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.