Confessions of a Recipe

Shit. Last night I mentioned my delicious dinner of pasta with lemon cream sauce. I almost posted the recipe but didn’t, because then I would have had to admit where it was from. Well, Gaijin Girl had an inquiring mind. I promised to post, and so I will oblige. Figures this is the night that my dear Yetta, aka Dear Prudence, perhaps the best cook in the world after my mother (sorry, Yetta, but if she ever finds out about this blog, she’ll not only kill me for the "Dirty Little Secret" post and my liberal use of the word “fuck,” but she’ll also get me for insulting her cooking), joins the blogging ranks.

True to my word, the recipe follows, but there’s a story to tell first. You can skip it if you want; the recipe is really good, and I’ve also introduced a variation. In fact, why don’t you skip my story that I’m telling to cover my shame. I’ll feel better.

The Story

Tagliatelle with Lemon comes from one of five self-help books I’ve ever purchased (when you think about it, as a thirty-three-year-old American woman, I’m doing great in that department). Here’s why I bought it.

Two years ago, around this time, I stepped onto the doctor’s scale and wanted to cut off my ass. WHAT THE HELL!? I WEIGH WHAT???!!! FUUUUUUUUCK!!! It was the single biggest number I’ve ever, ever, tipped the scales at. I walked out of that office, utterly defeated, at my All Time Fat (ATF).

That’s it, I resolved. Something must be done. But what? In my early twenties, I did the no-fat thing and reached my All Time Skinny (ATS). It was the only time in my adult life I had people trying to feed me because I was too thin. Thing is, non-fat “cheese” is disgusting. My diet was terrible, consisting of mostly instant soup, fat-free quesadillas (fat-free “tortillas” with non-fat “refried beans,” non-fat cheese, and salsa), and eggbeaters. Not to mention all those fucking SnackWells. Part of the reason why my diet sucked was because I didn’t know how to cook, but mostly it was because I was afraid of food. Still, enough was enough. Wanting flavors back, even if they came from restaurant food, I eventually gave up. Up, up, up went the scales.

In my late twenties, determined to do something about the bod again, I gave veganism a go and became obsessive about exercising. I ate soy “cheese” and joined a gym. That worked too. Although I have nothing but respect for vegans, for me, life without real cheese is downright depressing. And I hate workout machines, not to mention gym culture. While in the process of changing jobs and moving, I lost the rhythm. I also learned how to cook around then, but not how to eat. However popular it might have been, I looked upon the Atkins Diet with scorn. What kind of diet dissed bananas, but allowed people to eat steak with butter and bacon, washed down with a gallon of Gallo? So, I cooked up and ate my fat and carbs and didn’t find a suitable, regular exercise routine. It took a while, but eventually I wound up at my ATF. I was so depressed.

I’ve mentioned before that I work for a publishing company (I’m not an editor, so don’t get snarky about my grammar). We get a subscription to Publishers Weekly to keep us current with the industry. I usually spend my Friday afternoons reading the book reviews (and looking for typos—that rag has a shocking number of them). Right after I’d hit the ATF, I happened to come across a review for this “diet” book that wasn’t, well, a diet book. It was a book on how to enjoy food without being fat. That sounded far more appealing than a life without real cheese, so I picked it up.

Say whatever you want about this book—that it is a commercial for that wino company she works for, or that that leek soup is one of the more vile things ever concocted, or that there’s a very good reason why French women don’t get fat, and it nothing to do with sensible eating habits (cigarettes, anyone?)—French Women Don’t Get Fat has a lot of good advice. (Oh, God, did I just admit to owning that book? Please, stop reading this. Just skip to the recipe. Please. This is humiliating.) In it, Mireille Guiliano describes how one can eat real food, really insanely good food, with all the fat and calories, and not turn into a photo-op for a photojournalist doing a story on American obesity. It just involves a little discipline, playful self-deception, and common sense.

When I’ve followed her advice (I fell off the wagon for a bit, owing to some personal stressful circumstances, Ex-Boyfriend’s penchant for pizza and Indian food, and the aftermath of the infamous e-mail), I look great. Not only that, I am healthy. And fucking happy because I can eat real cheese.

In addition to the good advice, French Women Don’t Get Fat also contains some kickass recipes. I’ve served some of the dishes from this book to unwitting guests, and I always get applause. The bread recipe is simply amazing. So is Tagliatelle with Lemon. Here’s the recipe.

The Recipe, with Variation

Tagliatelle with Lemon
(serves four—I cut this down to one portion)

You’ll Need:
12 ounces tagliatelle
4 lemons
1 tablespoon olive oil
6 ounces crème fraîche
4 ounces parmesan cheese (NOTE: If you use fresh-grated, good parmesan, this will come out much better)
Salt and freshly ground pepper

To Assemble:
Cook the tagliatelle in boiling salted water until al dente. Drain.

While the pasta is cooking, grate the zest of lemons and squeeze and reserve the juice of 1 lemon.

In a saucepan, warm up the olive oil, add the zest, and cook over low flame for 2 minutes. Add the crème fraîche and bring to a boil; pour in the reserved lemon juice and bring to a boil again.

When the cream starts to thicken, add the parmesan, season to taste, mix well, and cook for another minute. Add the drained pasta and toss to mix. Serve immediately.

Free-Styled Variation, with Mushrooms
I made this up tonight, and I don’t have exact measurements for this, but you should get the idea.

You’ll Need:
Mushrooms (I used oyster and cremini [porcini would be delicious]; don’t use those icky white things popular in grocery stores), enough for the portions you are cooking (I used four cremini and four pieces of oyster mushrooms to feed me, and it did nicely), sliced

Shallots (I used a generous slice from a medium-sized shallot to feed one, but if you really like them, you could do a bit more), chopped finely

A bit less olive oil, and a small amount of butter (adjust for the servings, but I used a dab)

The crème fraîche (you might need a bit more), a smidge less of the lemon juice (I squeezed a half-lemon lightly to feed me), parmesan, and the salt and freshly ground pepper listed above

Flat leaf parsley, for garnish, chopped

To Assemble:
This pretty much follows the method above, except that while the water for the pasta is boiling, sauté the mushrooms and shallots in the olive oil and butter in a saucepan.

Cook the tagliatelle until al dente and drain.

Once the mushrooms have cooked, turn down the heat. After a minute or so, add the crème fraîche. You might need a bit more than for the lemon sauce, but take it easy. Bring to a boil. Add the lemon juice. Bring to a boil again. Follow directions above. Garnish with the parsley.

NOTE: Both recipes call for Italian-style portions. In Italy, pasta is never the main course. Plan for a second course (I’m a vegetarian, but I’m a non-judgmental one, so I won’t tell you what to do), and follow with a salad and whatever subsequent courses you will. Please, drink wine, unless you can’t. If you are looking to lose weight, be aware that this is still a caloric bomb. I didn’t overindulge for breakfast or lunch yesterday or today.

People love to hate the French lady. Thing is, eating like this since New Year, I’ve lost five pounds. Beats the hell out of non-fat or soy “cheese.”

Christmas Cheer

Hot Chocolate and the Best Yard Sale Find Ever

After I graduated from college I went home to live with my parents for a year before I started graduate school. Two of my high school friends also returned to our hometown, and the three of us divided our time between our lousy part-time jobs (I worked in a supermarket deli, one friend was a waitress, and the other ran a sandwich shop) and the bar. We partied. We had more boys after us than we’ve ever had since. We had no major responsibilities. We were miserable.

When Christmas rolled around that year, we all had to work Christmas Eve until mid-afternoon. It had snowed the day before, but the Christmas Eve broke sunny and not-too-cold, and so we decided to go sledding. All activities in those days required alcohol, of course, and the occasion called for something particularly festive. We decided upon a little concoction we dubbed “Christmas Cheer.”

Christmas Cheer is disgusting. Here’s the recipe:

You'll Need:
2 heaping teaspoons instant hot chocolate per partaker
1 cup hot water per partaker
Peppermint schnapps, I’d say to taste, but it was really more to obliterate
1 candy cane per partaker
Instant whipped cream, if desired

To Assemble:

Boil the water

Add instant hot chocolate to mug

Add boiling water to about three-quarters full, and stir

Add schnapps (or shnappies, as my friends would say), and stir

To Garnish:

Spray whipped cream on top, if desired

Add candy cane---Festive!

Repeat, as often as desired

Poison

I don’t remember much of the sledding trip, but I do remember singing Christmas carols at the top of our lungs and feeling absolutely awful afterwards (but with minty fresh breath!). It was the best Christmas Eve ever. All anyone has to say is “Christmas Cheer, wink wink,” and we’ll sigh and get all misty-eyed with remembrance of our last carefree days.

Last Christmas one of the friends flew in to see her family. I picked her up in Boston, and we hung out for the evening at my place before heading to New Hampshire for the festivities. On a lark I had procured a bottle of peppermint schnapps under the pretence of making Christmas Cheer. We drank red wine and reminisced about it instead. Feeling wise and hangover-free, we left for New Hampshire the next day.

My neighbor, apparently short of booze for the holidays, broke into my apartment while I was away and stole my Christmas Cheer. My guess is that he spent Christmas Day avoiding all things merry and bright.

Cheap and Easy Party Favorite*

I’m off to a party this evening, a little affair to celebrate my sister’s twenty-ninth birthday with friends. Since this is the semi-kickoff for the holiday season, I thought that I would share a cheap and easy party recipe.**

The Stuff (Otherwise Known as Artichoke-Spinach Dip)

If Yetta reads this, she’s going to laugh her ass off. The Stuff was first introduced to us by a former coworker who spent the better part of the afternoon after we had devoured it creating cute little recipe cards for us. They had clip art and everything.

I’ll spare you that, but I can tell you that The Stuff kicks ass. I’ve brought this tasty dip to many an affair, and there’s never any left at the end. Chefs have asked me for my secret, and I love seeing their faces when I tell them. When I’m invited to potluck dinners, my friends say, “Oh yeah, bring The Stuff.” When I oblige, people exclaim, “Oh, yeah! You brought The Stuff!” while piling their plates high. My mother, one of the best cooks in the land, always buys the ingredients for me to make The Stuff as an appetizer on Thanksgiving AND Christmas Day.

I imagine some suburban housewife created The Stuff upon discovering artichoke hearts and not having the faintest idea what to do with them. The thing about suburban housewives is that, laugh at them all you want, they know comfort food. If you don’t trust them, trust me—this is the best artichoke-spinach dip you’ll ever eat.

You’ll need:
1 can artichoke hearts, in water, drained
1 package frozen chopped spinach, thawed (don’t try fresh, and for the love of all that is holy, do not try canned)
1 small can diced green chilies (found in the faux-Mexican section, alongside the “taco” seasoning)
1 cup mayonnaise (don’t use salad dressing)
1 cup parmesan cheese (the recipe calls for the powdery stuff, but you can used fresh grated, and it will still be yummy)

To assemble:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees (Alas, I don’t know my conversions very well).
Squeeze all the water out of the chopped spinach. Do this thoroughly, or the dip will be runny.
Chop the ends off the artichoke hearts, and discard (make sure you get the choke). Chop the rest into decent-sized pieces.
Dump the squeezed spinach and the chopped artichoke hearts in a bowl.
Dump in the small can of diced green chilies.
Dump in the cup of mayonnaise.
Dump in the cup of parmesan cheese.
Mix thoroughly.
Dump the mixture into small, ungreased casserole dish (I use a Le Creuset small oval baker).

To bake:
Bake at 375 degrees for 15–20 minutes or until top is slightly brown and the mixture is bubbly.

To serve:
Serve hot. This dip goes with pretty much everything, and I’ve seen people eat it with a fork. I tend to bring nice crackers (try to spruce up the suburban housewifey thing a bit, you know). Watch as people devour and laugh when you tell them that your secret is mayonnaise.

Fluff and the Stuff at Thanksgiving at Mom & Dad's

* And you thought I was going to be vulgar

**I really can cook. I’ve slaved hours for dinner parties before, pulling fresh, homemade bread out of the oven as I put the finishing touches on the soup, appetizer ready, wine at hand, and main course under control. When time is short, and party time is upon me, however, this is the one thing I count on to please.