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.
Potatoes are my kryptonite. Those of you who have been reading here for a long time know my love of potatoes. I don't care if they are mashed, baked, fried, hashed...it just doesn't matter. I can't say no to them in any form. I really try to keep my distance from them but they call to me with their siren songs. Ugh.
With our 12th wedding anniversary right around the corner, I thought I’d look up 12th year wedding gifts. The traditional gifts are silks and linens. Who came up with those? Does that mean I should expect a linen table cloth? Should Jeff expect silk pajamas? I think not.
I'm not sure who first decided to smoke an oyster or why, but it sure
was a good idea. The texture of a smoked oyster is nothing like a raw
oyster. It's firm yet still creamy, sweet and addictive to eat as
candy.
Traditional shortbread should really be called “several sticks of butter – cookies”. The butter could very well be what makes them so additively mouth watering. Shortbread is not something that could linger around my house. If it does, I end up consuming 98% of it. With the weather shifting into summer and tank top season upon us, eating a large batch of shortbread would most likely keep me in turtlenecks and long sleeve t’s rather than a cute maxi or simple sun dress.