PEAS AND MACARONI

SERVES 4

This reminds us of coming home from school. It was always, “What’re we eatin’ tonight?” “Peas and macaroni.” It was cheap, it was fast, and it was also very delicious. Healthy, too, probably, with the peas. You start by browning the onions with the meat so they get soft and caramelized, then you add the peas and a coupla scoops of tomato sauce. And while the pasta—usually the little baby shells—is cooking, you chop up a bunch of potatoes and fry ’em. Everybody did this a little different—Fran’s mom liked to put the potatoes right in with the grease from the sausage and onions. Sal’s mom liked to fry ’em separate in a frying pan. We liked it better that way, because it had an almost French fry effect. But it’s all good—especially when you top it with some grated cheese.

Salt

2 pounds ground beef or sweet Italian sausages, casings removed

2 Spanish onions, sliced

4 small potatoes, peeled and cut into cubes

Black pepper

4 cups Marinara Sauce (here)

2 (15-ounce) cans green peas, drained

1 pound short pasta, like ditalini

8 tablespoons (1 stick) salted butter

Grated pecorino, for serving

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.

In a large pan, brown the sausages over medium-high heat, breaking them up with your spoon as they cook. When some of the fat from the sausages has rendered into the pan, add the onions and cook until they’re soft. If you want to try it Fran’s mom’s way, add the potatoes now, with some salt and pepper to taste, and let the mixture simmer until the potatoes are easily pierced with a knife or fork, 5 to 7 minutes. Otherwise, throw in the marinara and the peas, and let simmer while you make the potatoes in a separate pan. If you’re goin’ that route, heat some oil in a frying pan and cook the potatoes with some salt and pepper until they’re golden on all sides, 5 to 7 minutes.

While the sausages and potatoes cook, cook the pasta in boiling water according to the package directions until al dente. Drain the pasta and add it to the sausage mixture. Stir in the butter until it has melted, toss, and serve with some cheese sprinkled on top.

 

CAULIFLOWER AND MACARONI

SERVES 4

If we had to pick one person we automatically think of when it comes to this dish, it would be our grandfather—sittin’ at the table, usin’ paper towels instead of napkins, a big bowl of grated cheese with a spoon in it sittin’ nearby, and him just eatin’ cauliflower and macaroni. He made this dish at least a few times a week, which is how our mothers started makin’ it. It’s one of Sal’s mom Bella’s favorite things to make in the house and was probably one of the top ten things we ate during the week. This dish, along with Cauliflower Fritters (here), was a great way to get us to eat our cauliflower.

1 head cauliflower

½ cup olive oil

10 garlic cloves, sliced

1 (16-ounce) can tomato sauce

2 teaspoons salt

½ teaspoon black pepper

1 pound of your favorite pasta (Grandpa liked linguine)

6 tablespoons grated pecorino

Peel the green leaves from the outside of the cauliflower, trim off the stem, and give the head a rinse under cold water, pat it dry, then give it a rough chop.

In a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil, garlic, and cauliflower over medium heat until hot. When the garlic begins to brown, add the tomato sauce, salt, pepper, and 1 cup water and bring to a simmer. Cook until the cauliflower is fork-tender but not completely mushy, 15 to 20 minutes.

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta according to the package directions until al dente. Drain the pasta and toss it in the pan with the cauliflower mixture. Sprinkle with the cheese and serve.

 

BEANS AND MACARONI

SERVES 10

In the restaurant, we’d call this dish pasta e fagioli (“pasta fajool”), and we were known for it in Staten Island. But it’s really just a fancy way of sayin’ pasta and beans. This was another dish that our mothers loved to make in the house, or if we were at our grandparents’ house, it would be the pasta course.

At the restaurant, this was more of a soup. You’d have the beans and broth in a pot, ready to be portioned out, and when you needed an order you’d pour a coupla ladles over macaroni that was already made, ’cause if you cooked the macaroni in the pot, it’d turn to mush. At home, though, you cook the macaroni right into the soup mix. First, you take your bacon, veg, and tomato sauce and cook, cook, cook. Then come the beans and the stock, then the macaroni, right inta the pot. That way, the starch from the pasta thickens the whole thing, almost like a gumbo. A lot of people use prosciutto, or at least they don’t use Oscar Mayer bacon. But we can tell. Seriously—if you don’t use Oscar Mayer bacon, it’s not really our recipe.

1 cup olive oil

2 pounds bacon, preferably Oscar Mayer, chopped

2 white onions, chopped

1½ bunches celery, chopped

2 tablespoons chopped garlic

1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, leaves and stems chopped

3 cups Cooked Sauce (here)

8 (14-ounce) cans cannellini beans (do not drain)

2 quarts chicken broth

8 pinches (1½ to 2 teaspoons) of salt

1 tablespoon black pepper

2 pounds ditalini pasta

Grated pecorino, for serving

In a large saucepot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook until it is crispy, about 10 minutes.

Add the onions, celery, garlic, and parsley and sauté until the onions are soft, about 5 minutes. Stir in the tomato sauce and cook for 10 minutes more.

Empty the beans into the pot, then pour the stock into the empty cans to make sure you’ve cleaned out every last bit (that’s what’s going to thicken the sauce, so make sure you don’t skip this step), then pour the broth into the soup. Season with the salt and pepper and bring the sauce to a boil. Add the pasta and cook according to the package directions until al dente. Serve with pecorino for sprinkling.

VARIATION: ADD SOME ESCAROLE

If you want to get some greens into this, take 3 heads of escarole and rinse ’em really well in cold water to get out all the grit. Give ’em a rough chop and add ’em to the pot with the beans.

ESCAROLE JUICE

Whenever our grandmother made plain boiled escarole, she’d save the green juice that was left over and drink it. She believed it was healthy for you, good for the stomach and digestion. Then she’d put the leftover green juice in the fridge and every once in a while warm it up and have a glass.

 

CHICHI BEANS AND RICE

SERVES 2 TO 4

This was another thing that was on the table at least once a week. We were the only people we knew who had white rice with tomato sauce on it, but it was delicious, not to mention cheap, filling, and easy to make. You just had to take the sauce, heat it up, throw a can of chichi beans in it (spelled ceci but pronounced “chichi”—either way, they’re chickpeas), pour it over rice and throw some grated cheese over it, and that was it. That’s what you were eatin’.

2 tablespoons olive oil

4 garlic cloves, minced

1 (28-ounce) can chichi beans, drained and rinsed

Salt and black pepper

2 cups Cooked Sauce (here)

1 cup dry white rice, cooked according to the package directions

In a saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté until it begins to brown. Add the beans and season with salt and pepper. After 2 to 3 minutes, pour in the tomato sauce and ½ cup water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to maintain a simmer and cook for about 10 minutes. Mix in the cooked rice and serve.