Warm Arugula and Treviso Tartine with Midnight Moon Goat's Cheese

So simple... yet oh. So good.

There is nothing more appetizing to me than a dish full of color. Though summer produce is celebrated for its varied palette, the richness of winter colors appeals to me in a way that is far more alluring and sensual.

I came back from a yoga class today, not feeling too hungry, with a fierce appetite to cook. I tried a few fingerfulls of fresh baby arugula, then found a leftover half of an English muffin from eggs a few nights ago. The crisp, bitter taste of the greens jogged my sensory memory back to the day before, when I took a lunch break with my friend from work to eat at Quartino Bottega Organica, a quaint yet stylish little Italian restaurant-cum-wine bar on Bleecker Street near the Bowery that serves all organic food for discerning New Yorkers and European tourists alike. Our panini -- served like a pizza -- came with mozzerella tucked inside a round, whole-wheat crust, and was topped wildly with fresh arugula and slices of heirloom tomato. We agreed that it was a good idea, but lacked a principal ingredient: salt.

My tastebuds inspired me beyond the simplicity of Quartino's panini: I nix'd the mozzarella and substituted Cypress Grove Midnight Moon Goat Gouda with a bit of aged parmesan, roasted half of a tomato, and sautéd the arugula with onions and purple treviso. Treviso, or radicchio rosso, is a lettuce from the Veneto region in Northern Italy that looks like the love child of radicchio and endive. I prefer treviso over radicchio for some recipes because I find that treviso leaves are milder and softer than the tightly-bound, round radicchio bulb.

The colors of the dish were deliciously vibrant and the flavors were astonishingly complementary for a 10-minute meal.

And of course, there was just enough salt.


WARM ARUGULA AND TREVISO TARTINE WITH MIDNIGHT MOON GOAT'S CHEESE

Serves 2, as a light lunch or a snack

1 English muffin, or two slices of fresh, whole wheat bread
1 handful of fresh baby Arugula
2 large Treviso leaves
1/4 small yellow onion
1/8 c shaved Midnight Moon Goat's Cheese
1 Tbsp shaved Aged parmesan
1 large Vine-ripened Tomato
Herbes de Provence
Olive oil
Salt & Pepper


Preheat broiler to high, 450 degrees.

On a small plate, combine about 1 Tbsp olive oil with a generous pinch of Herbs de Provence, and a pinch of salt and pepper. Cut tomato in half along its girth. Rub the cut side of both tomatoes down into the herbed olive oil mixture. Place tomatoes, oily side up, in a broiler pan and place directly under broiler, about 10mins, or until soft and beginning to brown.

Chop treviso leaves into bite-sized pieces. Slice onion into thin, half-moon slices. Heat a sauté pan on the stove, and sauté the onions on medium heat. Once onions have become transparent and are beginning to brown, turn off heat on pan and add arugula and treviso. Sauté leaves with heat off, pushing around with a wooden spoon, until greens wilt. Set aside.

Warm bread in oven at 375-degrees so it just begins to toast.* Remove, and sprinkle cheeses directly on bread. Add greens mixture on top, then another sprinkle of cheese. Position tartines on a baking sheet in oven on the middle rack. Bake until cheese melts and bread becomes crisp.

*Alternatively, keep an eye on bread and tartines so they do not burn, and bake in the same oven in which the tomatoes are broiling at 450-degrees.

Remove tartines and tomatoes from oven. Arrange a small handful of fresh arugula greens on plate, positioning one tomato on top. Place on tartine to the side.

Enjoy as a light meal or a snack, accompanied by a smooth and light Nebbiolo wine.

Buon appetito!

Les Œufs à la Coque Provençaux

In our diet-conscious, low-fat, low-calorie society, we often forget something very important about eggs: eggs have yolks.

The gooey, warm, yellow center of the egg has lost favor among health-conscious eaters because of their reputation as the fatty part of the egg that is packed with cholesterol. When you consider the biology of the egg, this comes as no surprise: the yolk is the food source for the developing embryo, the baby chick that would hatch from the egg if it were fertilized. Therefore, the yolk is a complete life-support system, packed with vitamins (A, E, D, K, B6 and b12), minerals (calcium, iron, phosphorus, zinc, to name a few), essential amino acids and Omega-3s and -6s (if the eggs are raised naturally on pasture). Yes, the yolk is full of fat and cholesterol, but with all of these other health benefits, one egg is enough to serve as a very healthy source of protein and fat, as well as a potent multi-vitamin that is as nutritious as it is easy to swallow.

Les Oeufs à la Coque is the French name for the 3-minute egg. A dear college friend of mine first introduced me to this delightful meal at Le Pain Quotidien, a world-wide, French farm-style, organic restaurant chain. Their breakfast specialty is the oeuf à la coque, served in a tiny egg cup with little matchsticks of organic bread known as soldats, little "soldiers" that one dunks into the warm and runny yolk of the egg. After the soldats are consumed, one then finishes off the egg with a spoon by delicately scraping the white from the interior of the shell.

After mastering egg cooking techniques in my tiny kitchen in Paris, I re-introduced the egg yolk to my parents back home. My mother -- ever the health-conscious one -- was immediately smitten; the yolk reminded her of her childhood, when her Portuguese mother would prepare eggs for the children and my mother would soak up the runny yolks with crusty bits of Portuguese bread. My father was astonished by how delicate eggs could be; the eggs of his childhood were fondly known as "Eggs Like Daddy Makes", a Sunday brunch concoction whereby my paternal grandfather would empty the contents of refrigerator leftovers into a bubbling pan of scrambled eggs, finished off with a generous touch of Tabasco sauce.

My favorite preparation of oeufs à la coque combines the richness of the egg with the freshness of tomatoes, the sweetness of which offsets the salt used to garnish the egg. I also like to serve these with steamed asparagus spears, which make very tasty soldats. I call this particular preparation Les Oeufs à la Coque Provençaux after I used Herbes de Provence (a gift from a long-time friend) to season the tomatoes. This preparation is also more rustic than traditional oeufs à la coque as the egg is served on top of a slice of crusty bread -- simply because I have yet to purchase a set of porcelain egg cups.


LES ŒUFS À LA COCQUE PROVENÇAUX

Serves 2

2 Organic, free-range Eggs
1 cup Cherry Tomatoes
Olive Oil
Herbes de Provence
Salt and Pepper


Cut Cherry tomatoes in half. Heat a small sauté pan over the stove, add about a teaspoon of olive oil and a generous pinch of Herbes de Provence. Toss in tomatoes, and sauté until tomatoes become soft and slightly browned. Set aside.

Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Gently drop eggs in shells into boiling water. (Eggs should be room temperature, or else they make crack or cook unevenly.) Boil eggs for 3-6 minutes, depending on desired runniness of egg yolk. Remove eggs from boiling water, and cool by running eggs in their shells under a cold water tap. Remove shells carefully using fingers.

Toast a slice of bread, an English muffin, or crumpet. Arrange bread on a plate with a helping of tomatoes on the side. Place egg on top of bread, split with a knife, and allow egg yolk to run over bread and plate. Add salt and pepper, to taste.

Enjoy immediately, with a fork and knife, or with steamed asparagus soldats.

Bon appétit!

Red Vegetable and Arugula Salad with Dijon Vinaigrette

After a week of holiday feasting, I found myself craving a simple, fresh salad -- but I had no time to make and enjoy one. In the New Years' rush to get back to the city, I had resigned myself to bringing a portable meal of apples and trail mix to share with Conor on the train. But ever the resourceful gourmet, Conor surprised me with a perfect salad of tangy, fresh arugula, which we shared en route, clanking forks as we took hungry bites from the same tupperware container.

This salad is a perfect concoction that is as satisfying for its simplicity as it is for its variety of flavors. Starting with a base of arugula, Conor then added roasted beets, sundried tomatoes, roasted red peppers, parmesan cheese, which the then dressed in a light dijon vinaigrette.

This is a great salad packed with vitamins and nutrients to kick off a healthy new year. Though it looks like a lettuce, arugula is actually a cruciferous vegetable in the cabbage and mustard family. Arugula is rich in phytonutrients, which may reduce the risk of several kinds of cancer, such as breast, stomach and colon cancers. Beets are healthy little powerhouses loaded with vitamins A and C, phosphorus, magnesium, calcium, and iron. Red beets are pigmented by betacynin, which is a powerful agent that fights cancer. Red bell peppers are full of color, which makes it a rich source of antioxidant vitamins A and C. Tomatoes too are loaded with vitamin C, and have gained attention for their high concentration of lycopene, which has been shown to reduce the risk of prostate cancer. Olive oil contains healthy, essential fatty acids, as well as high levels of vitamin E, which helps delay aging and also protects the ova to improve sexual health.

The salad is extremely simple to assemble, but I've over-complicated the recipe to teach techniques for roasting and "sun-drying" at home.



RED VEGETABLE AND ARUGULA SALAD WITH DIJON VINAIGRETTE

Serves 2

For the salad:
2 generous Handfuls of fresh baby Arugula
2 Red or Golden beets
1 Red Bell Pepper
12 Roma tomatoes
Mixed herbs (such as Herbes de Provence)
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
Parmesan cheese

For the dressing:
3 Tbsp Extra Virgin Olive Oil
5 Tbsp White Balsamic vinegar
1 Tbsp Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper

Pre-heat oven to 450-degrees. Place beets with skin in a roasting pan, and roast in the oven for 45mins to 1hr. Remove beets, immediately place in an ice water bath. This will help pull the beet away from its skin. Peel skin and set beets aside.

While beets are roasting, cut Roma tomatoes in half, length-wise. On a small plate, mix together about 2 Tbsp olive oil, 2 tsp herbs, and salt and pepper, to taste. Rub all sides of tomato halves in oil mixture, and place flat side down on a baking tray. Roast in oven with beets for 10-15mins, until soft and deflated. Take out tray and turn all tomatoes over to flat side up and continue to roast for another 10-15mins, until flat. Place under broiler* at 450-degrees for an additional 5 mins on either side, until tomatoes are flat and shriveled, but not burnt. Take out and set aside.

Once beets are done roasting, turn on broiler to 450-degrees. (*This is a good time to put the tomatoes under the broiler.) Place roasted red pepper in a cast-iron pan or roasting pan, and position under broiler. Broil pepper until charred and mostly black, turning after each side chars to expose all sides to the broiler. Remove, immediately place in a ice water bath. Remove skin, and remove seeds from interior, being careful to retain the juice of the pepper in a mason jar.

All of the roasted vegetables can be stored in mason jars in the refrigerator for 2-3 weeks. Peppers should be stored with their juices; tomatoes should be stored in olive oil; beets can be stored dry or in olive oil.


Combine all ingredients for the dressing and mix together in a small bowl or cruet.

Toss together arugula, slices of beets, bits of tomatoes, and bite-size strips of pepper in the dressing. Portion the vegetables to your taste. Shave curls of parmesan cheese on top. Serve immediately.

Bon appétit!

Beer-Glazed Sausages with Charred Onions and Polenta

A few weeks ago, Emily's friends from Vienna were in town, visiting New York. They spent the week walking around the city, shopping and dining, clubbing and drinking. Whenever they were around the apartment, I naturally inquired about Viennese cuisine -- its pastries, its savories, its sweets. As the week progressed, I began craving German food, though I had rarely -- if ever -- had during my life. I proposed that on their last night I make everyone dinner to satisfy my craving, which had manifested itself in a craving for sausage.

I came up with this recipe for a sausage meal, which I think seems to be a marriage of German food (with the sausages and beer) and Mediterranean cuisine (with the polenta and roasted tomato. In keeping with this Austro-Mediterranean theme, we served the meal with a rich Catena Malbec wine instead of beer, which paired rather well with the buttery sausage and the charred onions. But to top off our meal, the Austrians pulled out some strong vodka, which we served with a Sour Cherry Tart from Silver Moon Bakery, and a lesson in key German phrases.

Somehow, the beer "sauce" that I originally intended to make came out as more of a glaze, perhaps because of the high yeast content of the beer I used. The result was deliciously thick, salty, and a bit sweet: a perfect last meal with new friends to say auf wiedersehen, a bittersweet goodbye.

BEER-GLAZED SAUSAGES WITH CHARRED ONIONS AND POLENTA

Serves 4-6

Six uncooked sausages, bought from butcher
1 small yellow Onion, cut into quarter-circle slices
½ cup Dark German Ale
2-3 vine tomatoes, cut in half
Fresh thyme
Olive oil

1 cup Polenta corn meal
2 cups water
½ cup grated Parmesan Cheese
Pinch of salt and pepper

Turn on broiler to high.

Cut tomatoes in half along their width. On a small dish, pour a circle of olive oil, add a sprinkling of salt, pepper, and fresh thyme leaves. Rub tomatoes, on the cut side down, in olive oil and herb mixture (these will be the tops of the tomatoes that face up in the broiler). Sprinkle a bit of Parmesan cheese on top of oiled tomatoes. Arrange tomatoes in a broiler pan, and put under broiler. Cook all the way through, until soft. Remove from oven and let cool.

While tomatoes are under broiler, heat a large sauté pan on high. Add oil to pan, turn down to medium heat, and add sausages. Begin cooking sausages by browning on all sides. Add onions and fresh thyme leaves to sausages. Turn sausages occasionally to cook through on all sides. When onions begin to brown, cut sausages in half length-wise and then in half across, keeping links in pan to continue cooking. Sauté sausages, cut side down, adding ale. Turn town heat to let mixture simmer, cover, and cook sausages all the way through, allowing onions to char.

In a medium-sized pot, bring two cups water to a low boil. Add polenta in a thin stream, stirring mixture with the other hand. Turn down heat to a simmer and stir polenta slowly. As the mixture begins to thicken, add parmesan cheese, salt, and pepper. Turn off heat, stir occasionally.

Keep an eye on the sausages to be sure that the meat cooks all the way through. When onions turn black and begin to char and the beer turns to a thick glaze, the dish should be ready.

Spoon a helping of polenta on a plate, arranging sausages and onion on top. Set one half of a roasted tomato on the side. Garnish with a sprinkling of fresh thyme leaves.

Guten appetit!

Table for One: In Search of Regulars at New York City's Restaurants

My apologies to everyone who has been patiently been asking for more. I've had this story written and waiting to be edited for a few weeks now, so here it is finally for you to read. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed my experience.

Bello Sguardo, Upper West Side
Amsterdam Avenue, between 79th and 80th Streets

"There's hardly enough light for you to read!" she said, offering me a candle wrapped in crimson paper from her table. "Well, that's not going to help any."

Indeed, there wouldn't be enough light for me to read my book, even so early at 8pm on an August night in New York City. The lack of adequate lighting completely defeated the purpose of my mid-week dinner out by myself. After a day of wandering around Central Park and the Upper West Side, I decided to end my day over a lone dinner to read my new book, enjoy a glass of wine and a caprese salad, and savor the lingering heat of day that evening at summer's end.

There is something about dining alone in New York that makes this very lonely practice rather acceptable. Every restaurant in the city has its regulars, and I'd wager that a large percentage of these regulars dine alone. Perhaps it is the comfort of returning every day to the same restaurant; the staff becomes like family, the customer's preferred table like his own dining table at home. But even amidst kissing couples, lively families, and groups of women on friend dates, a crowded restaurant can be rather comforting to those who dine alone. This is why, on that particular night in August, I decided to forgo scrolling through my cell phone contact list and
request a table for one.

That night at Bello Sguardo, a fine enough Mediterranean restaurant on Amsterdam Avenue, I found a bit of unexpected companionship. I was able to read only about a paragraph of my book (Picture Perfect, by Jodi Picoult) when my fellow diner interrupted to engage me in conversation. I found myself entranced by this woman, who told me an story more compelling than the one I read on paper -- the story of a woman's life, where love, family, creativity, and compromising truth and belief in oneself lead her here, next to me, to share my Table for One.

Stella, as she will be called for the sake of anonymity, is a regular at Bello Sguardo. With her jet black hair cut short in an incredibly elegant and stylish bob, she looked like an Italian Cleopatra on whom the waiters doted with a sort of maternal reverence. After she convinced me to order the Chopped Salad in place of the Caprese ("You'll get one tomato and a slice of cheese with the Caprese. The Chopped Salad is more interesting, or so it seems to me."), I ordered a glass of delightfully smooth and inexpensive Chablis, closed my book, and settled back for a simple meal and unexpected companionship.

Stella, like any good regular, called herself a very picky diner. Her meal, for example, was not on the menu. It was rather an accommodation by the restaurant's staff to suit her taste for that particular evening: mixed green vegetables, two rounds of eggplant parmigiana, and a spoonful of penne pomodoro. There hadn't been enough sauce on the eggplant, and she asked the waiter for more. "But you'll have to go downstairs to get it?" she asked, showing her knowledge of the complete topography of the restaurant. The waiter insisted on getting it for her, and so she agreed to have more sauce. Later she told me that she was hoping for string beans rather than mixed vegetables. She also complained --to me only -- that she should have been given Parmesan cheese. She resolved that just for tonight she wouldn't to be too picky.

I was curious to know why this attractive older woman would be dining alone. She was rather statuesque; her dark hair fell closely to her cheeks, as if to frame the features of her beautiful face. She wore the timeless combination of black and white clothing, and her manicured nails were polished a deep purple, just a few shades darker than her lipstick that painted her pouty lips. The only ring she wore was a simple, black band (made of plastic, she later confessed) on the pinky of her right hand.

When the waiter came to take my order, she encouraged me to ask for more feta cheese with my salad. I didn't, for once ordering straight off the menu without asking for changes. When I turned back to her, she looked both amused and disappointed.
"You didn't ask for more cheese..." she smiled.
"Oh, I didn't want to make a fuss. And those people over there look like they have the same salad with a nice bit of cheese on it."
"My children always say I'm too picky," she said, cutting a bite of eggplant with her fork. "I didn't realize I was picky. But I do think that the more I go to a place, like here, the more picky I become."

We talked for a bit about what made her picky: taste in food, taste in clothes, ("I have a pair of leather coolats with silk lining that I bought from Bergdorf Goodman's for $500. And that was in 1986, and I can still wear them... Ten, twenty, twenty-one years later."), and most importantly -- taste in men. She asked me what my past and present boyfriends had to say about my tendencies for pickiness. I laughed, and told her that it was less a question of my boyfriends' commenting on my pickiness, but rather a question of my friends who constantly comment on my pickiness when it comes to picking boyfriends. She chuckled, and then asked me to try to describe my perfect man.

For Stella, her perfect man had been her husband: "When I met him, I ran home and told my mother, 'I met my husband!' I knew right away." She looked nostalgic, and her eyes began to sparkle with dewy tears. "When I first saw him, he was sitting there with his hand on his chin, biting his thumb. His profile was so beautiful, chiseled like a statue."

Stella's husband was the brother of her good college friend, and Stella, after hearing about this brother all throughout college, finally concocted a plan to meet him. Their first meeting was a success, and after a year, they were married. "He made me feel safe and we just knew it was to be. We worked out the questions, and there were no doubts."

She told me about how her husband was a writer who composed beautiful poems to her, two of which she recited to me. Together, they had two children (two boys and a girl). "All I ever wanted were babies," she told me frankly. For her, a career was secondary to having a family. However, once the children came of age, Stella pursued the career of an actress. As a young girl, she did stage shows, but when she was older, she switched to film. "I did all the New York films," she told me humbly. "Serpico, Taxi Driver... I was in all of them. Back then, it was easy to get a part as an extra -- and I could take my babies to the set."

As her story goes, Stella entered the business rather "connected." She was discovered on stage by a fellow who told her to join the Italian-American division of the Screen Actors' Guild. As a bright young thing, she eagerly brought her new friend home to her father. "My father eyed him up and down, gave him a little upward nod. He did the same. It sealed the deal and I was in," she told me, touching my arm. "But when he left, my father screamed: 'What are you doing with a guy like Angelo?? Do you know who he works for?!?' But it didn't matter. Back then for us Italians, everybody worked for somebody."

We spent the whole evening wrapped in conversation about love, careers, food, and family. We touched on subjects that made her cry, we talked about things that inspired me to keep going for what I wanted and needed. At the end of the meal, she moved on to espresso, and asked her waiter if she could smoke. When he casually told her that she could not, she retorted by saying how she saw a friend of his smoking outside a few nights earlier. The waiter clearly couldn't argue with that, but out of politeness, Stella stood up and lit her smoke just on the border of the terrace. Like a star from an old film, she took long drags between thoughts, resting her elbow on the back of her opposite hand. "I think I'm starting to figure you out," she told me. And then she described me in almost perfect detail, and set me on course with a plan.

Once her espresso was finished, it was time for us both to go. We paid our checks (hers considerably less than mine -- another perk of being a regular) and we stood up to walk a bit together up the Avenue. We paused for a few moments at a sidewalk bench, and she lit up another cigarette "for digestion." As the ten o'clock hour neared, Stella turned to me and thanked me for my company, and excused herself to walk home alone into the summer evening.

Stella left me with some important advice, as well as other stories about her life which I guard for the sake of keeping the confidence with which she trusted me by recounting them. Of the many things I came to understand over that dinner with Stella, the most important lesson she seemed to stress was that we do not always have all of the answers. She encouraged us to live life with a little bit of recklessness in order to follow what the heart compels tells us to do. It seems that this philosophy has worked for Stella throughout her storied life. Even though now she dines alone, Stella has lived an entire life of fulfillment, where all of her hopes and needs were fulfilled. It is this life and the memories from it that have remained her trusted company through many a Table for One.

Viennese Vegetable Waltz

Emily is one of my favorite Epicureans. She is the epitome of classic taste: ballerina flats, little black dress, pink lipstick and sweet southern ways. But she's also a spicy little thing, and after her five months in Madrid, I am all too certain that her cooking has spiced up a notch too. Now Emily is living in Vienna with her Viennese boyfriend, but lucky for me, she'll be back in our apartment in September. When she does return, we'll revert to our favorite pastime (shopping at Whole Foods) and we'll do a reprise of our greatest creation: paella sans riz. But for now, here is a "compromised vegetarian" meal made by Emily in Vienna to appease her carnivorous European man.



Amanda -- I thought of you today when I had a eurika moment in the kitchen. Well, not exactly a "eurika" moment, perhaps more of a "finally!" moment. I have been spending the past week and a half getting settled here in Vienna. It has been a dream. The first week was a bit tough, in terms of coping with the language barrier and getting around a new city. Most of all, I was looking forward to cooking and claiming my domain in the kitchen. But the first week flew by without so much as my frying an egg in a pan. Even grocery shopping started becoming chore. Even though I can perfectly well distinguish between foods--let's say cream cheese from butter--not being able to read the label in German made my grocery runs far too overwhelming. So, Thomas, being the kind and understanding man he is, assembled the first week's cuisine: lunch, dinner and even afternoon tea. But being the bachelor he is, most everything was pre-prepared. So -- what happens when a tofu-and-fish-loving-girl moves in with a bratwurst-and-potatoes-loving-boy... We learn to compromise!

A few weeks have passed, and I've now conquered the grocery stores and I am cooking more and more. Today I finally came accross a wonderful recipe perfect for both me (appealing to my health-freak side) and Thomas (not so much on the health-freak). This recipe for Eggplant and Spinach Lasagne Spirals turned out to be so delicious and hearty enough to satiate Thomas. To save time (and to appease Thomas' meat craving), I used a store bought bolognese sauce added to a simply sauteed small yellow onion with a garnish of fresh basil to make the sauce taste a little more homemade. For a side dish I made Carmelized Cauliflower with Pancetta and Spinach. Both dishes were so tasty and enjoyed equally by both me and Thomas! And now I share both of these recipes with you (originally from Food + Wine magazine)...


EGGPLANT AND SPINACH LASAGNA SPIRALS

Serves 4

For tomato sauce
3 lb plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise
5 tablespoons olive oil
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil

For Lasagna
2 lb Asian or baby Italian eggplants (4 to 6), halved crosswise, then cut lengthwise into slices slightly less than 1/4 inch thick
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 large garlic clove, finely chopped
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
10 oz baby spinach
1 lb ricotta (preferably fresh)
1 large egg yolk, lightly beaten
1/2 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (1 oz)
8 dried lasagna noodles (not no-boil; 8 oz)


Roast tomatoes for sauce:

Preheat oven to 450°F.
Toss tomatoes with 3 tablespoons oil, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and arrange, cut sides up, in 1 layer in 2 oiled glass or ceramic shallow baking dishes. Roast tomatoes in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of dishes halfway through baking, until skins are wrinkled and beginning to brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool slightly in baking dishes on racks.

Roast eggplant for lasagna:

Toss eggplant slices with oil, garlic, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and arrange in 1 layer on 2 oiled baking sheets. Bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of sheets halfway through baking and turning slices over once, until tender, 12 to 14 minutes.

Reduce oven temperature to 350°F.


Finish tomato sauce:
When tomatoes are cool enough to handle, peel off skin and discard. Purée tomatoes with their juices in a blender, pulsing until almost smooth. Cook onion and garlic in 2 tablespoons oil in a 3- to 4-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, stirring, until golden, about 10 minutes. Stir in tomato purée, water, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until slightly thickened and reduced to about 4 cups, about 15 minutes. Stir in basil.

Make filling and assemble lasagne:
While sauce is simmering, cook spinach in a 3- to 4-quart pot of boiling salted water, uncovered, 1 minute, then drain in a colander. When cool enough to handle, squeeze any excess water from spinach and coarsely chop. Stir together ricotta, yolk, spinach, parmesan, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper until combined well.

Cook lasagne noodles in a 6- to 8-quart pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until tender. Drain noodles in a colander and rinse under cold running water.

Spoon 2 cups tomato sauce into a 13- by 9-inch glass baking dish (or other 3-quart shallow baking dish). Lay out 4 lasagne noodles on a work surface, then spread 1/3 cup filling evenly over each noodle and cover with eggplant slices in 1 layer. Roll up each and arrange spirals, seam sides down and without touching, over sauce in dish, then make 4 more rolls and arrange in dish. Brush noodles with water, then spoon some sauce down middle of rolls and cover dish tightly with foil. Bake in middle of oven until heated through, about 20 minutes. Heat remaining tomato sauce and serve on the side.




CARMELIZED CAULIFLOWER WITH PANCETTA AND SPINACH

Serves 4

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 pound thinly sliced pancetta, finely chopped
1 small cauliflower (1 1/4 pounds), cored and cut into small florets
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon coarsely chopped dill
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Salt and freshly ground pepper
5 ounces baby spinach


In a large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the pancetta and cook over moderate heat until the fat has been rendered, about 4 minutes. Stir in the cauliflower, onion, dill and bay leaf. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the cauliflower is tender and browned, about 15 minutes.

In a large bowl, mix the lemon juice with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Add the cauliflower and spinach, toss and serve.


taste.travel.live.

Pasta Pomodoro

Apparently, Plato said: "No town can live peacefully whatever its laws when its citizens ... do nothing but feast and drink and tire themselves out in the cares of love."

It seems as though Plato was a few centuries too early to understand what it means to be a real Italian: that peace exists most often in those moments of feasting, drinking, and loving -- and that the chaotic combination of the three is sometimes the most fun of times.

Not that I, an American born half-blood Italian, can claim to understand completely what it means to be part of that warm-blooded, tempestuous, and sensual people (though some would contest that I do), but I can say confidently that I do know Italian cuisine. My heart pumps red sauce, balsamic vinegar, and Barolo wine.

Like any good Italian, I believe that food is about love. I first learned to cook in an effort to romance a boy into liking me. Unfortunately, my Portuguese mother and I didn't take into account that he was a WASP, and food was not an important part of his family upbringing. Needless to say, I didn't win his 12-year-old heart, but I did learn the most invaluable cooking lesson: how to make a perfect, hearty, and irresistible pasta pomodoro.

To welcome home my best friend Josh from his four-month celebration of life in Ghana, and in part to say goodbye to my dear friend Naomi who will soon return home to the UK, I decided to prepare a simple summer pasta pomodoro dinner for them and my roommates, just in time to welcome the beginning of a very, very hot summer in New York.

***

PASTA POMODORO
(serves six)

















4 1-Pint crates of cherry tomatoes, rinsed
1/2 Vidalia onion
1 small head of garlic
1 Tbsp Olive oil
1/4 cup Italian red wine
Salt and pepper, to taste
A few Basil stems
1 packet spaghetti or angel hair pasta
Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

Cut all tomatoes into 8-small pieces by first cutting twice in the north-south direction, and then once east-west (thinking of the cherry tomato as a globe). Set aside. Cut onion in half, east-west, then remove skin of one half of the onion. Make thin, 1/4-inch slices along the semi-circle curve side of the onion. Cut all slices in half to make quarter-circles. Set aside. Remove garlic from skin by smashing cloves with the broad side of a chef's knife.

Heat a large sauce pan over high heat. When hot, add olive oil and toss in onions. Saute until they begin to soften, then add garlic. Continue cooking until onions turn golden brown, but be careful not to overcook or burn the garlic heads.

Add tomatoes and stir to incorporate all of the ingredients. Reduce to medium heat. Let mixture cook, stirring occasionally. When tomatoes become soft and juicy, add wine and stir slowly, folding the wine into the tomatoes. Let cook on medium heat for about ten minutes, or until fragrant, stirring occasionally.

When mixture begins to resemble a chunky sauce, add salt and pepper and a few whole basil leaves. Turn to low heat and let simmer.

Fill a large pot with water, add a few pinches of salt, and boil. When water comes to a fierce boil, add pasta and turn to medium heat so water is just barely bubbling, about 3-5 mins for white pasta, 10-12 minutes for whole wheat pasta. When just al dente, drain. Return pasta to empty pot, add about a teaspoon of olive oil and a pinch of salt -- to avoid pasta from sticking.

Take a few large leaves of basil, roll along the long side like a cigarette, and slice into little curls. This technique, the chiffonade, keeps from bruising the basil.

Using a large fork, twirl a serving size of pasta and add to plate, styling like a bird's nest. Add a heaping spoonful of pomodoro to the center so that it overflows down the sides of the nest. Garnish with grated parmesan cheese, followed by a few basil chiffonades.

Serve with a favorite Italian wine, someone you love, and enjoy.