Cucina Povera

I've been getting to work really early lately.  Part of it is being super-busy, which I love, but part of it is that I love being in the office when it is so quiet.  This morning I can hear the rain pounding on the roof.

We're on a downhill slide into fall here in Anchorage.  I've been meaning to take pictures of the transformation, which include a flock of Canadian geese gathering on the mud flats near my house and the blooming of the fireweed.  Alaska legend is you can tell how long it will be until winter by when the fireweed finishing blooming and then goes to cotton.

For the first time in a couple of weeks, I was home to make dinner last night.  On Golden Pond is fully blocked and going well, but the nights we aren't in rehearsal I'm usually staying late at work or running the errands that I haven't had time to do. 

Last night I was determined to make something delicious, simple and packable to take to work for lunch.  I am fascinated by the Italian concept of cucina povera--literally, poverty kitchen--not because of the financial aspect of it (we are fortunate in that regard), but because it means you make a delicious dish from basically nothing. 

This dish is so simple that I kept wanting to do something more with it, like adding anchovies, chicken sausage or olives.  In the end, I left it proudly unadorned, the way it was meant to be.  It originated in Puglia, the single food region I most want to visit in Italy and haven't had the opportunity to--yet.

Rigatoni with Bread Crumbs and Parmesan

Adapted from Lidia's Italy by Lidia Bastianich

1 eight-inch piece of white country bread--baguette, French, ciabatta

1/3 cup olive oil

4 large cloves of garlic, sliced thinly

1 lb. dried rigatoni

1/4 cup Italian parsley, chopped

1/4 cup good-quality Parmesan, finely shredded, with more for garnish if desired

4 small dried peperoncino peppers, crumbled

Good-quality finishing olive oil

Sea salt and freshly-ground pepper

Trim the crust from the bread and then pull it into crumbs with your hands.  The crumbs should be various sizes.

Start a large pot of water to boil for the pasta, adding at least a tablespoon of salt.

In a large skillet, heat the olive oil.  When it is shimmering, add the bread crumbs and garlic.  Toss the crumbs to coat them with the oil, and toss occasionally when cooking so that they brown and crisp.

When the water is ready, add the pasta and cook for about nine or ten minutes, until the pasta is al dente.  Reserve half a cup of the pasta water and drain the pasta thoroughly.  Then add it back to the pot and cover it until ready to use.

The crumbs will be ready when they are lightly golden and crispy--make sure not to scorch the garlic.

Toss the pasta with a little of the cooking water to coat it.  Add the crumbs, parsley, peperoncini and Parm to the pasta and toss thoroughly.  Season with salt and pepper, then drizzle with good-quality finishing olive oil and toss again.

Serve with another grating of Parmesan.  Makes six appetizer pasta servings or four generous main course servings.  I served this with a side of fried zucchini and a bottle of dry, minerally Gruner Veltliner.

Goodbye Is the Hardest Part

We have all kinds of relationships in our lives...but a theatre director's relationship with a longtime stage manager?

Priceless.

For those who don't know what a stage manager does, it is the person who takes all the blocking notes, keeps the director on schedule, is the primary contact for the the designers (sound, costumes, lights, props) and, when the show opens, has the primary responsibility for making sure that it runs right and on time--and those are just the common duties.  The director hands the show over on the day it opens. 

It's a terrifying thing, or would be if I haven't been fortunate enough to have a small handful of stage managers who I also consider good friends and confidantes.

My friend Erika first stage managed for me when I directed my first professional show, Deathtrap, in 2007.  I would trust her with just about anything, and never had a second's hesitation about handing a show over to her on opening.  I've lost track of how many shows we've done together, but Sandy, the head of our local semiprofessional theatre company, calls us "the Dynamic Duo."

Eeks, it sounds like I'm eulogizing her, doesn't it?  It's not that.  Erika is heading off to a four-year program at a Russian Orthodox seminary to become a counselor.  She moves to Kodiak Island later this week.

It's a perfect fit of a profession for her, and I wish her all the best. 

David and I had Erika and Sandy over to dinner this past Sunday to say our goodbyes, or at least our "farewell for nows."  It was a lovely dinner, but of course bittersweet since we will really miss Erika.

For a first course, we served the Barefoot Contessa's salad with phyllo-wrapped goat cheese.  It's a stunning salad, even if my phyllo purses were not quite as pretty as the ones in the cookbook.  Make sure you serve the salad when the purses are fresh out of the oven.

Summer Salad with Phyllo Purses

Adapted from Barefoot Contessa Back to Basics by Ina Garten

8 sheets frozen phyllo dough, defrosted

8 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

6 oz. log goat cheese

Baby salad greens (I used a spring mix, about 2 oz. greens per person)

2 1/2 tsp. champagne vinegar

1 tsp. coarse Dijon mustard

1 clove garlic, finely minced

1 tsp. kosher salt, plus more for serving

1/2 tsp. fresh-ground black pepper

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.  To prepare the phyllo purses, unroll the dough and set aside only what you need to use.  Cover the dough with a very lightly damp dishtowel--I ruined a couple of sheets of dough by using a towel that was too damp.



Trust me, they look so much better when browned.

Spread out one sheet of phyllo on a cutting board and brush all over with the melted butter.  Repeat with the remaining sheets of phyllo--you will want four sheets stacked on top of each other.  Cut the dough stack in half crosswise.

Cut the goat cheese log into discs about 1/4 inch thick.  Place two in the center of each phyllo section, then bring the sides of the phyllo square up to wrap around it.  The Barefoot Contessa compares it to wrapping a circular gift--you'll want to crimp together the top as much as you can, and get the dough as tight as possible around the bottom of each phyllo purse.

Repeat with the remaining phyllo--you will likely have some leftover goat cheese.

Spritz a small baking sheet or cake pan with nonstick spray and place the phyllo purses on it.  Bake for about twenty minutes, or until the purses are lightly browned.

In the interim, prepare the salad dressing by whisking the vinegar, mustard, garlic, salt and pepper in a small bowl.  Then whisk in the olive oil in a steady stream until the dressing emulsifies.

Place the greens in a salad bowl and toss by hand with a pinch of kosher salt, preferably flaked salt.  Then toss with the dressing until the greens are evenly coated.

Plate the salad with a small amount of dressed greens on one salad and one phyllo purse on the other.

Serves four, but could be easily doubled.

Am I Blue?

Hosting gatherings on Friday nights after working a full day is always a challenge, even when it's a small group of friends.

Last night I hosted a book group in which I've been participating for about two years.  It's a great group of women, an interesting combination of lawyers, social workers and educators.  This month we were reading a book by an Alaskan author, My Name Is Not Easy, a young adult novel about Alaska Native students at one of the boarding schools that were once ubiquitous around the state when remote villages didn't have their own high schools.

The subject matter is fascinating and important--Alaska Native teenagers removed from their homes and transported hundreds of miles away to be educated to values that weren't necessarily their own--but the book is just so-so, mostly due to the bland writing.

I knew that I wanted to make a cake and set out some finger foods, but since we meet at seven I was going to make fondue.

Now, my love of fondue is well known.  However, I wanted to do something a little different if I was going to serve up a big pot o' cheese again so soon.  I modified the recipe I used previously to incorporate sassy, stinky Gorgonzola cheese.  It gives the fondue a slightly funky flavor that is a nice counterpoint to the creaminess of the texture.

An all-blue fondue would just be too much--apparently it turns gray and unappetizing--but the proportions I used were just right.  There's something wonderfully communal about sitting around talking about a book while everyone is dipping their forks into the same pot.

Blue Cheese Fondue

Adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman

8 oz. blue cheese, crumbled

6 oz. Gruyere cheese, finely shredded

6 oz. Emmethaler cheese, finely shredded

3 cloves garlic, finely minced

1 cup dry white wine*

1 cup water

1.5 tablespoons cornstarch, dissolved in water

Cubes of French bread, baby carrots and grapes for dipping

Combine the wine, water and garlic in a fondue pot or other small saucepan on the stove.  Bring to a rolling boil.

Add the cheese in two installments, whisking constantly.  Do not let the cheese mixture boil.

Add the cornstarch slurry and continue whisking until the mixture is thickening.  Remove the pot from the stove and place over its burner, if you are using an actual fondue pot.  The mixture will continue to cook down slightly over the heat.

Serve with cubes of bread, baby carrots and grapes for dipping.  Easily serves six people.

*I used an unoaked California chardonnay, which worked well.  Avoid oaky Chardonnays, as they will clash with the blue cheese flavor.

Tuna Conserva, Part Due

Tonight, I made part two of the four tuna conserva recipes in A16.  This one is meant to be the winter recipe, with radicchio as the base ingredient, but remade with baby mixed greens (a decent Alaskan substitute for radicchio), this made a terrific summer entree salad.  Essentially, it's the Italian version of tuna nicoise, with no hard-boiled egg and the additional of toasted almonds on top. 

It has a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice and salt, and the only real effort to it is boiling some small red or white potatoes and tossing the salad by hand.  That is to say, it's a perfect summer meal.

My husband and I ate it outside with a bottle of Washington State rose and a little rosemary bread. 

The tuna conserva is definitely more work than good canned tuna in olive oil, but it's actually better than it was when I first used it last Saturday.

As an NPR addict, I was thrilled to actually know the answer to the trivia question on The World, but it's only because it had to do with Italy and cheese.  Specifically, the delicious, creamy concoction known as burrata, which I last had at A16 last month.  The story of the Italian cheesemaker currently living in Vermont can be heard here:

http://www.theworld.org/2011/07/cheese-from-southern-italy/

I've recently found that we have a cheese store in Anchorage that brings in Italian burrata, which was a cause for much rejoicing.  If you haven't had it, what are you waiting for?

I'm off this weekend for a dip-netting trip with friends on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska.  Salmon stories to come!