Homemade Farfalle
I retreated to the Wedding Cave last week. I’ve decided that this is an apt name for these all-consuming panic-driven periods in which I spend basically every free moment sitting at my desk frantically planning some aspect of the big day. (It totally doesn’t help that I’m both neurotic AND disorganized.) In last week’s case, I sat at my desk with a big blank sheet of watercolor paper before me realizing that if we don’t send out invitations soon, my nightmares will come true.
You see, I’ve been having stress dreams about the wedding. It’s kind of laughable actually, because I always thought I’d have a knack for wedding planning. I think I’ve even entertained thoughts of becoming a wedding planner. HA. It turns out, I would be terrible at that job.
In my latest dream, which is what triggered last week’s fever pitch, I thought that there were only three weeks left until the wedding. And I hadn’t yet sent out invitations. Mini heart attack! Other realizations ensued, causing me to fall into a deeper and deeper panic: my dress still needed to be altered, I hadn’t picked out bridesmaid dresses, I hadn’t contacted a florist (that much at least is taken care of), etc. etc. I woke up heart POUNDING, and it took awhile to grasp that it had all been a dream.
While I hate being out of touch with everything I hold dear, this blog for example, and all the other blogs I love to read, last week did see some progress and minor achievements. We have a DJ now, for example. And a day-of coordinator! I’m so relieved. Also, our invitations are halfway to being done and I’m gathering quotes from printers. We can get our invitations printed as soon as next Tuesday, people! Yahoo! The week also wrapped up with the completion of our Catholic counseling, a cumulative nine hours of what essentially boiled down to premarital discussions. Just to be clear, I am not Catholic and Chris isn’t a practicing Catholic. We decided to undergo these sessions because of our choice of officiant, a close friend of Chris’s parents who is also a Franciscan monk. What’s funny is that we were signed up for a special session called Inter-faith, with my religion being denoted as ‘Chinese’.
To top it all off, I also started our registry, which, it turns out, I can easily get lost in and obsessive about. There are suddenly so many things we NEED, or so I believed, until I took a step back and realized I was maybe getting a little carried away with adding to our appliance collection. I immediately removed a number of items from the list and forced myself to get off Amazon, with its million and one reviews on just about anything a person could want. I’m trying to stay grounded, if you can’t tell.
Actually, before I close the subject, I was hoping to get your opinion on the Le Creuset dutch oven I’ve been considering. I’m debating between the 5.5 qt. and 7.5 qt round sizes, or rather, I think the smaller size will work fine, but there are very compelling reasons for choosing the larger. What do you guys think? Does anyone have experience with either? And is the larger too big for two people? Three people? Four?
On to today’s post. Do you know how transcendental homemade pasta is? If not, you really ought to try making your own soon. Some of you might be aware that I made homemade pasta for the first time ever a couple weeks ago. It was amazing! I tossed the tagliatelle with homemade pesto, roasted asparagus, and white beans, and couldn’t stop crowing over how delicious it was.
But besides the finished product being incredibly fresh and tasty, the process of making the pasta is also really rewarding. Especially when you consider that its ingredients are only flour and some kind of binder. The rest of the magic comes from sheer hard labor, the interplay between the dough and your hands. You’ll knead and knead, pounding and folding, take a break, and then knead some more. Later, you’ll roll and roll, pressing your body into the dough, trying to get it as thin as possible, and you still won’t be satisfied with how thin it is. Don’t worry. Homemade pasta doesn’t have to be perfect.
I decided to branch out to other shapes. My first experiment: farfalle, which means ‘butterfly’ in Italian. This shape needs no introduction of course, as I’m sure we’ve all eaten it many times before. What I love about making this pasta is how you make each piece individually, pleating it in the middle just so, pinching and squeezing, then laying it aside. The transformation is quite stunning: from unimpressive rectangles of pasta into a neat pile of bowties.
I’m now debating whether or not to add the Kitchenaid pasta roller attachment to our registry. Don’t give me that look!
HOMEMADE FARFALLE (WITHOUT A MACHINE)
Adapted from The Kitchn
Serves 4 to 6
Note: Egg to flour proportions can range pretty dramatically. For an easier to work dough (that will be eggier), I’d go with a 1 egg to 1/2 cup ratio.
Ingredients:
1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 eggs
Pinch of salt
Directions:
Make a volcano-like mound of flour on the work surface (meaning a hollow in the center). Crack the eggs into the hollow, sprinkle with salt, then, using a fork, gently start stirring the eggs, slowly incorporating the flour from the walls of the volcano.
Once the dough has become workable by hand—a fair amount of flour will have been worked in—use your hands to incorporate the rest of the loose flour. Once the dough has come together smoothly, knead the ball for about 10 minutes. If it’s a little dry, add a splash of water, but continue kneading until it’s smooth and sort of feels like clay. Cover the ball of dough with plastic wrap so it doesn’t dry out, and let it rest for about half an hour. The dough should relax and become easier to work with after this period.
Cut the ball in halves or fourths, and begin rolling a piece out with a rolling pin, trying to keep its shape roughly rectangular. You want it to end up very thin, almost transparent. Using a sharp knife, slice the pasta into pieces that are about 1.5″ by 1″. Pinch each rectangle along the longer side really hard.
Roll out the rest of the dough in the same fashion. You’ll now have tiny little butterfly-shaped pasta. Enjoy! You can also dry them by simply leaving them out covered with a dishcloth.
Tomato Soup
Yesterday, I was working at Starbucks (Freelancers Central) when a lady standing by the doors tipped over into a drug-induced trance.
The baristas immediately called 9-1-1, but the woman sitting next to me, the one who’d seen the whole incident go down because she’d been standing outside making a phone call when it happened, just shook her head and informed me that the lady was ‘as high as a kite.’
Now that’s a feeling I can relate to. That world-weariness. After all, I had gone to school in the most psychedelic college town in the country (Berkeley), and lived in what is probably the most homeless-friendly big city in the WORLD (San Francisco). I’ve seen it all—so what if I’m only 26?—all the different variations of drug-induced catatonia and rants and everything in between.
This old man with white hair, he’s a regular who just hangs out in the cafe all day chatting with other regulars (except me, because I avoid eye contact with strangers, much in the style of Amelie Poulain), leapt up from his seat and raced outside, wanting to take charge of the situation. He reminded me of one of those alert guard dogs, the kind that’s been bred to inspect signs of disorder, and cleared aside the small crowd that had gathered around the woman to get a closer look.
He re-entered the cafe a few minutes later. “She’s on drugs,” he said disgustedly.
A few minutes later, the lady dizzily pushed herself up and teetered away. “She’s only on drugs,” Mr. Regular repeated, shaking his head.
This was when the firemen rushed onto the scene. They pulled up in their shiny truck with their sirens blaring, and parked gracefully into the empty space in front of the building that just happened to be big enough for one regular-sized fire truck.
“Did they need to bring so many men?” the woman beside me asked. Sure enough, five firemen stepped out, clad in their heavy protective gear. Men who meant business. Men who looked like they were ready to put out a fire.
“She doesn’t need firemen,” said Regular Man. “She needs to be slapped in the face and drenched with tomato soup!”
Tomato soup, now that’s an idea.
Did he mean what he said sadistically? Was he implying that the lady should be burned with a hot, acidic liquid as a sort of punishment? Or maybe he thought it would revivify her, the equivalent of pushing her into a molten pool. Or maybe he just wanted tomato soup for dinner and had made a Freudian slip.
Whatever the case, guessing does not change the fact: these are the kinds of moments that can inspire meals. I’m very easily persuaded, and I happen to really like tomato soup.
This recipe is one I’ve been making since my student days, so you can be sure that it’s low-maintenance. And it came in handy during my time in San Francisco, a city whose 365-days-per-year fog and gloom is enough to drive a person mad. You see, you need a soup as heartening as this to keep your spirits up, lest you succumb to drastic measures. Like quitting your job and chasing summer in the Southern Hemisphere. Well, that latter part was unintentional.
I don’t remember how I came upon this recipe anymore. I copied it long ago into a little pocket notebook that I have on me at all times—we all have one of these, I suspect—and have been faithfully following the same set of directions for a long time. I’m sure its source is not as obscure as I make it seem, but I prefer to keep it a mystery, for the sake of having a “family recipe” that I can pass down for generations. Or not. I don’t think that far ahead. (But it would be cool nonetheless.)
TOMATO SOUP
Serves 4
Ingredients:
- 1 28-ounce can of chopped tomatoes
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- salt & ground pepper to taste
- 2 stalks celery, diced
- 2 small carrots, diced
- 1 large yellow onion, diced
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 cups chicken broth
- 2 bay leaves
- 1/2 cup chopped basil
- 1/4 cup cream or milk, optional
Directions:
Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Strain tomatoes, reserving the juices, and spread onto baking sheet. Season with salt and pepper, and drizzle with about 1 Tbsp olive oil. Roast until caramelized, about 15 minutes.
In a saucepan, heat the rest of the oil on medium-low heat. Add celery, carrots, onion, and garlic. Cook until softened, about 10 minutes. Add the roasted tomatoes, reserved juices, chicken broth, and bay leaves. Simmer until vegetables are tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Add basil and cream if using. Puree with an immersion blender.