Claudia's Cucina

"Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom"

Marcel Proust's words ring close to home, having been raised by a gardening mother who nurtured me and my siblings from seedlings to full-grown adults. My most tangible, childhood memories are set outdoors, ranging from the tedious (weeding) to the delicious (homegrown produce) When not pillaged by wily woodchucks, Farmer Mom's garden enriched our meals with tart raspberries, crunchy peas, and, most bountifully, basil.

Mom's bumper crop was well-timed with the early eighties' infatuation with Italian cucina. Marcella Hazan's Essentials of Italian Cooking was the home chefs' bible, and pesto (which Nora Ephron dubbed "the quiche of the 80's") was all the rage. With an abundance of basil and an insatiable brood, Mom made pesto a regular at the Steinman family table.

Pesto paired perfectly with Mom's ethos; like her, it was classic, simple, unfussy and utterly gorgeous.  Pesto celebrated her love of the land while its ease to freeze embodied her practical side. Mom stored her pesto in glass beakers from Dad's lab so that our freezer resembled a mad botanist's workshop. Each time she'd pluck a bottle of ice-cold, green elixir from the fridge, we were eager participants in her culinary experiment.

Feeling nostalgic on our 30th birthday, Lesley and I asked Mom to cook up this childhood favorite. We had gathered 15 close friends in Paso Robles for a wine-tasting, cooking class extravaganza. Mom's Connecticut garden was bursting with basil, so she offered to fly the homegrown herbs cross-country. Others would have chosen an easier route, like a local supermarket perhaps? Mom didn't flinch at the prospect of lugging a bushel of basil 3,000 miles. "I was the most popular passenger on the plane" she exclaimed, thanks to her wonderfully fragrant carry-on.

This was vintage mom: going the extra mile to ensure our pleasure and embracing our friends as her extended family, all while exuding her signature super-positive, Midwestern enthusiasm.

Recipes for pesto are as varied as Italian mammas. Marcella's "most seductive of sauces" calls for a luscious addition, butter, which suits Mom's butter-infatuation--her "pats" are a decadent 1/4 of a stick. In the spirit of Mother's Day, gather your loved ones around the table for this simple, savory supper. Why not plant basil--a la Claudia--so the gift lasts all summer.


Pesto
adapted from Marcela Hazan
serves 6

2 cups tightly packed fresh basil leaves
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
3 Tbsp. pine nuts
2 garlic cloves, chopped fine before putting in the processor
~ Salt
⅓ cup freshly grated parrmigiano-reggiano cheese
2 Tbsp. freshly grated romano cheese
3 Tbsp. butter, softened to room temperature
1½ lb. pasta
Steps

1. Briefly soak and wash the basil in cold water, and gently pat it thoroughly dry with paper towels.

2.  Mix basil, olive oil, pine nuts, chopped garlic, and generous pinch of salt in blender or food processor until creamy.

3. Transfer to a bowl, then mix in the two grated cheeses by hand. It is worth the slight effort to do it by hand to obtain the notably superior texture it produces. Mom's elegant, long fingers were well-suited for the task

4. Add the softened butter, incorporating it evenly into the sauce.

5. When spooning the pesto over pasta, dilute it slightly with a tablespoon or two of the hot water in which the pasta was cooked.

Freezing pesto: Make the sauce through to the end of Step 2, and freeze it without cheese and butter in it. Add the cheese and butter when it is thawed, just before serving.

Move Over Meatless Monday..

...here comes Pancake Tuesday!

A long long time ago, as good Christians prepared for Lent by ridding their cupboards of richness, eggs, milk, butter and sugar were whipped into decadent treats: raised doughnuts (malasadas) in Portugal, cream-filled buns (fastelavnsboller) in Norway, and pancakes throughout the anglophone world.   A tradition was born and Shrove Tuesday was appropriately dubbed "Fat Tuesday".  For us Anglos, we celebrate Pancake Day, a bacchanalia of griddled goodness. Around the U.K., locals keep the kilos off with pancake races, where apron-clad contestants flip flapjacks while running.  Like models balancing books on their heads, this is an exercise in co-ordination, in a decidedly more carb-heavy fashion.

As a devoted pancake-lover (see my previous ode to the orbs here), I'm honoring this esteemed day by sharing my favorite recipe. For those adverse to cooking, I offer you my go-to spots to get your griddle on. 

Oatmeal Pancakes

In an effort to add healthfulness to her son's eating, my sister turns to Good to the Grain, Kim Boyce's terrific tome of whole-grain baking.  Proving that increased nutrition need not equal decreased taste, these oatmeal pancakes are addictively tasty.  All the comfort of oatmeal combined with a good wallop of butter makes for a moist & delicious, morning treat. 

Oatmeal Pancakes

Adapted from Good to the Grain

Makes about 18 pancakes

3/4 cup oat flour (you can make this by pulsing rolled oats into a food processor or spice grinder until finely ground; 1 cup of oats yielded 3/4 cup oat flour for me)

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar

2 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 teaspoon Kosher or coarse salt

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly (plus extra for the pan)

1 1/4 cups whole milk

1 cup cooked oatmeal*

1 tablespoon unsulphured (not blackstrap) molasses or 1 tablespoon honey

2 large eggs

Whisk the dry ingredients (oat flour, flour, sugar, baking powder and salt) together in a large bowl. In a smaller bowl, whisk the butter, milk, cooked oatmeal, honey and eggs together until thoroughly combined. Gently fold the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Using a light hand is important for tender pancakes; the batter should be slightly thick with a holey surface.

Heat a 10-inch cast-iron pan or griddle over medium heat until water sizzles when splashed onto the pan. Rub the pan generously with butter (Boyce says this is the key to crisp, buttery edges) Working quickly, dollop 1/4-cup mounds of batter onto the pan, 2 or 3 at a time. Once bubbles have begun to form on the top side of the pancake, flip the pancake and cook until the bottom is dark golden-brown, about 5 minutes total. Wipe the pan with a cloth before griddling the next pancake. Continue with the rest of the batter.

Serve the pancakes hot, straight from the skillet or keep them warm in a low oven. We also found these to reheat surprisingly well the next morning, again in a low oven.

Do ahead: Although the batter is best if using immediately, it can sit for up to 1 hour on the counter or overnight in the refrigerator. When you return to the batter, it will be very thick and should be thinned, one tablespoon at a time, with milk. Take care not to overmix.

* Make oatmeal, if you don’t have any leftover: Bring 2 cups of water, 1 cup of rolled oats and a pinch of salt to a boil and simmer on low for 5 minutes. Let cool. You’ll have some extra oatmeal, which you can eat while you’re cooking.

For those who fancy their flapjacks out on the town, here are two of my favorites, on both coasts, for bountiful brunching:

Buckwheat Pancake 

At Cooks County in L.A., buckwheat packs their pancake with nutty, fermented heft.  Move over Stevia; homemade huckleberry compote and kumquat butter are 100% natural, seasonal sweetners.    This baked behemoth begs to be shared--I recommend the short rib hash for a savory pairing. 

Buttermilk Pancake

Keeping true to their name, Brooklyn's Buttermilk Channel slings a superlative stack of the buttermilk classic.  Freckled buttery brown and pillowy soft, these comforting cakes are what I wish to make at home, yet rarely achieve such a successful crispy-to-doughy ratio.  Wash it down with one of their magnificent Bloody Marys. 

All over the U.S. of A, IHOP is celebrating National Pancake Day by offering free flapjacks all day & night, raising money for local charities. Sounds like a wonderful way to support your community (and your belly).   

Italian Wedding Soup

After Christmas, we all came down with winter colds.  A medley of symptoms--scratchy throats, achy limbs, throbbing heads--combined with the post-holiday ho-hums necessitated a nourishing soup.  With appetites expanded from our festivus feasts, we were hungry for more than the traditional panacea, chicken noodle soup.  

I recalled an Italian Wedding Soup that I had made to nurture my sister and her hubby when they became new parents.  Three years later, with new cookbooks in their kitchen, I found a delizioso version in Lidia Cooks From The Heart Of Italy, Lidia Bastianach's delightful book of regional Italian cooking.  Named for the custom to serve the soup at a nuptial meal as well as the marriage between meat and greens, this hearty & healthy soup was just what the doctor ordered.   

What distinguishes Lidia's Ministra Maritata is an abundance of greens (zucchini, escarole, chard, and fennel), a traditional pestata for a flavorful broth, and a garnish of provolone for added yum.   In her recipe, she calls for sausage meatballs, but I used my own recipe instead. Feel free to incorporate your favorite meatball recipe, just be sure to take the extra step to brown them.  And like many Italian dishes, each day the soup is even more squisito.  

Italian Wedding Soup
adapted from Lidia Bastianach
serves 8-10

For the vegetable soup
1 medium onion, cut in chunks
2 medium stalks, celery with leaves, cut in chunks
1 small carrot, cut in chunks
4 plump garlic cloves, peeled
½ cup fresh basil leaves, loosely packed
⅓ cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 quarts cold water (or you can mix half chicken broth and half water, but if so, reduce salt by half)
1 head escarole, about 1 pound, cut into 1/2-inch shreds
1 bunch Swiss chard, about 1 pound, cut into 1/2-inch shreds
1 large fennel bulb, about 1 pound, trimmed and sliced 1/4-inch thick
1 pound zucchini, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (about 3 small zucchini)
2 tablespoons kosher salt

For the meatballs
1 small onion, grated
1/3 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
1 large egg
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon salt
1 slice fresh white bread, crust trimmed, bread torn into small pieces
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1 lb ground pork (or you can mix beef and pork)
Freshly ground black pepper

For Serving
Pecorino cheese, freshly grated, plus more for passing
extra-virgin olive oil, best quality
½ pound provola, cut in 1/4-inch cubes

Using the food processor, mince onion, celery, carrot, garlic, and basil into a smooth paste (pestata).

pestata

Heat the olive oil in the soup pot over high heat, and scrape in the pestata. Cook, stirring until the pestata has dried out and just begins to stick to the bottom of the pan, about 5 minutes. Pour the cold water into the pot, stir up the pestata, put on the cover, and bring the water to a boil. Lower the heat, and simmer the broth for about 15 minutes, blending the flavors, then stir in the greens, the fennel, the zucchini, and the 2 tablespoons salt. Return to the simmer, and cook covered for 45 minutes or so, until the greens are tender. Remove the cover, and cook at an active simmer for another 45 minutes or longer, until the soup has reduced in volume and the flavors are concentrated to your taste.  

While the soup simmers, prepare the meatballs. Stir the first 6 ingredients in a large bowl to blend.  Add the cheese and pork, then mix the ingredients with your hands to distribute them evenly. Scoop up a small amount of the meat mix-about a heaping teaspoon- and roll it in your palms to form a 1-inch ball (the size of a large grape). 

Spread flour on a large plate, roll each meatball in the flour to coat, then set them aside.  Heat up a thin layer of oil on med-high in a skillet and drop in the floured meatballs. Fry them for about 5 minutes, turning and moving them occasionally, until browned on all sides.  Remove them to a plate lined with paper towels.  Between batches, remove browned bits and add more oil if necessary. 

Bring the soup to a simmer, and cook meatballs and soup together for about 5 minutes. (If you'll be serving the soup later, put the meatballs in a bowl. Reheat them in the soup, and simmer 5 minutes just before serving.) 

Turn off the heat and drop in the cubes of provola. . Give the soup one good stir to distribute the provola pieces, which will begin to melt right away, and immediately ladle individual portions into your warm bowls. (Don't leave the provola in the soup pot for a long time before serving, because it will become stringy.)

Ladle the soup into warm bowls (an essential added step to prevent tepid soup).  Sprinkle each serving with some of the grated cheese, and give it a drizzle of your best olive oil. Serve right away, passing more cheese at the table. 

Pancakes Make People Happy

When I was at NYU in the mid-1990's, one of my favorite haunts was the now-defunct Royal Canadian Pancake House, a bustling joint that served gargantuan portions of breakfast classics, including manhole-sized pancakes, whole loaves of French toast, and the appropriately-named "womelette" - an omelette-topped waffle. Their slogan, "Pancakes Make People Happy", was simple, yet it's a belief that I've embraced throughout my eating life. Considering that most cuisines worldwide have their own regional form of pancakes (like French crepes or Chinese scallion pancakes), I've been fortunate to sample these tasty griddle treats in all shapes and sizes. Following is a smattering of my faves:

Maybe it’s my Jewish heritage, or simply my love of all things fried, but potato pancakes, or latkes, are always welcome on my plate year-round, and not just as the traditional Hanukkah meal. These beauties to your left were devoured at Norma's, the breakfast-centric restaurant at the Parker Palm Springs Hotel (a decadent oasis of Moroccan, desert chic). Norma's elevates breakfast to a gourmet level; amuse-bouche smoothies begin every meal and the menu features such fancy items as Foie Gras Brioche French Toast and a $1000 Lobster & Caviar omelette. However, Norma's version of gourmet isn't stuffy; there is a whimsical playfulness to the dishes and the food is more haute-comfort (and huge portions) than fancy five-star French. Norma's latkes are hefty cakes of shredded potato and onion that are perfectly fried on the outside, yet surprisingly smooth and doughy on the inside. I tend to prefer savory to sweet with my latke condiments (i.e. sour cream over applesauce)so I adored pouring the accompanying Sweet Carrot Payasam, a creamy, earthy Indian soup, over my latkes. If you have a sweet tooth, you'll dig the homemade Cranberry-Apple sauce, but I found it overly sugary even in spite of the tart cranberries. FYI, there is also a Norma's at the Parker Meridian Hotel in NYC, a memorable spot for my family because it is where my sister's hubby surprised her with a proposal in front of me, my mom, my Bubby, and my aunt.

Living in Echo Park, a Latino-filled neighborhood of Los Angeles,
I’ve been blessed with Latin-American eats right at my doorstep. It is here that I discovered pupusas and the aptly named pupuserias (I love how ethnic eateries often specialize in one dish and then name their restaurant after said dish, making it an easy find for the food explorer). Traditionally from El Salvador, the pupusa is a thick tortilla made from masa de maiz (corn flour) and stuffed with various savory fillings like my favorite chicharròn, fried pork rinds. These heavy, doughy cakes are normally served with curtido (pickled cabbage relish), and a runny tomato sauce. Like many pancakes, pupusas are comforting and filling, yet I find they are best followed by a nap or other leisurely activity due to their tendency to weigh down your stomach.

One of my latest discoveries is the arepa, a cornmeal cousin to the pupusa originating from South America. Depending on the region, arepas can be found in a varitey of thicknesses, size, fillings and garnishes. I tasted this version, a Blue Corn Arepa topped with melted cheese, at the Savory Cafe, a cozy joint in downtown Ventura, CA. The blue corn infused the arepa with earthiness while the oozy cheese complemented the crispy pancake perfectly. While a quesadilla has a 2:1 tortilla to cheese ratio, I liked the 1:1 balance of this dish, allowing for more gooey cheese per bite.

Last, but not least, my good friend, and culinary companion, Barndi,just turned me on to ho-dduk, a sweet, Korean pancake made from rice flour and stuffed with a gooey,brown sugar filling. I had my first taste chez Barndi, but my next stop is to head to L.A's Koreatown and taste these goodies piping hot from the street carts.


Post Update: My friend, John, sent me this amazing recipe from the NY Times http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/magazine/17food-t-000.html for Heavenly Hots. These creamy, dreamy, little gems are surprisingly light (not "thuds in your bellies", the author's accurate description of pancakes) thanks to the use of cake flour and sour cream. FYI, don't be intimidated by the warnings about how hard it is to flip these beauties; I found it unexpectedly easy, and I'm far from an expert pan-wielder.