Made By Nonna's Hands : Spaghetti Pie

Antoinette Russo nee Bello: My maternal grandmother. I look a great deal like her- the same smile, shape nose and coloring. Her family had high hopes for her, a concert pianist who played in Carnegie Hall in NY City. Her family hit on hard times, the Great Depression followed and her dreams came to a halt. Her beautiful hands no longer floated over ivory keys, but grew stiff and gnarled at a sewing machine in a noisy factory. I never heard her complain about what circumstances had stolen from her. Just once did I witness a moment of the frustration she had, at times, felt. She was playing a score from Madam Butterfly and at a section when her fingers were to rapidly flutter on two keys, she experienced a sharp pain in her hand. She let out a gasp and stopped playing. As she rubbed the pain away, I saw confusion and betrayal cloud her brown eyes. My heart ached for her. Quietly, she rose and lowered the keyboard cover. I never saw her play the piano again.

It was Nonna's hands I remember the most. Not for her talent as a pianist, but for the many times she held an infant grandchild to her breast, quieting that babe in its distress. The endless stitches she made in the clothing she lovingly sewed for her children and then their children. The way her hands gently soothed a fevered brow or tied ribbons in our hair. Her hands worked magic with flour and  shortening...prune filled cookies at Christmas, Pizza Rustica at Easter, homemade pasta on Sunday. At a moments notice, she would put together a pizza...made in a dark lasagna pan with simple ingredients...her tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella and basil, the colors of Italy. Leftovers the next morning, we ate cold! My son was only 4 years old when Nonna died. What he remembers about her...there was always a bowl of pastina with broth topped with parmesan cheese waiting for him when we'd visit her.

When Grandpa Frank died, my dad converted our two car garage into an "apartment" for Nonna. It was  warm, cozy and made her very happy. I got it into my head that Nonna should not be alone and abandoned my teenager bedroom to sleep with her each night. It was some of the most cherished years of my life. We talked endlessly together. She told me that in her youth she befriended a young man on the subway and sneaked out of her house to go dancing with him. How scandalous! About her 1930s Chevrolet, so excited was she to own it that the first time behind the wheel she side-swiped a tree because she was waving wildly out the window instead of watching the road. And her father, Great-grandpa Nicholas, who was a 6ft. 5 inch blond with piercing blue eyes and walrus moustache. He was a mounted officer in Italy, a cavalier, who kidnapped my Great-grandma Elizabeth and kept her until her family consented to their marriage. Nonna sadly recalled losing 3 brothers in one night to diphtheria. All these stories had been told to me as we laid side-by-side speaking in whispers. And as she spoke, I stroked her hand. I knew every freckle, every curve and every vein that God put on Nonna's hand. Somewhere late into the night, she would finally say, "Domani si parla." Tomorrow we talk. And we'd drift off into our dreams....my hand covering hers.

Nonna would be very proud to share one of her favorite recipes, Spaghetti Pie. It can be made in the oven or a smaller one in a pan on the stove. For as long as I can remember it graced our table when we broke our Passion Week fast on Holy Saturday. I am the one who proudly bakes this pie each year. But don't reserve it just for a special occasion esp. if you have leftover spaghetti! During Lenten Fridays serve it meatless. It's wonderful warm or cold. Serve it with a salad. Simply delicious. So, thanks Nonna for this recipe and the wonderful memories tucked into my heart...all made with love by Nonna's hands.

Spaghetti Pie
1 lb. spaghetti
8 large eggs, beaten
1/2 lb. mozzarella, diced small
1/2 lb. chunk of hard salami (Genoa), diced small
1/2 lb. chunk of domestic ham, diced small
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons dried parsley
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease a 13x9" pan (I use a glass pan). Cook spaghetti in salted water according to directions until al dente. In a large bowl, combine eggs, mozzarella, ham, salami, heavy cream, parsley, salt, garlic powder. Mix well.  Drain pasta and add to egg mixture. Mix well. Pour mixture into prepared pan. Bake approx. 1 hour until pie is set and top is brown. Cover top with foil if too brown. Remove from oven and cool 10 minutes. Run a knife around edges to loosen. Remove from pan and cut into wedges. Enjoy & Remember To Make Memories At The Table.

Ode To Joe & The Onion

 

"What would you bring to a desert island?"  Without a doubt... olive oil, garlic and onions. There is nothing more wonderful than the smell of an onion sauteing in a pan. It is equally good raw whether it be a red onion sliced on a burger, a Walla Walla chopped in egg salad, or a sweet Vidalia diced in bruschetta.
The onion is one of the oldest vegetables known to man and dates back to 5000 BC.  It was worshipped by ancient Egyptians who believed that its spherical shape and concentric rings symbolized eternal life. It was used to pay rent during the Middle Ages and its supposed medicinal prowess range from reducing the swelling of a bee sting, healing blisters and sea urchin wounds to destroying osteoclasts in the battle osteoporosis in women. Some studies show that the onion contain chemical compounds believed to have anti-inflammatory, anticholesterol, anticancer, and antioxidant properties such as quercetin. (Wikipedia 2010). It can be said that not only do onions taste good, but are good for you.

I know there are those who don't enjoy onions. One of them being my brother, Joe. Onions weren't the only thing Joe could have lived without. For years he waited to have a brother, but six times in a row....he got a sister. And while the sisters double and tripled up in a bedroom, Joe slept on a pull-out couch in the family room. He didn't have his own room until Mom & Dad could afford a large Dutch Colonial in the country.  He painted his room black. For years, he denied he had sisters.  When we found this out, we planned an "attack".  Knowing he was on a bowling league and his buddies were on his team, the sisters waited for the next league night and showed up unannounced. We were young, stylin' and cute..something Joe never noticed.  In groups of two, we sashayed into the bowling alley and stopped at the lane where Joe was seated. The first two sisters chimed sweetly, "Hiii Joey". All the guys turned at the sound of feminine voices. Their eyes got wide. Joe ignored us. The second set of sisters came over and called out, "Hiiiii Joey." The guys almost spilled their beers. Joe ignored us. The third set of sisters came in and said, "Hiiii, Joey."  The guys jaws dropped. Finally, one of Joe's buddies found his voice, "And you girls are?" We answered in unison, "Joe's sisters, of course."  The jig was up. He was busted. And he couldn't ignore us. His friends turned on him...."Your sisters?" Another said, "Wow." Another said, "All of them?" Joe just stared at us and shook his head. We stayed long enough to make a lasting impression, blew kisses and left.  Mission accomplished.

Onions and sisters...Joe cared little for.  As a kid, he would pick the onions out the tomato sauce set before him. Weird, huh? Yet, there was one dish...a meal of pounds of onions that he loved. Weird, huh? It is called, Genovese. It is a family recipe handed down through the ages. It can be best described as an Italian Pot Roast. The recipe consists of a beef roast, onions, salt, garlic powder, a pat of butter and pasta. It is absolutely heavenly as it simmers for hours until the meat is tender and the onions soft to a point of sauce-like.  The onions natural sweetness really comes through. It is a hearty meal fit for the best company. It took years for Joe to appreciate having so many sisters, but it took only one forkful of Genovese to make this meal one of his all time favorites.

Genovese  

1 approx. 6 lb. beef roast: rump, top round or bottom round
6-9 lbs of yellow onions: each onion peeled and quartered
1 box perciatelli (fat, hollow strands of pasta) or Thick Spaghetti
garlic powder & salt
pat of butter
1/4 cup canola oil
NO water

Season roast with salt. In a large, tall pot brown roast on all sides in oil, then season with garlic powder.  Add all the onions into the pot. Sprinkle salt on the top. Add pat of butter. Cover pot with lid and simmer for 4-5 hours. Stir every so often to keep onions from sticking to pot. Onions will soften and meat will become tender. Remove roast and let rest. With an immersion stick blender, blend onions into a sauce. Don't over blend. Sauce should be full-bodied not liquidy. Can, also, blend in covered blender in small batches and returned to pot. Adjust salt to your taste.
Cook perciatelli according to directions (al dente) and drain well. Carve roast into slices. Pour blended sauce over pasta. Can serve meat on top of pasta or on a separate dish.  Put extra sauce in a gravy boat on table. Serve with Italian bread and a green salad.  Serves 6

*Can be cooked in crock pot on low for 8-9 hours. Leftover freezes well.

Remember To Make Memories At The Table

Indian Cuisine: A Feast For The Senses

My Grandfather Joseph and Nana Florence lived in an apartment building in the Bronx (NY). What I remember so clearly is the smell of the halls when we visited after Mass on a Sunday. You see, my other grandparents had their own house and the scent of their home smelled..well....Italian. It was familiar to me, the rich tomato sauce, the onions and garlic, roasted lamb or fried zeppole (dough). But at Grandpa Joe's...kielbasa, Hungarian goulash, or chicken soup from Mrs. Goldberg's assaulted my senses. It wasn't offensive... just different. My mother was an incredible teacher to her students as well as to her children. I remember holding her white gloved hand as we walked the halls of Grandpa's building. "Mmmmm. Do you smell that Nanette?" She breathed deeply of the air around us. "Moussaka, I think. Eggplant, ground beef, tomato." And she would smile down at me with a look that meant we would have Moussaka within the next few weeks.
It was in those young, informative years that my love affair with food began. Thanks Mom. I recall her in an apron, eyeglasses at the end of her nose, peering into a cookbook. Polish, Greek, German, whatever caught her fancy she'd try. The cupboards were as magical as Mary Poppin's carpetbag. Out of them came spices, seasonings, different kinds of flour, baking chocolates, and exotic ingredients I couldn't pronounce. Is there any wonder that I have adventurous tastes? This was to serve me in good stead as I grew into adulthood and created meals on my own.
One of my first attempts at the "unusual" was curried tuna molded in the shape of a fish! It didn't go over very well. I realize now that I had to go through all the "in" ethnic cuisines before my world was ready for Indian/Middle Eastern cooking. So, I blazed through Mexican making Tacos the way my aunt Mim, from Arizona prepared hers...fried in lard, Oh, My! Next was Asian...Happy Walnut Shrimp and a zillion Stir-Frys. And there was German Sauerbraten and tons of Polish Kielbasa meals. Then it happened, curried foods and recipes from India and the Middle East weren't so odd any longer. Restaurants offering this fare were popping up everywhere and little "Bombay" markets could be found in our upstate county. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven! My palate adjusted to the heat and spices of this cuisine even quicker than the heat from a dish of Mexican food. I adore Indian cuisine.
When in Rome do what the Romans do...so they say. My test of this theory came when the summer replacement priest at the church I work for arrived from India. The rectory cook found several Indian recipes and honed her skills to accommodate Fr. Jacob's tastes. She even bought a rice cooker. The fragrant scent of cumin, cardamon, turmeric, coriander and ginger simmering in a pot with chunks of lamb delighted my senses.
It so happened that a group of visiting priests and nuns were getting together at a near-by church and I was invited to their Indian luncheon. When I arrived, the nuns greeted me like an old friend and chatted as they bustled about the kitchen sprinkling a spice in this pot and stirring the meats in another. They worked quickly and expertly always laughing and bantering with each other. A priest would poke his head in the kitchen, make a comment then disappear. I felt right at home as I asked questions about the different ingredients and cooking techniques. The atmosphere was as joyful and amicable as any of my Italian gatherings had ever been.
Finally, the many dishes were finished and set upon the long dining room table. They insisted that I sit in a place of honor and fussed over me, being sure that my plate was heaped high with food. It was not only the most fragrant meal I ever had but a feast for the eyes. Yellow Curry Shrimp, Chicken Tikka with bits of coconut, Lamb Biryani an aromatic yogurt sauce seasoned with garam masala, garlic, ginger over saffron rice, warm Naan bread and puffy samosa (peas and potato in a pastry) even the cauliflower had a unique taste. Did I mention that I thought I'd died and gone to heaven?
Not forgetting to give thanks, we bowed our head and said grace, then I reached for my silverware. There wasn't any. I looked around....not a spoon or fork or knife in sight. To my surprise, all were eating with their fingers. I would have received a slap in the back of my head had I tried that at home... Picking up a fried chicken leg was one thing, but scooping up rice and meat with a sauce was something all together different. I tried not to stare. Should I do what was their custom? I, I, I...didn't know if I could.  A lovely young Sister looked up from her plate. Her large, doe eyes caught mine. She smiled and rose, padding back with a set of cutlery. Respectful as always, no one commented or made me feel uncomfortable. I picked up my fork and just as quickly set it down. Why not, I thought, and dug in, scooping the food into my mouth like the others. It felt right...just like chopsticks at an Asian meal. It made the food taste better. After my first initiation, I must confess, I resorted to using a spoon. I didn't want to waste one grain of rice.
It was a wonderful, unforgettable meal. I made new friends, enjoyed a new dining experience and it was confirmed that food brings everyone together no matter the culture..and that we are all God's children.

Coconut Curry Shrimp Made Easy (UPDATED 2013)
*I begin my base cooking sauce by using most of a jar of  either of these sauces or whatever is your favorite. Tiger Tiger (brand) Chicken Tikka or Trader Joe or Kikkoman (brand) Thai Yellow Curry Sauce or Patak's (brand) Korma Curry.  If you want a good "from scratch" chicken recipe visit allrecipe.com and try Chicken Chicken Curry by Madhu.

also coconut flakes & curry powder

8 jumbo shrimp, cleaned
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon curry powder
1/4 cup coconut flakes, unsweetened
1 tablespoon golden raisins (optional)
1 tablespoon walnuts or cashews
1/2 cup of peas or more
1 Tblspoon sesame seeds
1/4 cup coconut milk, cream, or 1/2 & 1/2
Rice noodles, thin
*In this recipe I used, Thai Yellow Curry Sauce
Prepare noodles or rice according to directions
1. Pour Curry Sauce or whatever cooking sauce chosen in a skillet. Heat on low. Add honey, curry, coconut flakes. Sir and simmer. Add raisins & walnuts. Simmer for a few minutes.
2. Add shrimp to sauce. Stir and cook shrimp until pink. Add peas then stir in coconut milk & sesame seeds. Cook through.
3. Serve over rice noodles or basmati rice with Naan bread. Serves 2

Remember To Make Memories At The Table

Lent: Simple Meals Of Self-Denial

It seems as though we just took down the last red bow and ate the final Christmas cookie, and here it is just weeks before Lent/Easter begins. How different these two liturgical seasons are.  Try as I might to focus on the true meaning of Advent & Christmas, I tend to get caught up in the hype and do more partying than praying. And the food....it consumes my senses. Advent/Christmas bursts into my life, twirls me around and around, then pulls out in a blur. This coming season is different.
Lent begins on Ash Wednesday with the words, "Remember: you are dust and unto dust you will return."  It is a time of reflection, meditation and prayer. If time is put aside to contemplate the true meaning of this Holy Season, it is a cleansing experience. In my family, tradition has it that we visit an odd number of churches on Holy Thursday....just to sit and contemplate the significance of that night and the days to come. Good Friday is spent in quiet meditation and prayer esp. during the hours of Noon & 3 PM when Jesus was crucified. On Saturday, we break our fast late in the afternoon as we gather for a meal of Italian cold cuts, special cheese and meat pies (Pizza Rustica & Pizza Di Grano), stuffed artichokes, hard boiled eggs and other simple foods. The sadness and solemnity of Lent is broken with the Resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday.
"The Salad of Lent" was published in France around 1520. It offered a allegorical interpretation of the penitential dishes of the Lenten season. The salad represented the Word of God, which gives courage. Fried beans symbolized the reception of the sacrament of penance. The puree added to Lenten dishes, passed through a strainer, brought to mind, "the resolution of abstaining from sin." The expensive fish dish, lamprey, foretold the release from sin, the price of which requires the ceasing of all bitterness. The seasoning of Lenten soups and sauces with saffron represented the joy of heaven. The thought of the joy of heaven was essential for good "spiritual soup". (The Magnificat Lenten Companion 2010)
Lent is a time to sacrifice by fasting or at least to eat less, it is an Act of Voluntary Self-Denial. Fridays are put aside to fast from meat. That doesn't mean that a Lobster Dinner is the way to go. I was taught to eat a simple meal that does not include meat.
There was a time when meat was not eaten on any Friday throughout the year. So, many non-meat suppers have been passed down and now each Lenten Season those simple recipes are dusted off and prepared once again. It is a time to enjoy Pasta Fagioli minus the ham, Mozzarella in Carozza, Pizza Margherita or Caramelized Onion & Blue Cheese Pizza, Linguine & Clam Sauce, Pasta with Anchovies & Cauliflower. The most traditional dishes before the grand finale, Easter Dinner, are Stuffed Artichokes and Spaghetti Pie. So although, Lent is a time of sacrifice and reflection...one must feed the body as well as the soul.

Mozzarella In Carozza

1 pound fresh mozzarella, cut into slices (about 8)
Eight slices white or wheat sandwich bread
2 large eggs
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon salt & garlic powder
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil (add more if needed)

This is like preparing French Toast.  Beat the eggs and cream in a bowl.  Add salt and garlic powder. Mix. Dip two slices of bread in the egg mixture. Fry one side in olive oil. Be careful not to burn the oil. Flip the slices of bread over, and place two slices of mozzarella on the cooked side of one slice of bread and place the other slice of bread (the fried side) over the mozzarella. Press it down slightly with a spatula so the cheese melts. Fry both sides until golden brown. Repeat with remaining bread and mozzarella. Place on a plate with a paper towel.  Serve with a tomato salad. Peaches in syrup is also good with this sandwich.
Makes 4 servings

***Come back again for my post: Holy Saturday Spaghetti Pie***

Remember To Make Memories At The Table

Kids Say The Darndest Things: Whipped Cream Cake

There was a TV celebrity and humorist, Art Linkletter who had a show, "Kids Say The Darndest Things." It was sort of a Candid Camera with kids as the "victim". Children were put on the spot with questions like, "What did your parents tell you NOT to say on this show today?" The answers were always hilarious. A response might be, "They said not to tell that they always fight or that Daddy walks around the house in his underwear." The parents of these kids had bragging-rights.
Parents and Grandparents brag about their kids...a lot. Rightly so, most of the time. A baby is a beautiful miracle, but tell the truth, not all babies are beautiful...a few look like Mr. Magoo.  Anyway, I'm a Mom who is proud of my child and his accomplishments, BUT. Years ago, I made a promise that my son would not be the main topic of every conversation with friends and family. I might love him with all my heart, but no one has to hear about every detail of his quite ordinary life. As I've often told him, "The world's not gonna love you like momma loves you." On the other hand, I never said I wouldn't talk about him in a blog.
Food & kids is a topic I enjoy. Nothing pleases me more than a child that eats with gusto. A baby that is a two-fisted eater is a delight to behold. Most of my 17 nieces and nephews will agree that the Feast of the Seven Fish on Christmas Eve is a meal they look forward to all year. Bowls of scungilli & stuffed calamari in a tomato sauce get devoured on this special night. Plates of octopus salad, battered shrimp and baccala are inhaled in record breaking time. All I can do is sit back and grin. Broccoli, green salad and escarole pie are equally enjoyed by my not-picky younger generation of the family. Is there anything cuter than a wee one with chocolate smeared on his/her smiling face? Not in my books.
My favorite photo of my child is...he's less than two years old sitting in his high-chair. There's a bowl of mussels in marinara sauce in front of him. He's so excited about the frutta di mare before him that he's run his sauce slicked little hands through his hair. It's sticking out in every direction. A huge smile is plastered on his sauce splattered face. Now, that's my kind of kid! So not to sound like I'm bragging...I will tell you that this same child ate sand at the beach..by the hands full. In his defense, the doctor said it was nature's way of relieving his teething pain..the salt in the sand and the grittiness felt good.
Okay, now to get to the recipe for this post. I was waiting at the bus stop for my son to get home from school. He was about 5 or 6 years old. The bus pulled up and the doors opened. My child stumbled off, literally. What a sight he was. His shirt was half in and half out of his jeans, his face had a black smudge on it and his hair was mussed out of control. He was a mess! "What on earth happened to you?" I asked. He looked down, then back up at me. He gave out a long sigh and with grown-up seriousness said, "Today, I was whipped-creamed." He certainly looked it. And....kids say the darndest things.

Chocolate Whipped Cream Angel Food Cake

1 Box of Angel Food Cake
1 Quart Heavy Cream
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/4 to 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
dash salt
1 cup coconut flakes
8-10 chocolate candies or coffee chocolate beans (any kind you like)
Tube cake pan
Whipped cream tip: place metal mixing bowl and beaters in freezer for 10 min. before mixing.

Bake the Angel Food cake according to the directions and pour into a tube pan. Let cool. Once cooled, slice top off of Angel Food Cake about 2 inches. Scoop out a second "well" inside of cake about an inch from tube "well", set aside the cake you scooped out. Fill inside of cake (both wells) with chocolate whipped cream, packed tight. Put top back on cake and frost the top and the outside with remaining cream.

Frosting: put cold heavy cream in a mixing bowl & beat on medium speed until slightly thickened.  Gradually add powdered sugar, salt, vanilla and cocoa. Beat on high speed until it forms stiff peaks. Don't overbeat.

After frosting cake, sprinkle top with coconut.  Decorate top with candies. Left over pieces of the inside of the cake are good for dipping in fondue or remaining cream.

**Kudos to my co-worker, Kathy, for baking this cake and giving me the recipe.

Remember To Make Memories At The Table

The "Tomato Sauce" Incident

 BROCCOLI, PORK & PASTA

Growing up I thought everyone ate and cooked Italian. I had Irish friends, Spanish friends, and lived in a neighborhood where Blacks and those of Polish descent all hung out together. But, I just thought that Italian food graced their tables most nights. Sure, it was fine to have a non-Italian meal. My mom, Eugenia, is a diverse cook. During the Jewish holidays she made potato latkes and brisket, on St. Patrick's there was always corned beef and cabbage, Chinese New Year..homemade wonton soup, stir fry and fried rice. She cooked International long before it was vogue. But come on, didn't everyone have pasta and "gravy" each Sunday... rich tomato sauce with braciole, meatballs, pork, sausage? Sundays the house smelled heavenly. Mom was up early as usual. The scent of garlic, onion and meat browning in olive oil filled the air. It was the day one of her seven kids got his/her hand slapped for dunking Italian bread in the gravy pot. That drove Mom crazy...pieces of bread floating in her sauce. We did know enough not to double dip so at least we kept it sanitary. Italian food made from scratch...was there anything else?
Not all pasta was mixed with tomato sauce. Nope. Pasta with peas and onions, with cauliflower, ceci beans, and one of my favorites--broccoli and pork. Whatever could be fried, sauteed, poached or baked could be combined with some type of pasta be it fusilli, shells, farfalle, penne and so on. Everything was great with pasta... well, except for that lunch in Cape Cod, Massachusetts when I was about 9 years old.
Mom and Dad took their seven children and Nonna on vacation every year. My parents wouldn't dream of a get-away alone. No two people deserved quiet time without their brood more than they...but we were family, their family. So off to Lake George, NY, the New Jersey Shore or Cape Cod we would go. Dad would rent a large house somewhere near a lake or the ocean where his kids could run wild, swim or explore. Poor Mom still had to cook as it was too expensive to take 10 out to a restaurant. At the Cape, Nonna carrying a bucket would take us to the sea and we'd all gather fresh mussels. Back at home, Mom would make a pot of marinara sauce and in would go those mussels....cook up linguine and the feast would begin.

One lazy summer day, my sister Judey and I made friends with two girls renting the house next door to our rental. Graciously, their mom invited us to lunch with them. Knowing we were of Italian descent, she offered to serve spaghetti and tomato sauce. It sounded great and Mom agreed. She sent us over with a plate of cookies (you never went to someones house empty handed). It turned out to be a meal I'd never forget.
Four little girls giggling at a chipped formica table waited for their Italian lunch. Mrs. G filled a separate bowl with the spaghetti water, then scooped out a hearty serving of pasta into each kid's dish. She reached for a bottle of ketchup and proceeded to mix it with the pasta water she'd set aside. She whisked the ketchup and water together and poured it over our pasta. Judey and I were horrified! I looked over at my younger sister. Tears pooled in her eyes. Her lip quivered. I squeezed her knee under the table. We were taught that no matter what was served...you ate it. It was bad manners to put your nose up at food. But this had to be an exception...ketchup over spaghetti? It was criminal, I tell you. We said "thank you" and we all bowed our heads to say grace. I prayed I wouldn't throw up. Judey prayed that her "big" sister would get her out of this mess. I couldn't. We ate half our lunch, said we were full and couldn't eat another bite. Judey and I quickly bid them goodbye and high-tailed it back to our rental. Mom couldn't image what had happened, the way we carried on! Ketchup in place of tomato sauce...oh, the inhumanity of it all! We had been traumatized. Mom understood, led us into the living room, snuggled us under a blanket on the couch and turned on the TV. We never spoke of the "ketchup" incident ever again.
That evening, Mom made pasta with broccoli and pork. Tomato sauce would have been a cruel reminder of what we'd been through that day.

Pasta, Broccoli & Pork

1 lb. box shells style pasta
1 large head of broccoli: remove end of stalks & cut into pieces with florets intact
1 small onion, sliced
2-3 boneless pork chops, diced *pork is not the main ingredient. This is a pasta dish. Pork is for flavor.
Seasoning & Browning sauce (i.e. Gravy Master-just for color)
olive oil
salt & garlic powder
*reserve a cup or so of pasta water

Heat olive oil in a large skillet, add diced pork and begin to brown it. Season to taste with salt and garlic powder. When almost browned, add onion and saute until pork and onion are cooked. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Put broccoli in pot and cook for 5 min. Add pasta in the same pot as broccoli. Cook until al dente. With a slotted spoon, remove broccoli and add to the skillet. Mix gently. When pasta is cooked, drain, add to skillet, too. Add a bit of Gravy Master to color the pasta. Mix gently so as not to break up the broccoli too much. Add a drizzle of olive oil to moisten. Add pasta water. Mix gently. Season with salt and garlic powder to your taste, if needed. Serves 4. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Serve with Italian bread.

Remember to Make Memories at the table.

Husband At The Stove: Crab Cakes

Steady my heart. My meat-and-potato husband, Steve, mentioned in my 1st post about Squash Soup is suddenly a Male Cooking Diva. Yep, the guy who believes that if God wanted us to eat fish, He wouldn't have put it way out in the ocean, volunteered to cook! In fairness to him...he makes a great meatloaf, fried chicken cutlets and shake 'n bake pork chops. And this workin' woman, truly appreciates the meals. This supper would be different. He'd find the recipe and I was not to help him in any way.

Let's take a stroll down memory lane to get a better understanding of my reaction to Steve's sudden desire to cook. You see, Steve eats healthy meals, but he prefers basic cuisine. Indian food, never. Greek? No way. Hot or spicy..you gotta be kidding. He'd rather eat canned green beans than fresh from the vine, something about fresh vegetables tasting...well, fresh...ya know crunchy, and grassy like. His extent of fish is tuna out of a can, shrimp cocktail or fried and lobster tails. No claws, thank you. He was in his twenties when he first tasted lobster. It was a matter of eating this crustacean or starve. He was out with buddies and they all ran out of money before supper rolled around. A kind uncle of one of his friends offered to pay for dinner IF they would dine at his favorite seafood restaurant. To make matters worse or better, he ordered lobster tails for all...no ifs, ands or buts. So rather than starve, Steve made a great sacrifice and ate lobster. And he liked it. Thank you uncle Whoever-You-Are for adding this ocean jewel to Steve's culinary repertoire.
I have tried to entice him with a forkful of macadamia crusted tilapia, honey-mustard Dover sole and crispy catfish tacos smothered in homemade coleslaw. He tentatively takes a bite as if an unseen octopus is going to pop out and spit ink in his eye, chews slowly and washes it down quickly with whatever is close at hand...soda, beer or like a ten year old...milk. He hasn't branched out much. So, you can imagine my surprise when my recently retired husband announced, "Honey, this Thursday I'm cooking supper. I got everything under control." What in the world would he come up with? I started to sweat as Thursday drew near.

Finally, the Recipe Reveal Night came. I was amazed and delighted when I arrived home and the table was set, salad fixed, and my man was standing at the stove flipping...drum roll, please,...crab cakes! I don't think I've ever found him more sexy than at that moment. He was smiling, but I could see concern in his blue eyes....would his passionate-for-cooking wife like what he'd prepared? Indeed, I did! The crab cakes were seasoned perfectly...garlic, onion, parmesan cheese, and just a lovely hint of mustard. He used Ritz crackers instead of breadcrumbs which gave the cakes a more buttery taste. He knew enough to have the oil at the right temperature so the cakes were crispy, golden and not greasy at all. WOW! Though the crab cakes were the center of attention, I can't forget to mention the potato au gratin...creamy, cheesy and oh-so-good. What a wonderful combination.

That night, I ate like a queen--relaxed, content, with no flour on my cheek or grease spot on my blouse. I was in heaven. I couldn't stop complimenting the chef. And impolitely, smacked my lips a couple of times. After supper, I told him to go inside and read the newspaper, I'd clean the kitchen. And I did it gladly. What a treat. What a meal. What a guy. That night as we snuggled before falling asleep, Steve whispered, "Honey, I think I already know what I'm going to cook next." I started to sweat.

CRAB CAKES
1 egg
1/4 cup mayonnaise
2 teaspoons dijon mustard
12 oz crabmeat, flaked, picked through
1 teaspoon garlic powder
20 Ritz crackers, coarsely crushed
OR 1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1/3 cup parmesan cheese
2 green onions, sliced
fresh parsley
1/2 cup oil (peanut or vegetable)for frying
Beat egg and mayonnaise in a large bowl. Add mustard, garlic powder, cheese, parsley & onions. Mix well. Add crackers. Mix. Add crabmeat. Mix gently. Let stand 3 minutes. Shape into cakes. Heat oil and fry crab cakes 4 minutes on each side. Place on paper towel to drain. Makes approx. 16 cakes

Enjoy! Remember To Make Memories At The Table