Tortellini has been a part of our family’s Christmas day repast since our kids were … well, since they were kids. We used to make tortellini in brodo, a Northern Italian Christmas tradition. I would make a chicken, beef-bone and vegetable broth on Christmas Eve and then on the day we’d all pitch in to make sheets of fresh pasta and a meaty, cheesy, herby filling out of which we’d fashion hundreds of little belly-button-shaped beauties to float in the rich steaming broth. At the table we’d grate Parmigiano over the top and count our holiday blessings.
One year instead of broth I served the tortellini in a bolognese sauce and it was such a hit we haven’t been back to broth since. I use Marcella Hazan’s classic recipe for the meat sauce and I follow it to the letter because it’s quite perfect. Well, in truth, I add a bit more onion than she calls for. I’m a whore for onions. I tripled the recipe this year because I knew once I tasted it I would want to have more in the fridge for later. This is where the trouble started.
There’s something supremely satisfying about Marcella’s bolognese. Bubbling a cup or two of milk through the meat before adding the tomatoes creams up the sauce and sweetens it. And the five-hour simmer patiently breaks down the components and gives them time to take advantage of each other. It’s a meat sauce to dream about and this year’s version was no exception. The kids and I scarfed down our beefily-sauced tortellini while Jill tucked into her lentils with vegan gusto. Ah, chacon à son goût.
This is the breakfast I’d eat every day if I could. Oh chilaquiles, how much do I love you?
Recently I had a tryst with an old flame. No, ‘old flame’ is not quite right. You see, I’ve mindlessly used him many times over the years--even recently--meeting him most often in dark movie houses. On rare, more daring occasions we met in my bedroom, on nights when I admit I much more anticipated my latest Netflix delivery or guilty-pleasure TV show. He was always a second thought; an accompaniment; a reliable, cheap snack I held back from enjoying fully, lest I spoil the more respectable dinner waiting for me at home.
Everyone is always moving on to the next big thing. What is up with you people? That cupcake fad sure took off. I knew why, and I was on it so fast. I’m still on it in case anyone asks. Like someone will. In the same way that I always came home from a trip to London, Paris or even New York sporting a new fashion trend, I was carting back boxes of Magnolia cupcakes from the bakery’s West Village location as gifts for friends. Turning them all on to my addiction.
This time of year in Maine the soft shell lobsters are “in” season and are very plentiful and inexpensive. You ask what is a soft shell lobster? Is it like a soft shell crab, do I eat the whole thing, shell and all? No, no, not all all similar. In order for a lobster to increase their size, ie. “grow” they have to shed their old hard shell. Two weeks before this happens they form a soft, thin shell under their hard exterior. Once the thin shell is formed under the hard shell they dehydrate, shrinking the soft membrane shell which contracts to the lobster’s meat, then the pressure builds until the old hard shell breaks open and the lobster pulls it’s new body out. First they pull out the claws then the tail and finally the body. Once this happens they fill themselves up with sea water. They balloon up with water, especially in the claws which are half water and the tail is about a quarter filled with sea water. The cooked meat of a soft shell is bright red and more tender then a hard shell lobster. The new shell looks exactly the same in coloration but it is as thin as syran wrap.