... a spirited celebration of regional food and culinary craft, season by season, with original recipes by Susan S. Bradley
A “tian” refers to a large number of French layered vegetable dishes, some of which include rice and a binder of some sort (as typified by Julia Child’s Tian de Courgettes au Riz, featured in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 2).
I enjoy both styles but admit a particular fondness for the rich creaminess of the latter. It’s simple home cooking at its delicious best, and it lends itself to endless seasonal variation.
If there is an easier, quicker, more elegant, more economical, more versatile, more satisfying dish in the world than risotto, I can’t think of what it might be.
As long as you keep a premium-quality risotto rice on hand, you will almost certainly have something in the frig to complete the dish. That something can be any thoughtful combination of fresh or cooked vegetables, meats, seafood, fresh herbs, and cheese.
I know the first day of spring is just around the corner and Daylight Saving Time launches in the Pacific Northwest next week, but it’s still hanging in the low 40’s most days, so until the sun actually returns, creamy, rich pasta dishes are still keeping me warm.
And for whatever reason, I have a mad crush on strozzapreti (stroh-tzuh-PRAY-tee) lately, and it’s getting star billing in the OtherWorldly Kitchen. I even found this cool post at Y Len Ate that shows one way to shape fresh strozzapreti (twisted). And then another cool post at Eat with a Spoon that shows a very different shaping method (wrapped over a skewer). Both look wonderful.
I can still remember my first dreamy mouthful of Spaghetti Carbonara. It was later in life, because my family knew jack squat about pasta. Meat sauce (made with the help of a seasoning packet) heaped over spaghetti was the only pasta dish I ever ate as a kid, and it was a very occasional treat. And later, when I began to cook professionally, I gravitated toward the French country classics. It took me a while to make my way to Cucina Italia.
Polenta is basically a thick cornmeal mush (although culinary goddess, Marcella Hazan, calls this description an indelicate use of the English language), which is either served hot and creamy from the pot with a sauce of some type or shaped and left to cool, then later sliced and fried, baked, or grilled.
I grew up in a Yankee household with a Southern father. So even though I said “you guys” instead of “y’all” and didn’t act one bit like a “lady” unless under strict orders accompanied by threat of dire consequences, some Southern mores were passed on to me nonetheless.
For instance, in our Seattle house, stuffing was called dressing, which is what my very lady-like Kentucky born-and-raised Grandmother called it. It didn’t matter if it was baked in the bird or alongside the bird, it was dressing nonetheless. It was served with perfect mashed potatoes (a point of pride for Kentucky cooks) and a silky, roux-based, turkey gravy.
I’m intrigued and inspired by the creative ways in which Pacific Rim and Northwest chefs are incorporating spaetzle into their dishes these days. This Old World noodle-dumpling is suddenly being elevated to lofty heights, for the following compelling reasons:
• It’s much easier to make spaetzle than fresh pasta, and yet they have similar characteristics.
• Spaetzle lends itself to partnership with a wide range of companion flavors–from subtle to bold.
• When made with care, spaetzle is soul satisfying.
• Spaetzle has a wonderful chewiness.
• Spaetzle has an endearing homey quality. It’s the ultimate comfort food.
I grew up eating spaetzle. But I thought it was pasta. To be even more specific, I though it was NOODLES. It took a curious turn of events to clear this confusion in my mind.
Grandma Mary loaded her Divine Chicken Noodle Soup with these super chewy, squiggly noodles she pushed through a large holed, wire mesh device. They were completely addictive, and I loved them beyond measure. She later gave me the device, but because I had never actually seen her make these noodles (they were always in the soup when I arrived), I tried for years to push regular pasta dough through the mesh, cursing the whole while. It was nigh impossible. And the noodles made in this way were tougher than I remembered hers to be.
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