Dr. William Spencer’s Dried Pepper Flakes
Bill and Carol on their honeymoon
Grandpa Delduca curing soppressata at home
Carol making pizzas for Trisha’s birthday
Sunday Gravy with (from left) Judy Spencer, Sarah Leary, Skye Leary, Deanna Spencer, Shannon Leary, and my Trisha (in glasses). The Leary girls are Trisha’s lifelong friends and neighbors in Fort Erie.
The first time I met my father-in-law, Bill, he was cleaning his eaves troughs. Trish yelled, “Hey, Dad! This is Matty, the guy I’m going to prom with.” Right away I sensed he was eccentric from the way he went mmhmmm and briefly looked down at me over his glasses while throwing muck on the ground. He quickly turned away and continued to clean. And then Trish and I walked into the house, where Carol, Trish’s mom, was making her Sunday gravy. Carol greeted me with a hug and welcomed me into their home. Right away I started hanging out there a lot. The house on Bertie Bay was filled with delicious and then-unknown food. I found out later it was Italian. Carol taught me a lot about Italian Canadian food, about which I knew nothing. Her style of cooking came from her parents, who came from Italy—Mario (who changed his name to Meyer when he came to Canada) and Louise Delduca.
My favorite thing ever during high school was waking up at the Spencer house, hungover after parties at my house. They would always have all the windows open and the sound of the great Lake Erie was amazing. Trish and I would eat cold Italian leftovers in the dining room. In the next room, after doing his chores, Bill would put on his favorite: 007 movies. None of that Pierce Brosnan shit; Bill was a Sean Connery man.
Trish was the youngest of four sisters—Rebecca, Judy, and Deanna—and a brother, Mark. All of them (except Mark, LOL) were moved out by that point, but every Sunday the entire family would be at the house to eat. We would always have a salad to start, with Italian bread. In the winter, we would have soup—Italian wedding soup if we were lucky. Most of the time it would be roasted prime rib with potatoes or Sunday gravy with spaghetti. If it was your birthday you got to pick what Carol would make. Now I get to ask, but back then I didn’t, so I would convince Trish to request chicken cacciatore. I love that fucking thing. We always finished with dessert, coffee, and tea. Right away they made me feel like part of the family.
To this day, Carol orchestrates elaborate afternoon pizza parties for her grandchildren, and sometimes even for the adults. During Easter, the younger kids hunt for hundreds of plastic eggs filled with candy throughout their property. Boxing Day brunch is an epic event with more than forty family members in attendance every year. Carol is a beast in the kitchen. Trish and I still go whenever we can. There isn’t a greater place to bring up a kid. Mac gets to run around on sandy beaches and in the woods like I did. I feel blessed. It’s amazing—for eighteen years I’ve had two families that I truly love and respect.
This is one of Trish’s favorite dishes from when she was a little girl, and it became one of my all-time favorites the second I tasted it. Carol makes this dish about twice a year and uses canned mushrooms. Although I love her version, I feel using fresh mushrooms is better. Trish and her siblings disagree, but I’m gonna stand my ground on this one. It’s another dish for which we can use our homemade red sauce as the base—but the sauce is a little looser than regular red sauce. We braise the chicken legs in the red sauce and chicken stock to make for a beautiful hearty meal.
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SERVES: 6
PREP TIME: 1½ HOURS
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Olive oil
8 chicken legs
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup (155 g) Cerignola olives, pitted
1 Vidalia onion, diced
1 red bell pepper, diced
8 cremini mushrooms, sliced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
1 cup (240 ml) chicken stock
4 cups (960 ml) Sunday Gravy (this page) without the meat
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon dried red chile flakes
1 pound (455 g) linguini pasta
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In a Dutch oven, pour ½ inch (12 mm) of oil and set over medium-high heat. Season the chicken with salt and pepper and place in the pot. You should fit three to four legs; don’t overcrowd the pot. Sear until the chicken is golden brown; remove, set aside on a plate, and repeat with the remaining chicken.
Place the olives, onion, bell pepper, mushrooms, and garlic in the pot; cook until caramelized, about 10 minutes. Add the stock and reduce the liquid by half, about 15 minutes. Add the chicken back to the pot and cover with the gravy. Add the oregano and chile flakes. Bring to a slow boil, then turn down the heat to low; simmer 30 minutes.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta as the label directs. This pasta cooks very quickly—to ensure you get al dente noodles, do not walk away once you drop your noodles. Drain the water. Place all the noodles back into the pot. Remove two chicken legs from the pot. Shred the meat and toss into the noodles. Divide the noodles onto 6 plates and top each plate with one chicken leg. Ladle sauce on top. Boom—you’ve got a beautiful chicken cacciatore.
This is something I loved eating when I first started dating Trish. Her mother is Italian Canadian and comes from a long line of amazing cooks from Calabria. I never had real Italian food until I met Trish. Maybe that’s why I was so in love with her initially. It was her mother’s cooking! I remember the first time I was allowed to help make this meal. Her mother watched me like a hawk soaring in the bright blue sky, searching for trout. If I did something wrong, she let me know right away with a slap on the hand. If I overworked the meatballs, she would make a comment that cut deep. This was before I went to cooking school—I was just an eager kid looking for the secrets to this dish. A red sauce is the foundation of every Italian family, and it was a privilege to help. I had a duty to make the best meatballs I could so I didn’t let down Carol and Bill and the Spencer family. Making this sauce is like painting: You need to know when to stop. It’s a powerful sauce that still needs restraint.
I used to think that spaghetti sauce had green peppers and mushrooms in it. It took me a long time to understand the power in simplicity. This sauce is the cornerstone to most of the dishes in this section; once you’ve made this sauce, you can add it to so many dishes. When I make it, I like to take out all the meat and divide the balls, ribs, and sausage in containers and cover with just enough sauce. Then you can take as many of these little gems as you want and reheat for days to come, or you can make little bundles of meat and sauce and freeze for a special day. Serving the meat on a massive platter and then tossing fresh spaghetti in the sauce and topping with fresh grated Parmesan is the way to go!
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SERVES: A LARGE ITALIAN-IRISH FAMILY AND ONE WHITE KID FROM THE MARITIMES
PREP TIME: 5½ HOURS
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1 loaf day-old bread, torn into small pieces
1 cup (240 ml) milk
1 pound (455 g) ground beef
1 pound (455 g) ground veal
1 pound (455 g) ground pork
2 cups (200 g) freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 cup (100 g) freshly grated Pecorino-Romano cheese
½ cup (70 g) peeled and minced garlic, plus 1 cup (145 g) whole garlic cloves, peeled and sliced thin
1 handful chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 cup (100 g) dry bread crumbs
4 eggs
2 tablespoons dried red chile flakes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil
2 pounds (910 g) Italian sausage
2 racks (2 pounds/910 g) pork ribs
½ cup (15 g) tomato paste
6 (28-ounce/794 g) cans tomato puree
1 pound (455 g) any shape pasta
Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
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Line a baking sheet with lightly oiled parchment paper.
Soak the day-old bread with just enough milk. You don’t want soupy bread; you want milky bread.
In a large bowl, place all the ground meat and mix with your hands so it’s incorporated. Next, add the cheeses, minced garlic, parsley, bread crumbs, eggs, chile flakes, milk-soaked bread, salt, and pepper. This is the fun part: Deep-dive your hands into the meatball mixture, and with your fingertips, disperse all the ingredients evenly, using your full arm to reach down to the middle and flip the mixture. Imagine you are a human bread mixer. Keep pushing down and knead it almost like a dough. Once it is truly mixed, you’ll know—it will look like a piece of beautiful meat marble, with the cheese, parsley, and garlic all glistening through like rock layers.
With lightly oiled hands, roll the meat mixture into perfect 2-inch (5 cm) balls, making sure they are worked just enough. Do not squish the balls—just keep rolling so they stick together. Place on the prepared baking sheet. Drape a kitchen towel over the balls as you roll so they don’t air-dry at all.
In a large heavy pot, pour ½ inch (12 mm) of oil and set over medium heat. Sear the meatballs on all sides. As each ball is fully browned, remove and place on another baking sheet until needed. In the same pot, sear the sausages, about 8 minutes. Set aside.
Cut the ribs into 2-bone pieces and season with salt and pepper; sear them, about 5 minutes per side. You will find that there is a lot of crisp golden meat on the bottom of the pot. This is called fond. This is the gold.
Turn down the heat to low—there is enough residual heat to get the garlic cooking. Add the sliced garlic to the pot and cook until golden brown. Then add the tomato paste; cook 5 minutes to cook out the tin flavor and develop the rich, deep flavor tomato paste is made for.
Add all the meat and the tomato puree. If it’s a little thick you can add just enough water to make it easier for you to stir the meat. You don’t want it too thick right now, as it’s going to cook at least 3 hours, and as it cooks, it will concentrate. We will cook it to the consistency we desire.
Don’t turn the heat to high to bring it to a boil. We have to bring it up slowly to make sure nothing burns. It may take almost an hour to start bubbling and simmering the way we want it to. Once it starts simmering, turn down the heat even lower. Stir the pot gently, making sure not to break up the meatballs. Cook 3 hours.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta as the label directs; drain and return to the pot. Ladle in enough sauce to coat the noodles—you don’t want this to be saucy. Place the pasta on a platter, then ladle extra sauce into another bowl for those who want more sauce. Remove the meat and place on top of the pasta; add more sauce. Top with cheese.
This is an incredible dish made straight from the heart. Crisp, burnt rigatoni edges; melted mozzarella cheese; rich, sweet tomato sauce; and little meatballs all nestled inside this beautiful mess. Dishes like this are low risk and high reward. Carol and Trish make different versions of this, and now I make my own too. How many renditions of this dish are out there, I have no idea: Every nonna or nonno or Italian American or Italian Canadian parent has his or her own version. Some may add basil leaves, dried oregano, more Parmesan, maybe even some Asiago, or all-pork balls, all-beef, or a combination or the holy trinity: veal, pork, and beef. I want to make you my version, which is inspired by my mother-in-law and my lovely wife.
I had another mind-blowing experience the first time Carol made this for me. I thought pasta was powdered cheese and overcooked little noodles that were mixed with water instead of milk or cream, and not even a nice little knob of heavenly butter. But then I saw this bubbling, glowing, cheesy casserole coming out of the oven like a newborn rigatoni baby, and it was instant love. I knew I would fight for this dish if anyone ever disrespected it—I would stand behind it like an overprotective uncle who’s had one too many brown pops at a little league baseball game. I hope that when you pull this casserole out of the oven, it’s one of those moments like seeing the Sistine Chapel or the ocean for the first time.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 1½ HOURS
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½ pound (225 g) ground pork
½ pound (225 g) ground veal
½ pound (225 g) ground beef
1 egg
1 cup (100 g) freshly grated Parmesan cheese
½ cup (50 g) dry bread crumbs
1 handful chopped flat-leaf parsley
Kosher salt
10 turns freshly cracked black pepper
1 tablespoon dried red chile flakes
2 tablespoons peeled and minced garlic
Olive oil
8 cups (2 L) Sunday Gravy (this page) without the meat
2 (16-ounce/455 g) boxes dried large rigatoni
2 balls mozzarella cheese, one cubed and one shredded
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Place all the ground meat in a large bowl. Crack the egg on top and add the Parmesan, bread crumbs, parsley, 2 teapoons salt, the pepper, chile flakes, garlic, 4 tablespoons (60 ml) oil, and 2 tablespoons water. Mix with your hands—make sure to dig deep with your fingers and use your shoulders to really work the mixture.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place two spoons in a cup of water; use one spoon for scooping and the other for scraping off. Make sure to dip your spoons into the water every other scoop. Scoop 1 tablespoon meat and scrape it onto the baking sheet; make little rows until done. Lightly coat your hands with oil and form the meat piles into perfect little balls.
Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C). In a Dutch oven, pour ½ inch (12 mm) of oil and set over medium-high heat. Place the balls in the pot, but don’t overcrowd the pot. Brown the meatballs in batches and place on a rack while you build your casserole.
We are going to build the casserole hot so it just has to brown in the oven. In a small pot, heat the gravy. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; cook the pasta until al dente. Check the pasta every few minutes to make sure you’re not overcooking. Because we are baking in the oven, we don’t want mushy noodles! We want perfect rigatoni.
Drain the pasta and pour most of it into a 9 by 13-inch (23 by 33 cm) baking dish, then add enough sauce to cover the noodles and stir. You don’t want the casserole soupy and you don’t want it dry; you can always add, but you can never take away. That’s why I like building this by eye once all the ingredients are ready: You can add more sauce, meatballs, and rigatoni depending on your tastes. Stir the cubed mozzarella into the casserole, then add as many meatballs as you want. Stir to evenly disperse everything, then cover with a few ladles of sauce and the shredded mozzarella. Bake 20 minutes, or until the edges are almost burnt, the cheese is golden brown, and the sauce is bubbling. Remove from the oven and let rest 10 minutes.
Making red meat sauce and baking beautiful ricotta-filled pasta shells is literally one of the best things in the entire world. The simplicity of this dish is unparalleled . . . well, maybe aside from a cacio e pepe or aglio e vongole, but those are traditional dishes, and this is just another North American Italian staple that stands the test of time. The first time I ever ate this, it was cold. Trish and I came home to Fort Erie late one night and Carol said there were some shells in the fridge. I was like, WTF are shells? Seashells? I had no idea what power was hiding in the fridge that night. Eating red sauce and baked cheese-filled pasta cold is perfectly normal. I love eating cold pastas. I’m not a huge fan of leftovers. This dish is best hot and crispy out of the oven, obviously, but what I’m saying is you can eat it the next day cold, and it’s like another dish altogether. You are getting two treats with this one.
I love the way Carol cooks: She takes her time, she tastes for seasoning often, she cuts green onions with scissors, and she always makes enough red sauce for many, many meals. What I really learned from her is restraint in cooking—it’s what you leave out of the recipes. These baked shells are so easy to make. I hope you eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next two days.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 1 HOUR
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Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
About 27 large dried pasta shells (about 14 ounces/400 g)
Extra-virgin olive oil
4 cups (980 g) ricotta cheese
½ cup (50 g) freshly grated Parmesan cheese
½ cup (50 g) freshly grated Pecorino-Romano cheese
1 handful chopped flat-leaf parsley
Zest of 1 lemon
3 eggs
4 cups (960 ml) Sunday Gravy (this page) without the meat
Salad and Green Olive Dressing (this page)
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Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C). Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the shells until just shy of al dente, about 10 minutes, and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Using your fingers, rub them with a little oil so they don’t dry out. Set aside.
Place the ricotta in a large mixing bowl. Add the Parmesan and Romano, the parsley, lemon zest, salt to taste, and lots of pepper. In a small bowl, beat the eggs, then pour over the cheese mixture and mix until the zest and parsley and pepper are all living in harmony.
Stuff the shells with the ricotta mixture using a spoon. Make sure to really pack it in. You want full, fluffy baked shells.
In a 9 by 13-inch (23 by 33 cm) baking dish, pour 1 inch (2.5 cm) red sauce (Sunday Gravy), then place the stuffed shells all lined up, like kids waiting for ice cream. Make three rows, side by side. Then add a nice ladle of sauce over each one, then drizzle some oil over them as well, and maybe a little more pepper.
Bake until bubbling and golden brown, about 30 minutes. Hopefully there are some burnt edges on the shells; that’s where the gold lies. You can also turn on the broiler for a few minutes to get the shells extra crunchy, but make sure to stay close because they will burn quickly. And you don’t want to ruin something so beautiful!
You can serve this dish right away: Just spoon a few shells onto a plate and serve with a nice light salad tossed in green olive dressing.
This is my favorite salad dressing of all time, and it’s made by my mother-in-law, Carol. I love the simplicity of it: this olive dressing on green-leaf lettuce. That’s it! The very first time I went to my future wife’s house for dinner, her mom served this salad. It was perfect. And I’m a guy who hates salads (not because of the vegetables, but because no one knows how to make a proper salad). Salads should be good lettuce with good light dressing, not every vegetable in the world shredded and covered in poppy-seed–honey dressing with a cup of granola or something.
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SERVES: 4
PREP TIME: 10 MINUTES
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1 cup (155 g) pitted Cerignola olives
1 clove garlic, peeled
1 green onion, chopped
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
½ cup (120 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, diced
1 small handful parsley, chopped
3 tablespoons white vinegar
½ cup (120 ml) canola oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Green-leaf lettuce
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In a blender, pulse the olives, garlic, green onion, lemon zest and juice, and the olive oil multiple times, until it becomes frothy and lumpy, like a tapenade. Keep pulsing—don’t just leave it on blend. You don’t want it to emulsify. Pour into a bowl.
Add the shallot and parsley to your dressing, then add the vinegar and the canola oil. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Serve the dressing atop crunchy, well-washed green-leaf lettuce (Little Gem works well too).
Bill’s blender, the sketchiest fucking piece of kitchen equipment I’ve ever seen in my life
Dr. William Spencer’s very organized workshop
Dr. William Spencer is my father-in-law and a dentist. I’ve had the pleasure of him fixing my broken teeth on more than one occasion. He has a wealth of knowledge in topics that range from World War I to the making of the movie The Birdcage, starring Robin Williams and the other guy. The thing I love about him the most is his love for spice! He has a raw jalapeño by his side at every meal and takes bites throughout. I thought that was so sick. Bill and Carol always had amazing homemade dried pepper flakes. Bill would say, “Just a pinch! Just a fingertip’s worth!” He didn’t want anyone overusing it or being careless with it. It is very spicy and very special. It tastes fruity and spicy, and it’s my all-time favorite dried chile. I use it for so many recipes—I add it to a tomato sauce, sprinkle a little on some nice burrata over a citrus salad . . . This stuff can go on anything.
I’ve had the privilege of making this atomic powder only once. When Bill asked me to come downstairs one hot summer afternoon, I was like, okay, what’s happening now? Do I have to help fix the sump pump or was he going to show me his 007 LaserDisc collection again . . . but no! It was to help pulverize all the dried peppers he keeps in wicker baskets down there. He handed me a bandana and goggles and said I would be needing them. He had set up some thirty-year-old blenders on top of a chest freezer. He began to explain how dangerous this was and that I needed to be very careful. He’s a pretty serious guy, so I was oddly nervous in this situation, staring at my future father-in-law wearing goggles and an old bandana around his face. He looked like an insane doctor who was cooking meth in his basement. I strapped on the goggles and wrapped my face with the bandana and was like, okay, how bad could it be?
We began to blend these peppers and everything was fine until we opened them up at the same time and it was like a fucking mustard bomb went off. I mean, I was fucked! A huge reddish cloud puffed up into my face. I instantly started coughing, and within two minutes, everyone in the house was crying and coughing. Bill didn’t warn anyone, so Carol and the kids started yelling, “Dad! What are you doing?” Everyone acted like a storm was coming off the lake, batten-down-the-hatches-type shit because opening the door and the windows and using towels and fans to move all the air around only made it worse. It was insanity! And I felt so bad because I was Bill’s right-hand man on this pepper-gas bomb!
What I’m trying to say is to make sure you have all the windows open, or even better, grab a long extension cord and do this outside. There’s nothing better than peppers that have dried naturally over a few months and all that fruity heat that concentrates into something that will last quite some time. But I get into trouble every time I make it at home, when I forget to tell Trish I’m about to drop the gas bomb!
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MAKES: ONE 500 ML-SIZE MASON JAR
PREP TIME: 1½ MONTHS
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1 pound (455 g) jalapeño chiles
1 pound (455 g) Scotch bonnet chiles
1 pound (455 g) green serrano chiles
1 pound (455 g) red serrano chiles
l pound (455 g) bird’s eye chile pepper
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Place the chile peppers in a wicker basket in a dry place, preferably by a sunny window, and allow to dry for at least 1½ months. Every week, give the basket a shake; discard any chiles that are getting moldy.
Once they are completely dried, all shrunken and hard like a maraca, they’re ready. Be very careful: Wear goggles and something over your mouth. You do not want to get this in your eyes. Rip the stems off and blend in a blender until dust. It’s very easy—just dangerous and time-consuming!
Nothing beats chicken soup (except maybe an Italian sub). Learning how to make this soup isn’t difficult—I want you to know how easy it is. I want everyone in the world to taste this Italian wedding soup. My wife likes to make it a few times a year, and when she does, the house fills with the amazing smells of chicken soup, browned meatballs . . . and love.
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SERVES: 6
PREP TIME: 2½ HOURS
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1 pound (455 g) ground beef
½ pound (225 g) ground veal
½ pound (225 g) ground pork
5 eggs
1 cup (100 g) freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 cup (100 g) dry bread crumbs
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
½ bunch parsley, chopped
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Canola oil
4 quarts (3.8 L) chicken broth
2 onions, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 bay leaf
1 cup (100 g) freshly grated Pecorino-Romano cheese, plus more for topping
1 cup (45 g) fresh bread crumbs
Olive oil, for topping
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Place all the ground meat in a large bowl with 2 eggs, the Parmesan, the dry bread crumbs, garlic, some of the chopped parsley, ½ teaspoon salt, and lots of pepper. Mix with your hands until fully incorporated.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Put a little canola oil on your hands and tightly roll as many 1½-ounce (40 g) meatballs as you can. (You should get about 20 balls.) Place on the baking sheet, then refrigerate.
In a large pot, pour in the broth and bring to a boil. Add the onions, celery, carrot, bay leaf, and a few sprigs of parsley; simmer 1½ hours. Strain and discard the vegetables.
In a large sauté pan over medium-high heat, heat enough canola oil to cover the bottom. Working in batches, add the meatballs and cook, turning, until lightly browned on all sides, about 5 minutes total per batch. Bring the broth back to boil and place the browned meatballs in the stock; simmer 15 minutes. You can also drop the meatballs directly into the broth instead of browning them first; simmer 30 minutes to cook through.
In a bowl, beat the remaining 3 eggs and add 10 turns of the peppermill, the Romano cheese, and the fresh bread crumbs; mix with a fork until it looks like cold, lumpy porridge, then add to the soup and stir. Cover for 5 minutes and the lace will be cooked.
Spoon the soup into bowls and add some chopped parsley and Romano cheese, and a little drizzle of good olive oil.
Making sausages is tough, but with a helper it can become a few hours of absolute bliss. This is the dish that Trish makes the most, and it’s the one that I love the most. I love everything in this book so much it makes me sound disingenuous, but let me tell you, I love all these dishes.
If you don’t want to make sausage you don’t have to. Just buy good Italian sausage from a butcher like a normal human being. No one has time to do something like this, or who even has a sausage stuffer or meat grinder. Why is this even in this book? Do people even cook from cookbooks?
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SERVES: 6
PREP TIME: 2 HOURS
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6 large Yukon gold potatoes
3 pounds (1.4 kg) ground pork shoulder
1 pound (455 g) ground pork back fat
½ cup (70 g) peeled and minced garlic
4 tablespoons cayenne pepper, plus more to taste
4 tablespoons paprika
3 tablespoons toasted fennel seed
4 tablespoons dried red chile flakes, plus more to taste
4 tablespoons kosher salt
25 turns freshly cracked black pepper
1 handful chopped flat-leaf parsley, plus more for serving
Hog casings packed in salt, soaked in cold water for 1 hour and rinsed well
Canola oil
2 large Vidalia onions, peeled and cut into wedges
1 lemon
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Bring a large pot of salted water to boil; add the potatoes whole and cook 15 minutes. Remove from the water and place in a bowl; cover with plastic wrap. Allow the potatoes to fully cool—you can even do this the night before or, if you plan to make this at night, cook the potatoes in the morning. Once they are cool, peel them using a butter knife and a kitchen towel; cut into nice wedges. We precook the potatoes so they get super crispy when we roast them with the sausages. If you were to cook the potatoes fully and peel them hot and add them to the roasting pan, they would get stuck and fall apart.
To make the sausages, place the ground pork and fat in a large bowl; add the garlic, cayenne, paprika, fennel seed, chile flakes, salt, and pepper and mix with your hands to get it incorporated the best you can. The more you mix, the better—get your hands nice and dirty, squeeze the pork sausage through your fingers, making a fist. Add the parsley and give it one more squeeze and mix. Now, heat a small pan over medium heat and add a little sausage ball; press it flat like a mini burger and cook to taste for seasoning. These are spicy, so you can add more or less spice by adding more or less cayenne and dried chile flakes. If you enjoy the sausage and you find it doesn’t need any more seasoning, it’s ready to stuff into casings.
Place the mixture covered with plastic wrap in the refrigerator until you are ready to stuff. It’s easier to stuff when your meat is cold.
Soak the casings in warm water until soft and pliable, at least 1 hour. Run lukewarm water through the casings to remove any salt. Tie a double knot in one end of the casing, then cut off a length of casing. Gather all but a couple of inches of the casing over the nozzle of the sausage stuffer or funnel. Start pressing the sausage mixture through, supporting the casing with your other hand. Pack the sausage as tight as you can but not to the point of bursting. When you have filled almost all the casing (or used up all the stuffing), slip the casing off the nozzle. For a coil, tie the sausage where the stuffing ends. To make links, pinch the rope and twist in alternating directions at the indentations. Randomly prick the casings with a thin toothpick or with a pin to release any air that’s trapped. Sausage making is a fine art and will take some time to master. We could have just bought some hot Italian sausages from the market, but that’s not us anymore—we’re cooks!
Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). In a large baking dish, generously coat the potatoes in oil and roast in the oven 30 minutes. Add a bunch of sausages and the onions and cook until everything is nice and golden brown—the potatoes are perfectly crisp and the sausages are dripping beautiful red oily juices, about 30 minutes.
Remove from the oven and place a few sausages, potatoes, and onions on each plate; squeeze some lemon juice and add a little more parsley, salt, and pepper.
What the fuck is a bologna bowl, you ask? Well, it’s a perfect breakfast that may or may not be good for you! You can make it as fast as you can peel back that American cheese slice and crack an egg. I had this at Trisha’s house back in high school, and it’s been made a few times a year ever since. I think Carol started making these because raising five kids is pretty time-consuming and this breakfast yields zero pots to wash and is a complete hit with any kid. I’ve publicly posted about the bologna bowl only once on Instagram, and it was a fifty-fifty split of joy and complete disgust. I feel this is a dish from the times of TV dinners and microwaves, before açai bowls and kale smoothies with chia seeds or shops where you can hook an apparatus up to your nose to smell grass and bananas . . . I love this dish, and I’ll defend it forever. I want to share this with you and everyone in the world, and I urge you to make this. It may not be too healthy, but let me tell you—my wife was raised on this, and she is one of the most powerful, smart, caring, driven, successful people I know. So there!
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SERVES: 1
PREP TIME: 2 MINUTES
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4 slices bologna
1 slice American cheese
1 egg
1 tablespoon margarine
2 slices white bread, toasted
Maldon salt and freshly ground black pepper
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In the bottom of a microwave-safe bowl, place the bologna, then lay the cheese slice right in the middle, then crack an egg into the bologna-and-cheese cradle.
Place the bowl in the microwave and zap 45 seconds. Microwave another 30 seconds if the egg isn’t cooked.
Spread the margarine over the toast evenly and cut each into 3 long slices for dipping into the yolk. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Enjoy this for the rest of your life, ya freaks!
