RIGATONI with EGGPLANT, MEATBALLS, and TOMATO SAUCE
FARRO with BUTTERNUT SQUASH and CHESTNUTS
RISOTTO with MUSHROOMS, PEAS, and GREMOLATA
ORECCHIETTE with BROCCOLI and CHICKPEAS
PAPPARDELLE with CHICKEN LIVERS
MACARONI and CHEESE, CLASSIC and BAROQUE
While I was assembling a list of recipes to include in this chapter, I realized that I could have devoted the entire book to pasta and grains for the solo diner. Pasta, rice, farro, or polenta can be the basis for a well-rounded meal. Each is inexpensive and easy to prepare, and single portions are always on hand in the basic pantry. Divide the pasta package in four and you have four solo suppers to be prepared whenever you have the urge. Cook up a half cup of rice, farro, or polenta and you have a satisfying dinner for one. Cook up a cup and you have great leftovers to play with for another meal.
Pastas and grains are the essence of what is known as comfort food. On their own, they are not sexy, but you can dress them up to make them irresistible. Although grains are neutral in taste, they are made lively with the addition of small amounts of meat, vegetables, or seafood—enhancements that can be frugal or deluxe. A few shrimp or some crabmeat can make a mundane meal a special-occasion dinner. On days when I am trying to cut back on animal protein, grains combined with vegetables provide immense culinary satisfaction.
I usually eat this with a spoon directly from the pot. It is a quintessential comfort dish, and I make no apologies for my childish eating habits. This polenta and vegetable mixture could be served as a side dish with a simple piece of meat, fish, or poultry. But why bother when it is so satisfying on its own? By the way, I do not use instant polenta because I find the texture too smooth and uninteresting—like baby food. I prefer the crunchiness of a coarser-grain polenta, such as Golden Pheasant or Giusto’s brand. But if you like a smoother polenta, use the instant. We all like to be babied from time to time.
1/3 cup coarse-grain polenta
11/2 cups water
1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/2 cup chopped cooked spinach, broccoli, or chard
1/4 cup cooked fresh or thawed frozen English peas
1/4 cup mascarpone cheese or 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 to 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
Combine the polenta and water in a small saucepan. Slowly bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking from time to time to break up any lumps that may form. Add the 1 tablespoon salt, reduce the heat to low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the polenta is thick, pulls away from the sides of the pan, and is no longer grainy on the tongue, 20 to 30 minutes.
Stir in the spinach, peas, mascarpone, and Parmesan. Taste and adjust with more salt. Eat with a spoon.
Note: If desired, double the polenta and pour the excess (with or without vegetables) into a lightly oiled baking dish. Refrigerate until ready to eat. Then, for a second meal, you can reheat it in the oven or microwave and top it with tomato sauce; or cut it into triangles or rectangles, sauté them in butter or oil, and top with tomato sauce; or dice it and add it to soup.
Variation: Instead of adding peas and spinach to the soft polenta, fold in 3/4 cup mashed cooked butternut squash or sweet potatoes and eat as is or serve as a side dish.
I ate spaghetti alla carbonara for the first time in Rome in the late 1950s, and my reaction to it was much like the reaction my granddaughter, Elena, had when she tasted her first lobster. I went crazy. I had to know how to make it. I ate it every week for months, sampling versions in any number of Roman trattorias to see which one made the best. I had lengthy discussions with Italians about the proper ratio of pancetta (actually Romans prefer guanciale, the pig’s cheek, but that cut is not imported here), and if it should be allowed to crisp. How much black pepper? Should the cheese be Parmesan or part Parmesan and part pecorino? I tried three different brands of pancetta before settling on my favorite. Because our supermarket eggs do not have the flavor or the golden yolks of Roman eggs, I occasionally add an extra yolk to the mixture. Yes, I realize that this is a high-cholesterol special, but I don’t care. I only eat this pasta once or twice a year. The rest of the time I am a model of Mediterranean dietary restraint.
4 ounces pancetta, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
1 whole egg or 2 egg yolks
About 3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese or part pecorino and part Parmesan
About 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon salt
4 ounces spaghetti
2 teaspoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons olive oil
Unroll the pancetta slices and cut them crosswise into 1/4-inch-wide strips. In a large bowl, whisk together the egg, cheese, and pepper. If possible, keep the bowl near the stove or atop a warming shelf.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Drop in the salt and then the pasta. Stir well.
While the pasta is cooking, in a sauté pan, melt the butter with the olive oil over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until bubbles appear in the pan, 5 to 7 minutes. The pancetta will be cooked but not crisp.
When the pasta is al dente, drain and add to the bowl with the egg mixture. Immediately add the pancetta and most of the drippings, and toss very quickly to combine. The sauce should be a thick, creamy liquid. Add additional cheese and pepper, if desired. Eat while hot. This pasta does not reheat, so make just enough.
Variation with Peas, Broccoli, or Asparagus: To feel less guilty about the cholesterol intake, you can add something green to this pasta. Even though it is not authentic, it looks pretty, tastes good, and makes you feel as if you are eating a more healthful pasta. Peas, broccoli, or asparagus are a good addition. Parboil 1/2 cup English peas, a small handful of broccoli florets, or 1/2 cup cut-up asparagus (1-inch pieces) in boiling salted water until sweet and tender-firm, a minute or so. Drain and refresh in cold water, then drain again and pat dry. When the pasta is a minute or two away from being al dente, drop the vegetables into the pasta pot to warm through quickly. Drain the pasta and vegetables and add to the egg mixture along with the pancetta and toss well.
Spaghetti alla Carbonara
For the first time in eighteen years, I did not have to work on New Year’s Eve. What a luxury to be able to stay home! I had been invited to two parties, but frankly I was not in the mood to make small talk. I wanted to unwind and relax in the comfort of my own nest. Having endured New Year’s Eve in the restaurant business for so long, I now believe that New Year’s Eve is an ideal night to stay home and perhaps, if feeling sociable, have a few friends over for dinner.
Now all I had to do was decide how to spend the evening and what I wanted to eat at my very private party. I began to think about the foods that make me feel festive. I developed a game plan for the evening based on a nostalgic scenario. Having spent some of the happiest times of my life in Rome, I decided to rent two of my favorite Italian movies (Mario Monicelli’s I soliti ignoti, known in the United States as Big Deal on Madonna Street, and Federico Fellini’s 81/2), open a bottle of Brunello from my cellar, and make spaghetti alla carbonara. I do not agree with Calvin Trillin when he says this famed pasta should replace turkey as the official Thanksgiving entrée, only because I love cooking the Thanksgiving meal. I do agree, however, that it is a most celebratory dish. Why, you might ask, since the ingredients are rather mundane? It’s almost breakfast: pancetta, eggs, cheese, and black pepper tossed with pasta. But executed with finesse and perfect timing, it is sublime.
Spaghetti alla carbonara also falls into the category of comfort food. I was feeling festive, but also in need of comfort and familiarity. So carbonara it was, along with a lovely endive and watercress salad to offer some relief from the pasta’s richness.
Generations of Italian-Americans have been embarrassed by the clichéd image of a bowl of spaghetti and one or two giant meatballs. They’ve been told it’s not really Italian. I say there is no reason to be ashamed of meatballs. In fact, a meatball tradition exists in the Abruzzo, Apulia, and Calabria. They are not those leaden giants, however, but rather small, delicate polpette that appear in broth, layered in lasagna, or tossed with pasta. Here they are combined with sautéed cubes of eggplant, tomato sauce, and a few dollops of fresh ricotta. And if I am cutting back on meat, I make this pasta with just eggplant and tomatoes, adding bits of fresh ricotta or diced fresh mozzarella for texture. This recipe yields two portions, one to serve for supper and one to reheat as a gratin for another meal.
MEATBALLS
8 ounces ground beef or part beef and part pork
1/4 cup grated onion
1 clove garlic, very finely minced
1 tablespoon mixed herbs, including chopped fresh thyme, sage, and flat-leaf parsley and dried oregano
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 medium eggplant, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tablespoon salt, plus more for the eggplant
1/4 cup pure olive oil, or as needed
11/2 cups tomato sauce
8 ounces rigatoni, preferably De Cecco brand
1/2 cup ricotta cheese
Chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley for garnish
Grated Parmesan cheese for serving
To make the meatballs: In a bowl, combine the ground meat, onion, garlic, herbs, and a little salt and pepper. Fry a tiny patty of the mixture to see if it is seasoned to your taste. Adjust the seasoning, if necessary, then form the mixture into meatballs about 1 inch in diameter. You want about 2 dozen. Refrigerate the meatballs until ready to fry.
Sprinkle the eggplant with salt and let it sit in a colander for 30 minutes. Wipe dry with a dish towel or paper towels. In a large sauté pan, heat the 1/4 cup olive oil over medium-high heat. Quickly cook the eggplant cubes, stirring often until they are golden on all sides, about 5 minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer to a plate.
Add more olive oil to the pan as needed to form a film, and fry the meatballs, in batches, over medium-high heat until they are brown on the outside but still a bit rare in the center, about 8 minutes. Drain them on paper towels.
In a wide sauté pan, heat the tomato sauce over medium heat. Add the meatballs and eggplant and reduce the heat to very low to keep them hot. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the 1 tablespoon salt and then the pasta. Stir well and cook until al dente. Drain well and mix with the sauce and meatballs, tossing in dollops of the ricotta at the same time. Combine swiftly.
Spoon half of this dish into a warmed bowl. Garnish it with parsley and a little Parmesan cheese and eat immediately. Spoon the remaining half into an oiled individual gratin dish. Cover and refrigerate for a few days or freeze for up to 2 months. To reheat, preheat the oven to 350°F. Top with Parmesan and bake until heated through, about 15 minutes. Alternatively, place in the microwave until heated.
Cultivated in western Tuscany, in the area known as the Garfagnana, and in the Abruzzo to the east, farro is an early variety of wheat. The grain is semipearled, which means that some of the outer coating still remains after a few abrasions. Lighter in mouth-feel than wheat berries, farro has a taste and texture that resembles barley more than wheat. The kernels from the Garfagnana cook a bit more quickly than those from the Abruzzo because they are more pearled, so that less of the outer hull remains. Although many farro recipes tell you to soak the grain, I find this unnecessary. The pearled farro from the Garfagnana cooks in about 20 minutes. The sturdier, browner farro from the Abruzzo takes about 30 minutes and may be soaked for 30 minutes if you want it to cook a bit more quickly.
Cooked farro reheats like a dream in a little broth or water and holds well in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. I must confess that I am addicted to it and could eat it every day for a week. I usually make enough farro for a few days as it keeps well. The following recipe for basic farro will yield enough for two meals. For an easy second meal, add the kernels from an ear of corn, a little broth, a pat of butter, and salt and pepper. Like risotto, farro can be enhanced with leftover cooked chicken and sautéed mushrooms, or sautéed mushrooms and toasted hazelnuts.
BASIC FARRO
4 cups water
2 teaspoons salt
1 cup farro
1/2 cup vegetable or chicken stock, or a bit more for a soupier dish
2 tablespoons olive oil or 1 tablespoon each olive oil and unsalted butter
1/2 small onion, chopped
1 teaspoon chopped fresh sage
1/2 cup cubed, peeled butternut squash (1/2-inch cubes), boiled until al dente
4 or 5 cooked chestnuts, cut into bite-size pieces
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
In a saucepan, bring the water to a boil. Add the salt and then the farro, stir, reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until the grains are soft but still have some firmness at the center. Start checking for doneness after 20 minutes. If not all of the water has been absorbed, simply drain the cooked farro in a sieve. Set aside 1 cup cooked farro, or a bit more for a heartier dish, and then cover and refrigerate the remainder for another dish such as soup or salad.
Pour the stock into a saucepan and bring to a simmer. Meanwhile, in a deep sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and sage and sauté until tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the farro, squash, chestnuts, and the hot stock. Stir gently and simmer over low heat until the farro, squash, and chestnuts are heated through and some of the stock has been absorbed, just a few minutes. Stir in the 2 tablespoons butter, season to taste with salt and pepper, and spoon into a warmed bowl.
Risotto is comfort food. Warm and slightly soupy, it can be eaten with a spoon if you are feeling too lazy to eat it with a fork. It is a great vehicle for using up leftovers (being thrifty is a comfort in itself). Bits of cooked chicken or turkey or some chopped prosciutto would make a nice addition. If you can find flavorful, nonstarchy fresh English peas, by all means use them. About 4 ounces unshelled will give you 1/4 cup shelled peas. Cook them in boiling salted water until tender, drain, and refresh in cold water. If they are unavailable, use thawed frozen peas. If you can find wild mushrooms and are feeling financially flush, buy a few to add to the more mundane whites or browns. Gremolata is a traditional garnish added to ossobuco but it also is a great addition to risotto. It is a mixture of parsley, garlic, and grated lemon zest.
When making risotto, remember to keep the stock at a constant simmer and add it in small amounts only after the previous additions have been absorbed by the rice. You will need Italian short-grain rice such as arborio or carnaroli, as it will absorb liquid gradually yet remain al dente in the center. Risotto cannot be rushed and needs to be stirred from time to time. I find that the ritual of making it is just as comforting as eating it. Any leftover risotto can be reheated in the microwave or thinned with stock and served as a soup.
2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
3 tablespoons unsalted butter or olive oil
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup Italian short-grain rice
6 ounces assorted fresh mushrooms, wiped clean and sliced 1/4 inch thick
1/4 cup cooked fresh or thawed frozen English peas (see introduction)
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 teaspoons minced garlic
2 teaspoons grated fresh lemon zest
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Grated Parmesan cheese for serving (optional)
Pour the stock into a saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Adjust the heat to maintain a very low simmer. Heat 1 tablespoon of the butter in a large sauté pan with high sides or a shallow saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent and soft, about 8 minutes. Add the rice and cook, stirring often, until the rice is opaque, about 3 minutes. Ladle in 1/2 cup of the hot stock and simmer over low heat, stirring occasionally, until the stock is absorbed. Add about 1/2 cup more stock and continue to cook and stir over low heat until the stock is absorbed. Continue to add stock in the same manner until the rice is almost al dente.
While the rice is cooking, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in a large sauté pan and quickly cook the mushrooms over high heat, stirring often, until tender. This will take about 4 minutes.
When the rice is almost done, add the mushrooms and peas and continue to cook until most of the liquid has been absorbed and the rice is al dente but still firm in the center and the mixture is creamy. Stir together the parsley, garlic, and lemon zest to make the gremolata and then stir it into the risotto. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Transfer to a warmed bowl and sprinkle with Parmesan, if desired.
Orecchiette with beans, greens, garlic, and chile is one of my standby suppers. The pasta itself is fun to eat. The name translates as “little ears,” but to me the pasta shells resemble little belly buttons, the central dimple of which is ideal for trapping the beans. Sometimes I use bitter broccoli rabe, blanched and coarsely chopped. Sometimes I use broccoli or romanesco broccoli florets. Toasted Bread Crumbs (page 82) may or may not go into the mix. Grated pecorino may garnish the dish. I’ve even been known to add crabmeat, steamed clams, shrimp, meatballs, or sausage to the basic mixture of beans, greens, and pasta. Simply put, this dish offers versatility in a bowl, satisfying in its simplest form, and hospitable to other flavors.
1/2 cup dried chickpeas or white beans
4 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1 generous cup broccoli florets or broccoli rabe
3 to 4 ounces orecchiette
4 tablespoons minced red onion (optional)
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
1 cup diced canned plum tomatoes (optional)
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons Toasted Bread Crumbs (optional)
Grated pecorino cheese for serving (optional)
Pick over the chickpeas and remove any stones or debris. Rinse well, put in a saucepan and cover with 2 cups water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium and cook for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and let stand for 1 hour. Drain the chickpeas and return them to the saucepan with fresh water to cover by 2 inches. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to low, add 2 teaspoons of the salt, cover, and cook until tender but not falling apart, about 40 minutes. Drain and transfer to a bowl. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil. (You may also use canned chickpeas or white beans, drained and rinsed, but their texture is softer than those you cook yourself.)
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the remaining 2 teaspoons salt and then drop in the broccoli and cook until tender but not too soft, 4 to 5 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and refresh in cold water to set the color. Drain and set aside. If using broccoli rabe, chop coarsely. Then drop the orecchiette into the same boiling salted water.
While the pasta cooks, in a sauté pan, heat the 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion, if using, and cook until tender, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic, red pepper flakes (if using), and chickpeas and cook for 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes (if using) and broccoli and cook until hot. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Drain the pasta when it is al dente and add it to the broccoli sauce, along with the toasted bread crumbs, if using. Warm through. Transfer to a warmed bowl and sprinkle with pecorino, if desired.
Toasted Bread Crumbs: Heat the oven to 350°F. In a food processor, pulse 2 cups diced country-style bread, crusts removed, until you have coarse crumbs. Toss the crumbs in a bowl with 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted, or olive oil; 1 teaspoon salt; and 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper. Spread the crumbs on a baking sheet. Bake, stirring occasionally, until golden, about 20 minutes. The crumbs can be stored in the pantry in a covered container for up to a month.
When I lived in Rome, every week I patronized a wonderful small restaurant called Alfredo alla Chiesa Nuova. On the piazza in front of the restaurant was this hilarious fountain that looked like a giant soup tureen with two small spouts at either end, each giving off a tiny trickle of water. Sadly, I have gone back only to find that while the fountain remains, the restaurant is no longer in existence.
This chicken liver pasta was one of my Chiesa Nuova favorites. Sometimes the cooks added pancetta or prosciutto, sautéed mushrooms, or tomato purée.
If you are using dried pasta, you can drop it in the water about 12 minutes before you are ready to eat. Fresh pasta takes only a few minutes to cook, so you will probably want to make the sauce, then drop in the noodles.
6 ounces chicken livers
4 or 5 ounces fresh or dried pappardelle or dried rigatoni
1 tablespoon salt, plus more to taste
2 tablespoons pure olive oil
1/2 small red onion, sliced 1/4 inch thick
2 fresh sage leaves
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup chicken stock
2 tablespoons dry Marsala or dry white wine
1 or 2 tablespoons tomato paste (optional)
1/4 cup sautéed mushrooms (about 3 large; optional)
2 tablespoons diced prosciutto (optional)
Trim the livers of all fat and connective tissue. Cut away any greenish spots.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. If you are using dried pasta, add the tablespoon of salt and then the pasta now. Stir well and cook until al dente. If you are using fresh pasta, add the salt and pasta when the sauce is almost done and cook until tender.
In a sauté pan, heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil over high heat. Cook the onion and sage leaves until the onion is softened and golden, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon oil and the butter in the same pan over high heat. Add the livers and quickly sear on all sides. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Return the onion and sage to the pan and add the chicken stock, wine, and the tomato paste to taste, if using, and bring to a boil. Add the mushrooms and prosciutto, if using, and heat through.
Drain the pasta, add to the sauté pan, and toss well. Heat for 1 minute and turn out into a warmed bowl.
While I do enjoy digging into a bowl of steamed clams, they do not fill me up for supper unless I eat lots of bread. I guess that is why they are offered as a first course in most restaurants. For my solo suppers I don’t usually prepare multiple courses. The perfect solution to a clam (or mussel) craving is pasta. Linguine with clams and lots of garlic is one of my favorites.
When you order pasta with clams in Italy, the clams are usually served in the shell. They are tiny—the size of a quarter—and part of the pleasure of eating them is to remove each clam with a small fork and then twirl it in the pasta. Some people find this messy and would rather not deal with the shells, and it may be difficult to find tiny clams at the market. If all you can find are the large ones, you will still have a delicious dish. Steam the clams, chop them, cover them with the strained clam juices, and add them to the pasta sauce. If you can find small ones, leave them in the shell for an authentic touch. Mussels can be substituted; steam and shell them but leave them whole.
18 to 20 small manila or other small clams or about 12 larger clams, well scrubbed
1/3 cup dry white wine
1 tablespoon salt, plus more to taste
4 or 5 ounces dried linguine
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 to 2 teaspoons finely minced garlic
Pinch of dried oregano (optional)
Pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)
1 to 2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
Freshly ground black pepper
1 to 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil or unsalted butter
In a large sauté pan, combine the clams and white wine. Bring to a boil, cover, and steam until the clams open. This can happen quickly, 3 to 4 minutes for small clams, or 5 to 7 minutes if the clams are large and stubborn. As soon as they have opened, remove them from the pan, discarding any that have failed to open. Strain the pan juices through a cheesecloth-lined sieve placed over a bowl. If the clams are large, when they are cool enough to handle, remove them from their shells and chop into bite-size pieces. If they are small, you may prefer to keep them in the shells. Put the the clams in the bowl with the strained broth.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Drop in the 1 tablespoon salt and then the pasta. Stir well and cook until al dente.
While the pasta cooks, in a medium sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic to taste and the oregano and red pepper flakes, if using, and cook for a minute or two. Add the clams and their juices and heat through gently. Do not overcook or the clams will toughen. Add the parsley to taste and lots of black pepper. Season with salt if the clams are not salty enough. Swirl in the olive oil to enrich the pan juices.
Drain the linguine, add to the sauce, and toss well. Transfer to a warmed bowl.
Variation: You may add 1/2 cup diced, peeled, and seeded tomatoes or a spoonful of tomato sauce just before you add the clams. And/or you may add 1/2 cup chopped cooked broccoli or romanesco broccoli with the clams.
Macaroni and cheese is really a baked version of the Italian classic pasta ai tre formaggi (with three cheeses). Comfort food at it best, this familiar dish may be reheated or frozen and reheated, so why not make a double batch? To make the dish more festive, add crabmeat, lobster, diced cooked ham, or leftover meatballs (page 50). Cooked vegetables such as broccoli may also be added.
1 tablespoon salt, plus more to taste
6 ounces macaroni
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 or 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup milk
1/4 cup heavy cream
Freshly ground black pepper
Freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 cup shredded Fontina or Emmentaler cheese
6 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
6 tablespoons grated white Cheddar cheese
1/4 cup Toasted Bread Crumbs (page 82)
OPTIONAL ADDITIONS for EACH HALF PORTION
6 ounces lump crabmeat, picked over for shell fragments, or meat from 1 lobster (page 107) mixed with 1/2 cup cooked English peas and 1 tablespoon minced fresh chives
1 cup diced cooked ham, 1/2 cup cooked English peas, and 1 tablespoon minced fresh chives
1 cup cooked broccoli, sautéed mushrooms, or diced uncooked tomatoes
Butter 2 large ramekins or individual gratin dishes. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Drop in the 1 tablespoon of salt and the pasta and cook until al dente. Drain, then rinse to stop the cooking. Transfer to a bowl, toss with the tablespoon of olive oil, and set aside.
In a saucepan, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter over medium heat. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring often, for 3 minutes. Add the milk and cream and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 5 minutes. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and nutmeg.
Add the sauce to the drained macaroni and fold in the Fontina and 4 tablespoons each of the Parmesan and Cheddar cheeses. Divide the mixture into 2 equal portions. If desired, select 1 of the optional additions (seafood, ham, or vegetable) to add to 1 portion, and leave the other plain, or flavor both portions, or leave both plain. Spoon a macaroni portion into each of the prepared dishes.
Divide the remaining 2 tablespoons of the Parmesan and Cheddar cheeses evenly between the dishes, sprinkling them over the surface. Then sprinkle on the bread crumbs, again dividing evenly. Cut the remaining 1 or 2 tablespoons of butter into small pieces and dot the top of each dish. Cover and refrigerate until ready to bake. The second portion may be refrigerated for up to 2 days or frozen for up to 1 month.
Bake in a preheated 400°F oven until bubbly and golden brown, 25 to 30 minutes. Eat piping hot.
Falling in Love with a New Food and Making It Your Own
Like most chefs, when I taste a new food, I hope it will be the beginning of a long love affair rather than a one-night stand. That’s how it was for me and farro. This ancient wheat first caught my culinary attention at a conference in Turin sponsored by Slow Food, an international organization dedicated to maintaining traditional foods and sustainable agriculture. A trattoria from Lucca served a tasting dinner promoting regional specialties, among them farro (Triticum dicoccum), which is grown in the hills surrounding Lucca, an area known as the Garfagnana. Also erroneously known as emmer wheat or spelt, it had become an endangered crop, threatened with extinction, and local farmers were trying to bring it back to the table. At the dinner, the farro was a component in a hearty soup and in a filling for a rich tart. I liked it, but was not blown away. When I next encountered farro, it was served as a grain salad, dressed with extra-virgin olive oil. Finally I tasted it as a warm side dish, simple and elegant. I was captivated. I loved the chewy texture and nutty scent—reminiscent of barley but with more flavor. I was a woman on a mission. I needed to cook it often until I understood its properties so it could find a permanent home in my cooking repertoire. But few people were importing it and it was hard to find.
Some years later, when I was traveling in the Abruzzo, I visited a mill that grew and processed farro. I bought many bags to bring home. I cooked it and compared it to the Lucca version. It was a bit firmer but just as tasty. I cooked it as a pilaf, then as a risotto. I steamed it, reheated it, and added wild mushrooms. Then I tried adding chestnuts, then butternut squash, and even corn. Everything was good. I discovered that I liked it best with a knob of butter stirred in at the end. I was hooked. Farro has become a major comfort food for me, and I can blissfully eat it by the bowlful. Fortunately, farro, both from Tuscany and the Abruzzo, is now at a few Italian markets and even at my local supermarket in the Italian import section. Farro is available online at agferrari.com
A similar love affair occurred with romanesco broccoli, an early variety of broccoli, light green in color, with florets shaped in pointy whorls. I cooked the broccoli straight, then used it in pasta and soup, as a side dish, and in a gratin. Again I was hooked.
Then there was my fling with pimentón, Spanish paprika. I first tasted it in Barcelona. I tried to figure out why the paella tasted so deep and smoky. Then I thought I detected this smokiness in a romesco sauce. Again, a new flavor layer was revealed. Finally, I found the secret ingredient, a Spanish paprika called pimentón de la Vera. Like the Hungarian, it came sweet, semi-hot, or hot. But the Spanish peppers were dried over a smoldering wood fire, imparting a subtle smoky quality to the spice. I bought some and have been cooking with it ever since. My paella base has a deeper taste and my romesco sauce (page 22) has been transformed. Since Spain and Morocco are neighbors, I have added it to Moroccan charmoula marinade (page 111). I have also rubbed it on fish and lamb chops, and I am not done exploring all the options.
When you meet a new food, find a new taste that intrigues and pleases you, explore it, pursuing all the possibilities.
