Eggplant & Potato Curry

Recipe follows story

Inspired by my gastronomic jaunt to Canarsie, and many amazing conversations with a few shop and restaurant owners, I prepared a Guyanese holiday dinner.  The main portion of my meal was meaty, which wouldn’t necessarily work as two of my guests were vegetarians.

Orin Small, owner of Smally West Indian Market in Canarsie, gave me quite the education in Guyanese cuisine, how it was influenced by colonization as well as other cultures that made their way in.  He noted lo mein and fried rice as being two mainstays in Guyanese home cooking and vegetables such as eggplant, Chinese long beans along with okra and cassava are also popular.  I had no shortage of vegetables to choose from, but I needed to figure out a recipe that would qualify them under the umbrella of this meal.  Smally orchestrated my Guyanese meal and gave me the makings for solid vegetarian sides of plantains and coconut rice, but I was left to my own devices for the main fare.    

A trip to the Tastee Pattee Bakery & Grill, led me to opening my dessert choice to Jamaican rock cakes so the recipe for my vegetarian dish needn’t be exclusively Guyanese.  

I broadened my recipe search and found inspiration on caribbeanpot.com.

Chris, of caribbeanpot.com, is cooking up food memories from Trinidad and Tobago and his recipe for potato and eggplant curry looked promising.  

Eggplant is hearty and meaty and, when coupled with potatoes, makes a completely soul and belly stuffing meal.  It’s no hot pepperpot stew, but I hoped this vegetable pairing would provide my non-meaty friends with a substantially satisfying substitute.

I took Chris’ recipe and improvised based on ingredients I had in the house and bits of the main meal that I already had prepared.  

I swapped out water for coconut milk and instead of cooking the eggplant down with the potatoes, I scored it, stuffed it with garlic and roasted it in the oven until it was completely broken down.  Roasting any vegetable greatly increases its flavor.  The browner and more caramelized a vegetable, the more intense flavor you will get from it, so I started there.

And here’s where I landed …

Potato & Eggplant Curry 
makes 5-6 servings 

1 large eggplant
6 cloves of garlic (peeled and each clove sliced in thirds)
1/4 c. vegetable oil
3T. curry powder
2 tsp. all spice
1 large sweet onion (diced)
6 white potatoes (peeled and cubed)
1 14 oz. can of coconut milk + equal parts water (use water if necessary)
1 T. green seasoning
2 wiri wiri peppers (de-seeded)
Salt to taste 

-Preheat oven to 400 degrees
-Score eggplant and stuff with garlic
-Place eggplant on a baking sheet and roast for 45-50 minutes until eggplant is collapsed
-Put aside to cool
-Once cool, slice eggplant open and scrape out the flesh and garlic and put aside in a bowl 
-To a large skillet (that has some depth), over medium heat, add oil, curry powder and all spice  and mix until a paste is formed
-Add onions and coat with the curry, cooking for 7-8 minutes
-Add potatoes and toss to coat, cooking for an additional 10 minutes
-Add eggplant and toss to coat
-Pour in coconut milk and additional water if necessary (potatoes should be covered)
-Add green seasoning and spices and allow pot to simmer
-Lower flame, being careful to watch the pot so the potatoes do not stick to the bottom of the spot, and cook for 40-45 minutes until potatoes are fork tender  
-Serve over plain rice or eat alone  

Brown Gravy

Green Seasoning
Coconut Peas and Rice

Fried fish with green seasoning

Fried Plantains

Recipes follow story

One of my biggest crushes in this life, bigger than my crush on Kate Winslet, Hugh Jackman and apple crumb pie a la mode …

Aubrey Leander DeSilva.

Who is Aubrey Leander DeSilva?

My first crush.  Aubrey lived across the street from me and his house directly faced my back yard.  From his garage, and from my grandpas garden, we would talk on the phone, every day, after school.  He was 14 and I was 12.  He was Guyanese, he dj’d, he could dance - and I was chubby and self-conscious.  He would tell me I had beautiful hair, he would always ask me what I was reading whenever he saw me shuffling around with a book.  He was a dream.

When I stepped off of the L train and set foot on Rockaway Parkway 2 weekends ago, I wondered where Aubrey was.  I wished he would be waiting in front of the library for me, where he used to pick me up after school, but no such luck.

I walked past the library, past Canarsie High School, past bodegas where I would buy cigarettes for 10 cents a piece.

I arrived at Avenue L, where I would go to the movies, eat a slice, then eat an icey, then gobble down a pastry.  

This time around I didn’t have a slice, icey or pastry, my friend and I closed in a little West Indian market between 94th and 95th Street - that is after we stuffed ourselves on Jamaican food for lunch.

Orin Small is originally from Guyana and has lived in Canarsie for the past 16 years and he opened his specialty West Indian Food Market 12 years ago.  His motivation; one day  his wife sent him out to purchase mixed essence, and there was none to be found in the neighborhood.  Mixed essence contains vanilla, pear oil, almond oil, pineapple and caramel - among some other flavors  - and from what I learned, it’s a key ingredient in black cake or rum cake a traditional holiday treat enjoyed in Guyana and throughout the Caribbean.  Orin Small saw this as an opportunity to build a go to market in Canarsie, where residents could seek out ingredients to make meals they would always enjoy at home.

Standing close by Orin was his son, Roland.  Roland Small may only be 15 years old, but he knows a thing or two about making a sale and giving cooking tutorials.

For the child who is raised among family meals and a culture rooted in the tradition of cooking, sharing memories of food will always be the first thing on their mind.  Well, at least that’s the case for me and Roland.

I walked out of the store on Saturday night, learning how to make the Small’s version of Guyanese green seasoning, as they prepare it in their own home.

It was recommended that I use this green seasoning on any kind of white fish and then fry it up, until the rub gets crispy.  The Small’s enjoy their fried fish with coconut peas and rice or plantains, and they also shared their recipe for brown gravy.

Going back to Canarsie didn’t land me in the arms of my childhood crush, it brought me back to my only love - my kitchen.  

Brown Gravy
*makes 2 cups

1 T. oil
1 medium onion (diced)
1 bunch scallions (diced)
1/2 pint grape tomatoes (halved)
3 cloves of garlic (minced)
3 wiri wiri peppers (minced)
3/4 c. water
1 c. Miracle Seasoning

-In a medium saucepan, heat oil over medium flame
-Add onions and scallions, sauteing until fragrant about 5-7 minutes
-Add garlic, tomatoes and wiri wiri pepper - and cook for an additional 10-12 minutes, stirring frequently
-Add water
-Add Miracle Seasoning and bring to a boil
-Put aside until fish is fried and ready to serve

Green Seasoning  
*rub for 8 filets

1/3 c. dried broad leaf thyme
1/3 c. dried fine leaf thyme
1/2 c. fresh basil
4 scallions
2 cloves garlic
3 wiri wiri pepper
1/2 tsp. salt
8 pieces of butter fish (or any white fleshed fish filet)
3 T. vegetable oil

-In a food processor, fit with a steel blade, add first 7 ingredients and pulse until blended
-Rub green seasoning on fish and put aside
-Add oil to a large skillet, and place over medium flame, frying rubbed fish - in batches - cooking for approximately 3 minutes on each side (depending on thickness/size of filet)
-Top with brown gravy or serve on the side 

Plantain Chips
5 green plantains
Vegetable oil for frying
Kosher salt

-Soak plantains in scalding hot water for 7-10 minutes, for ease of peeling
-Fill a medium sauce pan, halfway, with oil and place over medium flame - allowing to reach 375 degrees 
-If you do not have a thermometer or a deep fryer, test the oil by tossing in a piece of plantain, and if it floats to the top within moments - you’re good to start frying
-Trim top of plantain, make a slice through the skin of the plantain - lengthwise - and remove skin
-Cut plantains in half
-Using a mandolin, if you have one, slice lengthwise into long strips
-If you do not own a mandolin, make lengthwise slices or slice plantain into thin rounds
-Add plantains to the hot oil, frying in batches, until deep golden brown 

Coconut Peas and Rice

2 c. parboiled rice
1 c. yellow split peas
1 14 oz can coconut milk
1 1/4 c. water
1 small onion (diced)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

-To a large stock pot, add peas, rice, diced onion, coconut milk, salt and pepper
-Place pot over a low flame and cover 
-Cook until all liquid is completely absorbed
-Serve with fried, herb rubbed, white fish

Split Pea Soup

Rich in memory are those places from the past that can never be revisited. -Rilke

Every Saturday, pretty much religiously, throughout childhood and my more formative teenage years, I would go grocery shopping with my mom and dad. Mom would leave to start her day of work at the bakery at 6:30am and got off at 1pm.  Full of flour and wearing a Bread Box smock or a John’s Bakery three button polo shirt, depending upon where she worked, she would come barreling out of said bakery bearing loaves of bread, cookies, and my absolute favorite - the concha roll.  

The concha roll: A Mexican, shell shaped sweet roll topped with sugar paste.  

The sugar paste is textured and is of a dough like consistency, and it is delicious. And while my father drove - all over creation - my mother didn’t drive and still doesn’t - from one end of Brooklyn to the other - I picked on the one concha my mother would allow me to have.  One by one, I removed the sugar paste dough patches from the top of the sweet roll my mother gave me.  After 20 minutes, the roll was naked, stripped bare of it’s sugary coating.  I held a roll topped with holes, which then meant it was time to gobble up the remains of the actual roll.  I would no doubt finish my concha in 5 solid bites.

There was a lot of driving involved on these Saturday food shopping expeditions.  I didn’t spend much time with my mom and dad during the week - between my mom working at the bakery and running to hospital appointments with Thomas and my dad’s late nights as a truck driver.  I went food shopping because I wanted to be close to them, and the conchas were a serious bonus.  And there was another very alluring food item that I couldn’t wait to slurp up and I knew it would always come mid-way through our Saturday grocery shopping expedition. 

We traveled from the fuit and vegetable stands on Ave. U to 14th Ave. and 18th Ave. to make individual stops for pastas, bread (because we needed more bread) and dad’s coffee.  Queen Ann Ravioli, Pastosa Ravioli - it’s all melded in my mind as one giant flour based blur. 

After all of this running around from store to store, climbing in and out of the ‘91 Plymouth Voyager, one lone concha was not holding me over.  Shopping with Evelyn was what I imagine shopping with Mussolini would be like.  I was never on any formal sports teams, but climbing in and out of that car and carrying grocery bags in the pouring rain was aerobic and quite athletic for my very tired, very chubby appendages.

By 3pm I would crash.  Two hours of in and out of stores.  My mother hadn’t eaten since breakfast at 5:30am, I wondered:  how does she do this?  She can’t be real, she’s a machine. She was running on buttered semolina toast and a mug of milk tea.   She never ate at work.  She didn’t even touch a concha on our car ride from store to store.  I didn’t think this was normal.  I still have trouble believing this is normal.  Mid-way through breakfast I’m usually talking about or planning lunch.   My mother worked, and still works, like a machine.  

And just when I would hit my hunger wall, Dad would pull into the parking lot at Patrina’s Diner.
I knew, soon enough, I would be sated.   

Patrina’s Diner on 18th Ave and New Utrecht.  How I wish it never closed down.  

Saturday was split pea soup day at Patrina’s. I knew a cup, or a bowl of pea soup was almost in my tummy the moment we pulled into that rinky dink parking lot.  Surely my dad wouldn’t not go.   My dad had a hunger fury much like I did, so I knew we would stop in at the diner at some point, but the difference between getting that pea soup in my belly at 2:45 vs. 3:15 was epic.  My mom, dad and myself, would sit - us 3, no brothers or mean comments about my tubbiness - and each eat our prized bowls of Patrina’s pea soup.

Last Saturday, I made a large pot.  I imagined I was a kid.  I imagined myself in a cotton turtleneck and sweatpants, my Saturday best.  I sat down to soup, after racing through Astoria, buying my meat, my bread, my pasta and my fruit.  All at separate stores, just like I was taught.  As I sat down at my kitchen table, exhausted but so much stronger than I was as a child, I ate my pea soup with Nancy.

I pictured my mom and dad sitting in the empty chairs that occupied the space around the table on either side of us.

Split Pea Soup

1 bag Goya green split peas
1 T. olive oil
1 T. butter
8 oz. bacon or ham steak (cut into bite sized pieces)
2 large onions (diced)
2 cloves of garlic (minced)
5 medium carrots (cut into rounds, not too large) 
10 c. water
3 large sprigs of thyme 
3 dried bay leaves
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 

-Place a large cast iron pot or stock pot over a medium flame and add butter, olive oil and bacon
-Cook for 10 minutes, add onions, carrots and garlic and saute for an additional 10-12 minutes   
-Add peas and coat with vegetables and bacon
-Add water, and herbs and bring to a boil, lower heat and let simmer with the cover on until peas are completely broken down - about 1 hour - and add salt and pepper 
-Remove bay leaves and thyme stems
-Serve hot, with buttery croutons, in tiny cups, and pretend you’re young again  

Pumpkin & Acorn Squash Soup

This soup is the brain child of a large, uncarved pumpkin - and one too many acorn squashes I bought at the market.  I don’t carve pumpkins.  What was I thinking?  I cook things, I don’t carve them.  Often times I purchase food with the best intentions, and many of my meals come by way of items lying fallow in my fridge or on my kitchen counter.  Much like myself, these bodacious beauties were waiting to be loved.  I relate to my vegetables.  I relate to the roundness of a pumpkin and the misshapen nature of the acorn squash.  I feel for all vegetables large, awkward and in need of a little butter and sweetness to make them come alive.  This kitchen concoction was made with a lot of love, 1/3 cup of maple syrup, shallots and freshly grated nutmeg.  

Details right here.

3 medium acorn squashes (peeled and cubed)
1 pumpkin (4-5 lbs + flesh removed from skin and cubed)
6 shallots (minced)
6 T. butter
1 qt. chicken stock 
1/3 c. maple syrup
1 whole piece of nutmeg
1/4 c. half & half 
1/2 can of pumpkin (for added thickness if you feel so inclined)

-Heat the butter in a large soup pot over medium-high heat and add the shallots, stirring occasionally, until soft and fragrant, about 8 minutes
-Add in the acorn squash, pumpkin and broth and bring to a boil
-Add maple syrup, nutmeg and canned pumpkin
-Lower the heat and simmer for 45-50 minutes
-Remove from the heat and, using an immersion blender, or working in batches, transfer the mixture to a blender and puree until smooth
-Whisk the half & half and salt into the soup and season with pepper to taste
-Divide among warm soup bowls and NOM immediately - with homemade buttery croutons and spiced pumpkin seeds

Tomato Bisque

Recipe was adapted from Food Network Kitchens

For this round of tomato bisque, I cut out the bacon and substituted the heavy cream for half & half.  I love bacon.  Life is better with bacon, but it’s not always necessary.  I didn’t think this soup warranted bacon flavor/undertones, nor did I want it to be too creamy.  Sometimes the overuse of heavy cream really freaks me out and screams heart attack at my formerly even larger booty.  I know, it’s a bisque and bisques are supposed to be rich, but even I have limits.  I wanted the tomato to be the hero for this here soup - and the tweaks did the trick.   

4 T. unsalted butter
4 shallots (chopped)
1 carrot (chopped)
1 stalk celery (chopped)
4 cloves garlic (minced)
5 T. Wondra flour
5 c. low-sodium chicken stock 
1 28 oz. can whole, peeled tomatoes (with liquid and roughly chopped)
6 fresh thyme sprigs
1 bay leaf
1/2 c. half & half 
1/2 c. fat free half & half
1 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

-Heat the butter in a large soup pot over medium-high heat and add the shallots, carrots, celery, and garlic and cook, covered, stirring occasionally, until soft and fragrant, about 8 minutes
-Stir in the flour and cook, stirring, for 3 minutes
-Pour in the broth and tomatoes and bring to a boil while whisking constantly
-Tie the thyme and bay leaf together with a piece of kitchen twine and add to the pot
-Lower the heat and simmer for 30 minutes
-Remove from the heat and allow to cool
-When the soup base is cool, remove and discard the herb bundle
-Using an immersion blender, or working in batches, transfer the mixture to a blender and puree until smooth
-Using a sieve over a large bowl, strain the tomato puree
-Return the puree to the pot and reheat over medium heat
-Whisk the half & half and salt into the soup and season with pepper to taste
-Divide among warm soup bowls and serve immediately 

Kale, Potato and Leek Quiche

Recipe follows story

While most food bloggers are basking in the glory of cooking Thanksgiving dinner and thinking of all of the fun new twists to put on old favorites, I’m catching up and writing about food I’ve made, prepared and shared over the past two weeks (while I watch my mother run around like a mad-woman. I’m not a mean food blogger - I promise, she doesn’t want me to help - and I really do enjoy it when someone wants to cook for me too).

I’ve been a little too busy to bust a blog. 

 Just 2 weeks ago I spent two days preparing food for a very special visitor.
I was lost in a whirlwind of cooking.  

My Aunt Deb was coming to help me paint my apartment.

I finally committed to a color.  After three years of stark white insane asylum walls, I decided to commit.  I made the commitment because, truth be told, although my apartment is tiny - she packs a lot of love and good memories.  She holds a lot of good meals.  Forget about the dudes I’ve cooked for or brought home that I’ve shared my space with.  This garden level palace is all mine, and my landlord moved out and told me I can take on the front garden.

It was time to paint.

Who gives a shit if I can get burglarized, abducted or stalked by a predatory neighbor?
Who gives a shit if the new folks upstairs listen to really terrible electronic and techno music  - and played Landslide on repeat for an hour last week?
Who cares if kids drink 40’s on my stoop in the summer?

I’m going to have a garden.
I’ll be able to plant shit this summer.  
A 3x5 patch of dirt is hard to come by in this city, and I’m not throwing that opportunity away.  I’ll take all of the risks listed above.  I can learn to dance to electronic music.  I can play Rave by myself.  I’m down with Stevie Nicks.  I just purchased a renters insurance policy.

I’m not scared.
I am golden.   

At this rate, I’ll have that washer and dryer by 35.

It was time to paint.

And, my Aunt Deb is somewhat of a domestic diva.  A demi-god of painting, procuring product and selecting colors.  I’m a first class idiot when it comes to that.  I know what I like and I have my own style - and it’s called so mis-matched it’ll all match.  With some of my most prized pieces being finds from the street, antique shops and family heirlooms.  And by heirlooms, I mean my mom and dad’s first end tables when they got married.

Fine, I’m sentimental - and a garbage picker.  

I’ve painted before, but never under the wing of one that actually knows what they’re doing.  My aunt came to Queens and she meant business.  She brought drop cloths, trays, brushes, big rollers, little rollers, step stools, rags, painters tape, and I could go on.   We saddled in for a two day painting expedition.  I learned the art of cutting into walls, how to properly coat a roller, and other painting techniques that will forever be invaluable - as I’m sure I’ll be staying in my box long enough to necessitate a touch up or two. 

I spend a lot of time with my aunt and uncle, at their lovely oasis out on Long Island. When I go to visit them they do nothing short of make me feel like their home is my home.  We spend a lot of time eating, drinking wine, watching films and laughing. They’re just about the coolest and biggest hearted people I know.  A very rare find, if you will.   

And, if you ask me … when someone special comes to visit, there’s nothing worse than a refrigerator that isn’t full.

I wanted my refrigerator to be so full she wouldn’t close.  It’s not often that anyone cooks for my aunt.  It’s rare when she’s not doing something for someone else or giving a piece of herself and her time to others.  She’s this sort of saint that I can’t quite imagine ever being like.  She’s strong, she tells it like it is, and she loves me - even when I’m an idiot.  Even when I’m absurd and quirky and making rotten jokes. She loves me for being myself.  

I couldn’t give her back the time she dedicated to helping me with this project.
I couldn’t give her back everything she has emotionally and physically given to my mom and my family.
I couldn’t give her back all the love and support she’s always given me.   

But I could give her food.
I could give her meals, with memories assigned to each day and night we spent painting together, that she would remember for years to come.

Here’s the food roll:

Kale, Potato and Leek Quiche
Who doesn’t love a slice of quiche for breakfast or lunch?  This one was made with all of the goodies I acquired at the farmers market, so it’s a bit of a delightfully fresh mash up of flavors and veggie love.  

Tomato Bisque
Is Aunt Deb’s favorite soup.  I know she loves soup.  Period.  And when isn’t soup satisfying in the fall?  If you don’t like soup, for shame, and please do not continue to read my blog.  

Pumpkin & Acorn Squash Soup
Because I had a pumpkin to cook and some acorn squash that I also foraged for at the market.  And there can never be too much soup. Never. Options are always good and welcome in my world.  I like a tasting, and so does my aunt.  A smattering of flavors really came through in this kitchen concoction, and I couldn’t be happier with the way it turned out for a first try.  

Pasta A La Genovese
A traditional Neopolitan sauce of caramelized onions.  Made with lamb shoulder, veal necks, onions and wine, this is by far one of my favorite childhood meals. My grandma would make it, occasionally, on Sunday’s.  It was special.  My aunt never had it, and I hadn’t ever made it - so I thought this the perfect opportunity to channel grandma, make some sauce and share it with one of my favorite women in this world.  

For now, a quiche recipe - with more to come.

Kale, Potato and Leek Quiche

1 deep dish pie crust
3 medium leeks (greens discarded and whites finely chopped)
1/2 head of kale (stems removed and finely chopped)
3 cloves garlic (minced)
6-8 baby yukon gold potatoes (cubed into bite sized pieces)
2 T. butter
3 T. olive oil
1/4 water
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 eggs
1/4 c. ricotta
1/4 c. locatelli
3 oz. fresh mozzarella (cubed)
2 tsp. baking powder 

-Preheat oven to 350 degrees
-In a large bowl, beat eggs, ricotta, cheeses, baking powder a little bit of salt and freshly ground pepper - and put aside
-To a deep skillet, set over a medium flame, add butter and leeks - sauteing for 3-4 minutes
-Add garlic and toss
-Add potatoes and saute mixture for an additional 7-8 minutes, constantly tossing 
-Add kale in portions, drizzling with olive oil and tossing in between additions
-Once all kale is added and all olive oil has been used, continue to toss and saute until kale begins to wilt/cook down - about 10-12 minutes
-If mixture looks dry, add in water and continue to toss, until kale is fully cooked
-Toss with salt and pepper and add this vegetable mixture to the egg mixture and combine
-Place pie shell on a baking sheet, then pour filling into pie crust and bake for 50 minutes to 1 hour, until middle of quiche is set

Share with someone you love.   
Share only with someone special.   

Pasta Pie 

Recipe follows story

On my way home from work, I gave my Uncle Louie a call.  It was his son Matthew’s birthday.  I was calling to send good tidings to the child - who really isn’t a child - as he’s 15 - and then ended up on the phone with my uncle for a bit.   

Once my Uncle and I got past the pleasantries, medical updates - he was in the hospital, I was in the hospital - the conversation quickly turned to food.  This is a trend in all conversations I have with my family and phone conversations usually proceed as follows:

1. How are you?
2. Been to the dr. lately?
3. Are you home from work yet?
4. What are you eating for dinner?
5. You making anything else this week that I should know about?

This isn’t one sided.  As much as I want my family to call me  and talk to me about my hopes, dreams, dates - wait, I don’t date - we always end up talking about food and medical ailments.  

I told my Uncle Louie I had a gallon of leftover spaghetti with cauliflower and he mentioned he had just made the same last week …  

I grew up in one house with all of my uncles, my grandparents, my mom, dad and brothers.  Uncle Louie would get home from work, in the city, which I thought was a big deal, and immediately come upstairs to our apartment.  He would eat dinner with us or, rather, eat off of my brother Louis’ plate because he knew it freaked him out.

While we’re at it:

1.  My grandpas name was Louis, but went by Luigi
2.  My uncles name is Louis, but goes by Louie
3.  My brothers name is Louis, but goes by Lou or Lou-ass (the latter is exclusively my pet name for him)

Uncle Louie lived to torment us and make my brothers and myself live in fear.  He is large.  He is bearded.  He is tall, for a family of short Italian men.  His voice carried.  He found out Louis was cutting school to play basketball and he stuck a knife through his ball.  Yes, he did.  He heard me talking street and saying things like, pass me the ball you cock sucker - and he chased me around the yard.  He would always catch me.  I was too fat to escape.

He would eat with us and then eat with my grandparents.  Clearly my dirty habit of eating double dinners was partly learned from my uncle.  In our house, dinner was often eaten twice, and when it wasn’t - we could be found eating together.  With an air of sadness and happiness in his voice, my Uncle Louie talked about my grandmas spaghetti with cauliflower, then he also mentioned his recent dinner of pasta pie.  He told me he still makes pasta pie for his kids.  The thought of my uncle cooking for his kids made me happy.    

I couldn’t remember the last time I had pasta pie.  

I knew I’d made some dumbed down super healthy version of it - years ago - with leftover whole wheat pasta, zucchini, egg whites and grated cheese.  This is not the way my uncle and I remembered pasta pie.  We described gooeyness to one another. Cutting into fat pieces with strings of cheese holding every bit of pasta together.

Typically, pasta pie was made from Sunday dinner leftovers.  Little bits of meat, interspersed with bits of pasta bathed in eggs and a lot of cheese, then fried on the stove.  Piping hot pasta pie was always served with a very wet and oily salad of iceberg lettuce and red onion.     

My uncle still works in the city, but now he lives in Jersey.  The house we lived in in Brooklyn doesn’t even exist anymore.  It’s gone.  

I wondered why my uncle and I only talk on birthdays and see one another at weddings and funerals.  He lived with us until I turned 10, that’s when he got married.

Were it not for him, I wouldn’t have learned that you don’t curse in front of people you don’t want to hear it.  I wouldn’t have understood that sometimes people do incredibly mean things to protect and teach lessons.  I wouldn’t have known how to sit down to a second dinner without looking guilty.  I followed his cues and secured many a double meal for myself - until my family caught on - as I was expanding at mountainous proportions.

We hung up the phone, and I promised - to myself - that I wouldn’t wait so long call and check in.  
It was glaringly obvious that pasta pie was the only way I should use my spaghetti with cauliflower leftovers.  

Pasta Pie

Leftover pasta (I had 4 full servings)
4 eggs
1/4 c. part skim ricotta
1/4 c. grated parmigiano reggiano
3 oz. mozzarella (cubed)
1 T. olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

-Beat eggs, ricotta, parmigiano, mozzarella, salt pepper
-Add leftover past and mix well
-Coat a heavy bottomed non-stick skillet with cooking spray and 1 T. of olive oil and place over a medium flame
-Pour egg/pasta mixture into the skillet and cook for approximately 12-15 minutes on each side (until deep golden brown)
*When it’s time to flip the past pie, place a large plate over the skillet and turn over, then gently slide pie back into the skillet and continue to cook  

Spaghetti With Cauliflower

Recipe follows story 

When I called my mom, last Sunday, to do our mother daughter check in, I told her I was making spaghetti with cauliflower for dinner.  The first thing she asked, are you going to break the spaghetti like grandma did?

Of course I was going to break the spaghetti like my grandma did.

Spaghetti with cauliflower wouldn’t taste the same if I didn’t.  

The spaghetti can’t be long.  It’s not allowed to wrap around the fork.  There’s no twirling technique involved.  This is not a meal you eat delicately, this is a meal you shovel in.  The short spaghetti is supposed to fall off of the fork as it’s moving from bowl to mouth at a rapid pace.  Every bite is supposed to burn the back of your throat, as anything less than a heavy handed use of red pepper flakes is completely unacceptable.  Shovel in, feel the burn, wash down with red wine mixed with 7up - another grandma classic.  Every tiny piece of spaghetti and cauliflower will manage to slide down perfectly, don’t worry - the red pepper sting will be an afterthought -because all ingredients will have been lubed with an ample amount of olive oil.

Of course I was going to break the spaghetti like my grandma did.
Of course I was going to use too much red pepper.
Of course I was going to use too much olive oil.   

My grandmother would never make this on a Sunday, but food rules for singles can be broken.  This would be deemed an unacceptable Sunday dinner because every man sitting at our table would’ve been wondering where the meat plate went.  No one wants raging Italian men searching for sausage when there is none to be found.

I sat comfortably as I broke tradition, knowing the recipe was the same, even if the day of the week I was inaccurate.   

This nom lends itself to being transformed into another weeknight dinner and a lunch time leftover.  More meals made from broken spaghetti and cauliflower this week.  

Spaghetti With Cauliflower 

1 lb. spaghetti (broken 3-4 times lengthwise)
1/3 c. olive oil (+ more for drizzling)
1 large onion (medium dice)
2 cloves garlic (minced)
1 T. red pepper flakes 1 head cauliflower (broken into small/medium sized florets)”
1 c. water
4 large vine ripe tomatoes (halved and cubed)
Kosher salt 
1/4 c. toasted breadcrumbs and parmigiano for serving

-In a large, deep saute pan - heat olive oil over medium flame and add onions and red pepper - sauteing for 5-7 minutes
-Add cauliflower and garlic, tossing to coat, and continue to cook and turn for 10 minutes
-Add cubed fresh tomatoes, salt, and continue to toss and cook for another 10 minutes or so
-Add water and cook until cauliflower is just fork tender
-Cook spaghetti according to instructions and reserve 1 c. of pasta water
-Drain spaghetti and toss with cauliflower mixture (if your pasta doesn’t look moist enough for your liking, add in reserved pasta water little by little)
-Plate pasta and drizzle each serving with olive oil, toasted bread crumbs, parmigiano and extra red pepper flakes