dish on some other heat resistant surface like the stovetop after closing the oven but before trying to stick a toothpick in it.)  Incidentally, spellcheck wanted me to replace "stovetop" with "stevedore."  I don't think a stevedore would appreciate a hot baking dish being set on top of him, and since he's a stevedore he, like a mule (according to my uncle) is big enough to do something about it.

3) This is important because otherwise you will have pancake batter on your plate instead of a luscious fully-cooked baked good when you go to cut it.

***"Fold in the nuts": saving the nuts for last ensures that they are fully incorporated, and also prevents them sinking to the bottom of your bread while it bakes.

**Some people bother to sift things with an actual sifter.  Some recipes call for "thus and such amount sifted ingredient" which is a crafty way of saying "first sift this and get [ingredient] all over your countertop, then try to measure fairy dust, then repeat when you only have half as much as you need."  I avoid those recipes.  This recipe calls for the amount you need to dump out of the flour jar into the bowl.  Then use a wire whisk (like you use for scrambled eggs) and whisk all the dry stuff with the whisk.  It fluffs up your dry ingredients so your bread will be light and causes that much less heartache in he kitchen.  It's neater, too.

*Now the zucchini, on the other hand...shred you some zucchini.  If you happen to have a garden, rejoice in the amount of whole zucchinis you need to make up 2 cups of shredded zucchini.