Amore e risata nella cucina e Manicotti

In honor of certain family members coming to visit; I give you, my readers (reader count=3), a rare glimpse into my most sacred of places. Now, now, now, get your mind out of the gutter (at least for a moment)! I am not speaking of anything necessarily torrid, no. Rather, I am referring to the most sacred of my kitchen's recipes-Italian food. To say that this fills me with anything but passion would be a sin. Passion is a word my family throws around to describe a most desirable state of being. This word is used as an excuse for some of our naughtier behavior, but also to show our great commitment to la bella vita! My mother's family taught me to live life to the fullest, and when we cook, we throw ourselves into the art of food.

Growing up the oldest of eleven grandchildren, and the daughter of a daughter of the family's matriarch, gifted me with a unique glimpse of our family and its history. The smell of myhr, the incantation of latin hymnals, the lilting lines and sounds of Luciano Pavarotti's incomparable vocals all created a background for the family magic that I was steeped in. My mother's family was a family of women. That is not to say that the men were not important, and dynamic, but they were grossly outnumbered. So it was among the women and their very vocal and sometimes silent exchanges that I learned what it meant to be a strong, beautiful, Italian woman. I was blessed to watch them dancing around the kitchen to whatever opera happened to be playing in the background as they diced, chopped, kneaded, rolled, filled, and magically created dishes that could bring the men to their knees. This was not cooking, this was alchemy.

I have altered certain recipes to my liking over the years, but I believe that I have not strayed from the original too much. And so I offer a rare glimpse of a recipe that I will be creating myself this weekend for your pleasure.

Enjoy,
The Epicurious Gypsy

Extra Virign Olive Oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
14 (8-ounce package) manicotti
1 (15-ounce) container skim-milk ricotta
3 cups shredded mozzarella
1 cup grated Parmesan-Romano
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat leaf parsley leaves
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups marinara sauce (use your favorite, mine is an ancient secret, and if I told you I'd have to kill you)
2 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces

Directions
Brush 1 teaspoon of oil over a large baking sheet. Cook the manicotti in a large pot of boiling salted water until slightly softened, but still very firm to the bite, about 4 to 6 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the manicotti from the pot to the oiled baking sheet and cool.
Meanwhile, combine the ricotta, 1 1/2 to 2 cups mozzarella cheese, 1/2 cup Parmesan-Romano, and parsley. Add the garlic, salt, and pepper to taste, and mix.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Brush 2 teaspoons of oil over a 13 by 9 by 2-inch glass baking dish. Spoon 1 1/2 cups of the marinara sauce over the bottom of the prepared dish. Fill the manicotti with the cheese mixture (use a small ziploc with a corner cut to fill the holes). Arrange the stuffed pasta in a single layer in the prepared dish and spoon the remaining sauce over.
Sprinkle the remaining 1 1/2 cups of mozzarella cheese, then the remaining 1/2 cup of Parmesan-Romano over the stuffed pasta. Dot entire dish with the butter pieces. Bake the manicotti uncovered until heated through and the sauce bubbles on the sides of the dish, about 30 to 35 minutes. Let the manicotti stand 5 minutes and serve.

Shirley Temple, All Grown Up (or How to Make an Amaretto Cherry Sour)

In keeping with the spirit of exploring the culture of my environment, I must include a tiny bit of background information from time to time. Therefore dear readers (reader count=2), I have included some information about my early days in Atlanta for your perusal. My love affair with music, and it is a love affair--picture cerulean blue skies and couples embracing in frozen locked kisses as the camera makes wide arching circles while a chorus bursts into song, must be contributed to my mother's large Italian family. I have always thought of them as a merry band of dark hued gypsies, each with a God given talent for singing or playing any and all assortment of musical instruments. I imagine that my mother sang to both my sister and myself while we nested comfortably in her womb, not knowing what madness awaited in the bustling world outside. Whereas my sister most likely sang along, her stunningly gorgeous voice in harmony with our mother's superior soprano; I imagine that my mother's trilling acapella had me rhythmically swinging my tiny arms and legs. I burst from the womb with no other talent for music than my infant screams. None the less, my family's love of music had an indelible affect on me. I came into this world dancing. This love affair can not be compared with my love for music, for these two loves are incomparable but completely compatible. My love for dance is not sugar coated for the masses, no. It is lusty, gutsy, and sometimes down right mean. Dance moves me from a place deep within the hidden folds of my psyche--a place churning with primordial ooze and vibrating with the rapid rhythm of tribal drums.

Take a spin in my DeLorean DMC-12, and fast forward about 20 years.  The year is 1997 and the city of Atlanta is abuzz with transients and growth due in no small part to the 1996 Olympics. I am one of the masses looking for the promise of a bright future, and my version of the American Dream. A shy, dark haired, and undereducated young girl seeking out her place in the big, scary world. Much to my surprise I find others like myself, moved by the beats rising up through the primordial ooze. I began my dark descent at a little dive by the name of 688. By the light of day I was a serious young woman making my way through the working ranks, but at night I relinquished my need for control and gave in to my most base desires. I'm sorry to say that sounds far more scandalous than it truly is--you see these desires have almost always been fed simply on the dance floor. If there were a soundtrack for this sordid double life it would most certainly begin with this song: Alien Sex Fiend's "I Walk the Line". And if there were a drink that symbolizes my sweet, but sometimes sour nature it would be the Amaretto Cherry Sour. This sweet, and somewhat sour drink is a nod to all of the Shirley Temple, Roy Robins drink ordering kiddies out there. I do not recommend ordering this drink at any of your more serious bars, as they will most likely laugh in your face, however this is on my short list of guilty pleasures, and in the pursuit of honesty I have included the recipe below. Readers, laugh all you want, but give it a try anyway I promise your little kiddie hearts will not be disappointed, and your alcoholic palettes will be pleasantly pleased.

Enjoy,

Epicurious Gypsy

  

Ingredients:

2 oz. amaretto liqueur

1 oz. sweet and sour mix

1 tbsp. grenadine

2 oz. lemon lime soda

Baby Steps and Southern Food

This is my first official foray into the world of blogging. My intention is to take you all (current readers=zero) with me on my travels. We begin our journey on my home turf of Atlanta, GA. That's right the A, or ATL, but never ever Hotlanta (uttering this bygone phrase is a surefire way to piss off any native and to reveal yourself as an uneducated tourist of our fair city). I have signed a beautifully contracted deal with the devil, and consequently will be spending the next year of my life in the tropics of Thailand. As I plan to immerse myself in their beautiful culture with all of my senses I will take my readers with me by sharing a recipe a week that is sure to make your mouth water and leave you with echoes of angels singing.

So let us begin with Atlanta. I first moved here 13 years ago--yes, I was just a child, thank you for noticing ;) As a tried and true GDI (that's God Damned Independent for you Yanks) I was shocked by the sweltering heat you could cut with a knife, the iced tea so sweet you could pour it on pancakes, and the food, the food! Chopped, diced, filleted but however you cut it was always one thing--fried. After trying my Northern hand at the Southern art of frying (and failing miserably), I resigned myself to only partaking in the golden, savory crunch of these foods at various restaurants around town. Atlanta is a sun drenched treasure trove of eateries. Don't be fooled, not everything is fried. Beignets at brunch? Ethiopian in the early hours? Lange de Boeuf at lunch? Shawarma at supper? Mediterranean at midnight? Whatever you are looking for, Atlanta's vast array of dining wonders has got you covered. But let's get back to the simplicity of Southern dining, and since this our first meeting let us begin in the beginning. Southern appetizers come in an array of flavors, but none so decidedly Southern as the one and only Fried Green Tomato. I first discovered this golden, crunchy, savory, sweet vegetable at a dive that will remain nameless. First impressions are lasting, but no woman worth her salt will only try something once. It was upon my second tasting at the decadent South City Kitchen that I fell in love. Their recipe will easily stand up to anyone else's in my book, and I have included it for your dining pleasure below.

Enjoy,
The Epicurious Gypsy

Ingredients:


For the tomatoes:
3 large green tomatoes

Salt and black pepper to taste

12 tablespoons of softened goat cheese

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

4 eggs, well beaten

2 cups bread crumbs

Salt and pepper to taste

Oil for frying

1/4 pound dandelion greens, washed and dried



For the sauce:
3 sweet red peppers, seeded and cut into large pieces

1 onion, chopped

1 teaspoon chopped garlic

1 sprig thyme

5 basil leaves

2 cups chicken stock or tomato juice

1/4 cup white wine or vinegar

1/4 cup granulated sugar

Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions:

To make the tomatoes: Slice tomatoes into 4 or 5 1/4-inch slices. Season with salt and pepper. Spread goat cheese on each slice liberally. Dust lightly in flour. Then dip each into beaten eggs and coat with bread crumbs. Refrigerate.

To make the sauce: Saute peppers, onions and garlic in a medium saucepan over medium heat until soft, about 15 minutes. Add thyme, basil leaves, chicken stock, white wine, sugar, salt and pepper. Cover and simmer 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Puree in food processor or blender and season to taste.

To finish: As sauce cooks, heat oil in a deep-fat fryer to 350 degrees. Remove tomatoes from refrigerator, and with a slotted spoon, lower them into the hot oil and fry until golden brown and crisp on all sides. (If you don't want to deep-fry, tomatoes may also be fried on both sides in about 1 inch of hot oil.) Drain on paper towels. Add dandelion greens to the hot oil and fry until crisp.

Cut tomatoes in half. Pour pureed sauce onto plates and top with tomatoes. Place greens on top or side.