tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76454270287534372362024-03-13T12:20:26.876-04:00My Nonna's KitchenCelebrating food, family, friends and la buona vita.
Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-49595812587639423552022-06-13T14:16:00.016-04:002022-06-14T20:16:47.030-04:00Dad<p>Dad<i>: Why do you go to school?</i></p><p>Me: To get good grades. </p><p><i>Why do you want good grades?</i></p><p>To get into a good college. </p><p><i>Why do you want to go to a good college?</i></p><p>To get a good job. </p><p>And finally<i>: Why do you want a good job?</i></p><p>So I can take care of my dear old dad. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihvHOasNs2NhGbycki9a4yTK5T-UV65X0qszMaDITwhqZz_BxJrkoEkG9Jb-EjuSw99V2VbHeKBupZ8CB-MWf5z6UHZRVXm6tTHJv_YPyG-TTzZ_K-Lxu1d5BejG6pT7DHbrjcGyBJrIWaLRyQprv8_ZBDd7bzz_Owh7DQVsTyHwCsJ7mCvt6XN4Mo_A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2049" data-original-width="1537" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihvHOasNs2NhGbycki9a4yTK5T-UV65X0qszMaDITwhqZz_BxJrkoEkG9Jb-EjuSw99V2VbHeKBupZ8CB-MWf5z6UHZRVXm6tTHJv_YPyG-TTzZ_K-Lxu1d5BejG6pT7DHbrjcGyBJrIWaLRyQprv8_ZBDd7bzz_Owh7DQVsTyHwCsJ7mCvt6XN4Mo_A=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div><br />He had me well trained at a very young age. <p></p><p>This was our Saturday morning ritual. Listening to Jim Croce, we’d practice this father/daughter mantra and go on our dump run (some of you know, we danced to Rapid Roy at my wedding). We’d stop for coffee and Nintendo at Mark and Cherie’s, pick up a few brownies at Elm Farm Bakery and go down to the river. Then we’d come home and make hot dogs and beans. This was us. This was Saturday.</p><p>My dad was a great man. But he would say he was a just a man with a great life. He would insist, “Nina, I live a charmed life”. And he did. Whether it was getting the very last parking spot in a crowded lot in Boston or the moment he learned he was going to be a Babbo. Even at the end. Even when we cried tears and tears together, called bullshit and wondered if the charm had finally run out. </p><p>Paul Kostecki loved his life. He loved his family. He loved his friends. He loved singing at the top of his lungs in his truck to the songs that made him, him. He was perpetually moving to the soundtrack of his life- Bob Dylan, James Taylor, Jim Croce, Jimmy Buffet, his beloved Eagles, Arlo Guthrie- storytellers all. Always in motion, my dad moved towards happiness, towards fixing problems, towards helping out a friend, towards joy and ultimately, towards gratitude for his collection of beautiful people and the memories they made together. </p><p>For dad, the journey was more important than the destination. Many of you had the pleasure of eating my dad’s bouillabaisse. It was his signature dish- a bowl filled to the brim with seafood and shellfish. No meal made him happier to eat. But the happiest part of Dad’s bouillabaisse was in the planning. He’d want to talk about the ingredients, discuss at length what changes he wanted try (Pancetta this time! Shallots, not onions!). Going to the store with him to purchase the seafood was a special experience. He would buy it ALL. For him the joy was in the journey it took to get to the table to sit down and eat. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAsdrG1vWUroNtTQhDBDt4UFUohJp0eOGxsX3MRTdzLcDaOTh2sd5c_1jIxFTwdbXNsiEc8CWzwTq4HIJ8VavquFQcmPUwXb3dcHsERVBUDlqPTi9BciUTEoQo9o9k2cYvffwJyhh4Ros0WedyBjXEGirZCUFuvLijA91dUq2D_QfhFm1klWgUVNDwCw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAsdrG1vWUroNtTQhDBDt4UFUohJp0eOGxsX3MRTdzLcDaOTh2sd5c_1jIxFTwdbXNsiEc8CWzwTq4HIJ8VavquFQcmPUwXb3dcHsERVBUDlqPTi9BciUTEoQo9o9k2cYvffwJyhh4Ros0WedyBjXEGirZCUFuvLijA91dUq2D_QfhFm1klWgUVNDwCw=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>Anyone who knew Paul Kostecki knew that he walked through fire for his people, especially for his kids. But maybe you didn’t know, he would also (try) to walk on water. One year at Nonna’s Cottage, Tom and I were sailing a small sunfish and per usual, sailing it badly. We capsized in the middle of the lake. We were in no immediate danger- both for us were in life jackets with decent swimming skills but we couldn’t tip the boat back up so we resorted to dragging her in. All of sudden we hear “IT’S OKAY NIN, I’M COMING, IT’S OKAY”. We look over to see dad yelling his head off and dragging an aluminum tin can, disguised as a canoe into the water. He takes a running leap into the canoe and begins wildly paddling towards us. He was in exactly two feet of water when HE capsized (not wearing a life jacket and not being a decent swimmer). He didn’t care. I was treading water in the middle of the lake and he was going to save me damnit. </p><p>He capsized a second time about five feet from the first spot, by which point we had righted the boat and were sailing into the dock when WE capsized for the last time. The entire lake was watching this failed rescue unfold in hysterics. But if my dad couldn’t walk through fire to get to us, he damn well was going to take a boat to do it. </p><p>The Paul Kostecki everyone spoke about today is a colorful, accurate and beautiful collage of the different moments that made up his life. But I’d like to tell you about his best year. His most courageous year. His last year. I call it his best year because there is no greater test of one’s character than to realize your time on this earth is ending. My dad was not afraid to die. He looked at his illness as part of his journey. And he did what he always did- made sure our family had what we needed to keep moving forward, towards the joy.</p><p>In those last days, Dad whispered to me “maybe the charm’s worn out”. I whispered back “how could it have worn out, I’m a Kostecki and my life is pretty damned charmed. Dad, you gave me your tools”.</p><p>I can never hope to fill the void my dad’s physical absence has left us with. But I can be a person who fixes problems. I can sing at the top of my lungs while driving. I can teach my daughter how to properly swear and show her how to always turn towards gratitude.</p><p>I now understand the answers my dad was trying to teach me as a four year old enjoying bites of a brownie by the river.</p><p><i>Why do you go to school? </i><br /><br />You go to school because learning makes you curious and if you stay curious you experience so much.</p><p><i>Why get good grades?</i> </p><p>Good grades give you good options. They help you make good choices. And you are always responsible for the choices you make. </p><p><i>Why go to a good college? </i></p><p>Because if you’re very lucky, your dad will be the one to hand you your diploma. </p><p><i>Why get a good job?</i> </p><p>A good job gives you purpose and joy. </p><p><i>And why take care of your dear old dad? </i></p><p>Because taking care of the ones you love the most will fill you with gratitude and countless memories. It will make you rich. And it will show you how to live a charmed life. </p><p>I will love you beyond forever, Dad.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvBDwxvHU7AMWw3Qtp8XneT4jj3c9RepT9YC9J-pXO7tFIrwHcPldJi_KPpK5pOznw1_owK0BknRgpf7QyROZjxfKEBnppRpbmQiIm4_1hIZ7ue2PFpHqz1okFWRHS-GA3eGkometMuFfdD2a9fPdkzhS_adyJjHslyfdXsPWkbZpKruO5mn9f3JxhSA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvBDwxvHU7AMWw3Qtp8XneT4jj3c9RepT9YC9J-pXO7tFIrwHcPldJi_KPpK5pOznw1_owK0BknRgpf7QyROZjxfKEBnppRpbmQiIm4_1hIZ7ue2PFpHqz1okFWRHS-GA3eGkometMuFfdD2a9fPdkzhS_adyJjHslyfdXsPWkbZpKruO5mn9f3JxhSA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>Paul Kostecki's <a href="https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/bostonglobe/name/paul-kostecki-obituary?id=32967456&fbclid=IwAR3Mmao1m2ngHIuUqKF5lehyXZaia2qftjnGdDZWdbhIteyZK0-Ja5L83NI" target="_blank">Obituary</a></p>Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-77757247526621783162020-02-23T17:44:00.000-05:002020-02-24T09:44:31.519-05:00Nonna<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1">Here’s what I learned from my Nonna:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">You can’t teach someone how to make pasta sauce. You can tell them the ingredients, and give them the steps. Then the poor soul can go forth and attempt to follow the instructions as outlined by Nonna. Two problems with that: Nonna constantly improvised (2 parts beef + 1 part pork = meatballs UNLESS the pork is too watery and then, who on earth would put pork in meatballs?!) Second problem: Nonna lied. All. Of. The.Time. Never put the rendered salt pork bits back into the sauce, nobody likes them….ten minutes later when no one is paying attention- into the pot go a handful of salt pork bits with a smile to me “well <i>I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>like them”.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">No, you can’t teach someone that one pot of sauce requires a minimum of five trips to DIFFERENT food markets plus one border crossing to Canada for the right tomatoes. Or that the ratio of tomatoes to paste is relative to the amount of pork chops and meatballs added. Nonna knew it was impossible to teach us all of this. And quite frankly, I think she realized that no one would listen. So instead, she showed us. Nonna’s legacy is not in what she taught us. Her true legacy, her lasting gift to each of us is in what she showed us. And she showed us so much.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She showed us that even in your darkest hour, if you look for it you will find moments of joy. And if you don’t find them, you make them. Those moments will carry you through the rest. Nonna knew a lot about heartbreak. But she also knew just about anything could be made better with chocolate chip cookies, a shot of anisette and a lifetime movie marathon.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Strong in her faith, Nonna implicitly understood that it could not be taught. You cannot instruct it, you cannot preach it, you cannot put on a show of it. You live it. Long after lapsing/ fleeing from my catholic upbringing I would walk with her into churches, lighting candles in silent prayer. It was a ritual we practiced every time we traveled seeking out the oldest and smallest of churches. She showed me, when we lit those candles the path to the next life is lit by our memories of those lost.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">When Nonna got sick I knew I had to be by her side. I also knew that this was an important moment for my daughter. I couldn’t just tell her “this is what you do for someone you love”. I had to show her, I needed her to see. And yes she saw me cry too many tears to count and spent too much time in hospital wait rooms. But she also saw how we took small moments of joy and clung to them- arts and crafts soirees, midnight dance parties with our cousins, reconnecting and leaning on family members we hadn’t seen for years. She saw us come together for Nonna. And in the depths of my sorrow it was my daughter who hugged me and insisted “Nonna’s not gone, Nonna’s hugging us right now. Just like when we light the candles.” As Nonna intuitively understood, the smallest among us are the ones who understand best the truths we show them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So here we are. Left to navigate this world without our best friend. Without the one person who loved us not despite, but because of our flaws- our whole self. Who’s simple acceptance of each of us was all we ever really needed. She’s gone. But she showed us how to like ourselves. She showed us how to be kind to each other. She showed us how to look for the joy and to have faith that we will one day meet again. And yes, she showed us how to make the sauce.<span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /><br />I love you, my Nonna.</span></span><br />
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<br />Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-26928344391122693252019-12-05T17:30:00.000-05:002019-12-05T17:37:32.521-05:00Terrible Chianti and Politics I wouldn’t be me without him, and we wouldn’t be us. My Uncle Angelo has left this world and though I am thankful he’s no longer suffering the effects of the beast that is Alzheimer’s, I feel that we are collectively less without him.<br />
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Throughout my childhood my Nonna stood flanked by her two brothers, one on each side. Literally. One as conservative as the other was liberal. Both with hearts of a lion. They put each other through college. Spent the better part of every antipasta arguing over who got the better deal on the truly terrible straw covered jug of Chianti. They were a living lesson in values- nothing, not politics, not religion, not bad taste in wine, nothing stood above coming together as a family and accepting each other if only for the duration of the pasta course. Uncle Angelo and <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchenblog.com/2010/12/just-as-long-as-we-have-we.html" target="_blank">Uncle Danny</a> were our pillars.<br />
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I’ve been thinking we set too much store in labels. Why is it that “great uncle” seems akin to “distant relative of little importance”? And “second cousin” what IS that? My daughter has several second cousins who would be better described as aunts. And great aunts who really should be labeled awesome aunts. My “Great Uncle” Angelo shaped me as much as any grandfather. Not one, but two great uncles made me understand my value, even in those awkward, angst filled teenage years, they made it clear- my thoughts and opinions mattered. It was my Uncle Angelo who raced to my mom’s rescue as quick as any father, who opened his home to her and six became seven...with only one bathroom! Without Uncle Angelo the world would appreciate Bob Dylan just a little bit less and I probably wouldn’t own THREE copies of Machiavelli’s The Prince. And (most importantly) if not for my Uncle Angelo I *<i>might*</i> very well have turned out to be a republican (I was well on my way at 17 and very taken with some catholic Texan boys with exceptional charm and conservative ideals).<br />
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We want more time, we ache for it. But since more time will never, ever be enough we have no choice but to let our memories propel us forward. And how rich we are in those memories.<br />
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Uncle Angelo is present when I patiently listen to my six year old’s opinion on world events. Or when my brother pushes my argumentative buttons over dinner. He has shaped me just as surely as the books I have read and the food I have cooked. My aunt suggested that this Christmas we find a protest to attend in his honor. The odds of us all being on the same side of any protest are slim to none but I have a feeling this would delight my uncle all the more.<br />
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Our pillars are gone, but the foundation they laid, one terrible jug of Chianti at a time remains, I think in tact. And at the very least, I am told by Nonna that when she took over the Christmas meal and was faced with the choice of choosing <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchenblog.com/2010/03/labor-of-love.html" target="_blank">spiedini</a> from her husband’s Sicilian side over the fried <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchenblog.com/2010/09/no-apologies.html" target="_blank">veal</a> from her Southern Italian side, it was Uncle Angelo who insisted she make both. And for that we will be forever thankful.<br />
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You have left us in peace my sweet Uncle. Until next we meet.<br />
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<br />Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-60442776459343921662015-11-12T14:02:00.000-05:002015-11-12T17:26:56.085-05:00We are the music makers<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Lately, I’ve been mindful of the overwhelming goodness that encircles my life. Friends, family, colleagues all make it possible for our little family unit to move in a rhythm that is often chaotic but still finds time for closeness. This necessitates gratitude. </span></div>
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Sure, the day-to-day, minute-to-minute schedules, activities and juggling often make us feel less than adequate. Some days I don’t feel good enough. Like when I piss the head chef off at work because I chopped the parsley wrong. FAIL. Or when Lucia is the only kid on the field trip without mittens. FAIL. Or when I forget to tell the neighbors that we’re out of town for the weekend and the chickens have to fend for themselves (not something they’re great at). FAIL. </div>
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And then I take a deep breath and look around and realize how far reaching our cheering section is. And it’s incredible. The arsenal of people who share in our burdens and in our joys is humbling. I don’t think we’re alone in this. We, each and every one of us, have a responsibility to notice the goodness that prevails around us and to be thankful. </div>
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To fully experience joy, you have to sincerely want to give joy. Nonna does this by making meatballs. And by telling all of us that we are perfect just the way we are… and then bribing the small kids with candy. She bribes the grown up kids with cognac. Making meatballs gives Nonna the greatest happiness, but only because we are there to eat the meatballs. All of the meatballs.<br />
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You have to show up. Our voices, our being, our differences are all that make up our crazy, loud, often politically obnoxious family. It is this collective energy of family and friendship that carry us through the hard days, and makes us want to sing songs on the good days. It is what makes me want to cook all of the food and feed everyone all of the time. </div>
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We are the music makers. And the meatball eaters. </div>
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<b>Nonna’s meatballs </b></div>
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A quick word on this recipe. Nonna lies. She will tell you to use 4 eggs, and two years later you’ll notice she uses five eggs. For about 3 years she was using 1.5 lbs beef with .5 lb pork. Then she switched back to just beef and all she had to say was “Oh, I changed it. Keep up.”. So here is the recipe as last I witnessed it this past October. Also, it should be noted that Nonna has never made just 2 lbs of meatballs in her entire life. She almost always triples this recipe. </div>
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“If you’re going to make meatballs, then make meatballs!”</div>
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2 lb ground beef (85% lean)</div>
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5 eggs</div>
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1 cup bread crumbs</div>
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1 cup Pecorino Romano, grated</div>
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2 tsp salt</div>
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black pepper to taste</div>
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1 tsp oregano </div>
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1 large garlic clove, minced</div>
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1/2 cup parsley, chopped</div>
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Olive oil, for frying</div>
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Combine all of the ingredients in a large bowl. Using your hands, mix until just combined. Do not over mix the meat, it will become dense and make for really heavy meatballs. Nonna would make you taste mixture for seasoning. We have no issues with eating raw beef. </div>
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Rub your hands with a little olive oil. Roll out the balls to your desired size.</div>
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My mother is notorious for making teeny, tiny meatballs and it drives Nonna crazy. Grandma Tocco would make her meatballs the size and shape of eggs so that she only had to turn them once in the frying pan.</div>
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In a large [preferably nonstick] frying pan, heat up the olive oil. The oil should cover the pan and come up about an inch to the sides. </div>
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Place the meatballs in the pan and fry until lightly browned, turning them over with a fork. They will fry quickly so be ready to remove them from the pan with a slotted spoon. They will not be fully cooked at this point.</div>
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Simmer the fried meatballs in your pasta sauce to finish cooking them. </div>
<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D7645427028753437236%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D6044277645934392166%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-E1ih6KbCtIA%2FVkTgPUjJ5II%2FAAAAAAAABWw%2FGWu1pijlBkI%2Fs640%2Fblogger-image--682750694.jpg&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=VtBj5d0hbuQP&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 173px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 663px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D7645427028753437236%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D6044277645934392166%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-E1ih6KbCtIA%2FVkTgPUjJ5II%2FAAAAAAAABWw%2FGWu1pijlBkI%2Fs640%2Fblogger-image--682750694.jpg&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=VtBj5d0hbuQP&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 173px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 663px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-77683010785684890832015-08-13T16:53:00.000-04:002015-08-13T20:40:24.746-04:00So there.There are three things that [I feel] New England does better than anyone else. Football, <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/06/family-recipe.html" target="_blank">strawberries</a> and corn. Actually, it’s a much longer list but for the purposes of getting to the point of this post, I will stick with three.<br>
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Here’s the thing. You can hate our politics, abhor our plethora of higher education liberal think bubbles, loathe our contempt for neighborhood gatherings and shake your head at our utter lack of Olympic spirit. But let’s face it, when it comes to our four [count em’] Superbowl Championships the haters will hate [and we’ll shout <a href="https://www.aei.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/On-the-Wells-report.pdf" target="_blank">scientific proof</a>, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/the-nfls-basic-due-process-is-the-real-issue-in-the-deflategate-controversy/2015/07/30/ebda3b02-3666-11e5-9d0f-7865a67390ee_story.html" target="_blank">lack of due process</a>, and the fact that Tom Brady is a God and <a href="http://sports.yahoo.com/news/roger-goodell-s-manipulation-of-tom-brady-s-testimony-leaves-nfl-on-slippery-slope-214409591-nfl.html" target="_blank">The Organization is corrupt</a> in response*] and still we will have the best damn football team in the league and the most succulent strawberries and corn in the country. So there.<br>
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Growing up in Western Massachusetts surrounded by cornfields and cows meant that you learned the rules of corn buying at a young age: You do not buy corn if it is not in season. You do not buy corn in the grocery store. You do not buy corn that has not been picked that morning. And for the love of all things delicious, you do not shuck your corn at the farm stand. Tom and I walk through the farmer’s markets in Boston shaking our heads in confusion as we watch hoards of people crowding the produce tents so that they can shuck their corn there. This practice is baffling.<br>
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If you follow my country bumpkin “rules of corn” you will understand how special and fleeting corn season is. So as these summer days of August roll steadily towards fall, I urge you to eat corn every day. Steam it; grill it; salsa it; soup it. Or fry it into fritters and top it with a poached egg, freshly laid by your <a href="http://www.backyardchickens.com/" target="_blank">backyard chickens</a>.<br>
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<b>Corn fritters </b><br>
<i>Recipe adapted by Jacques Pepin’s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Essential-P%C3%A9pin-More-All-Time-Favorites/dp/0547232799" target="_blank">'Essential Pepin: More Than 700 All-Time Favorites from My Life in Food'</a></i><br>
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Before I share this recipe let’s take a minute and talk about Nonna growing corn in her garden. In Detroit. Seriously? I get funny looks when people discover I have a chicken coop seven miles outside of downtown Boston. Personally, I think having your very own, successful backyard corn crop in Detroit is a greater feat by far. She could only plant enough for one harvest and it would all come in at once, giving she and my Papa yet another excuse to <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2015/03/bocci-and-meatballs.html" target="_blank">throw a bocce party</a>. Not being New Englanders, they apparently enjoyed socializing with their fellow neighbors.<br>
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Makes 12 fritters<br>
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4 TBSP flour<br>
3 TBSP cornstarch<br>
1 teaspoon baking powder<br>
1⁄2 tsp salt<br>
1 large egg<br>
1/2 cup ice-cold water<br>
4 large ears corn, husked and kernels cut off<br>
6 TBSP grape seed oil<br>
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Mix the flour, cornstarch, baking powder and salt together in a bowl. Add the egg and 1⁄4 cup of the water and whisk until smooth. Add more of the water, until you achieve a consistency slightly thicker than pancake batter and then mix in the corn.<br>
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Heat 3 tablespoons of the oil in a large nonstick skillet until hot. Drop a generous tablespoon of batter into the skillet for each fritter (I fry 4-5 fritters at the same time in a 12” frying pan) and cook over medium-high heat for about 4 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Transfer to paper towels to remove any excess oil and repeat with the remaining batter and oil. Sprinkle fritters with kosher salt and serve immediately.</div>
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*Special thanks to my brother, @JKostecki for providing the appropriate articles in support of our beloved New England Patriots.<br>
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PS- You could certainly disagree with everything I've just said. In which case, I am the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg" target="_blank">honey badger</a>.<br>
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-41735996900316933192015-06-19T11:05:00.000-04:002015-06-20T11:58:34.255-04:00To like or hate“I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” So said Mark Twain, and so say I.<br />
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After college Tom and I rented a tiny little car and drove through Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France and Italy. For weeks we lived on salami, bread, cheese and two euro wine. On that trip, we figured out how to navigate the unfamiliar and the unplanned together. We learned how to get lost, try new things, and tolerate each other’s lesser qualities. Ten years later, we’re still traveling, still planning next adventures. It’s something [we think] we do really well together.<br />
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On our last trip to Italy, Tom and I began in Venice. Its beauty was haunting, its romance inescapable. There is a magic that runs through its canals that makes every corner turned prettier than the last. <br />
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Yes there were crowds. Our only glimpse of St. Mark’s Basilica was fleeting, as we quickly retreated from the hordes of cruise travelers that had no interest in maintaining personal space. But there are far worse things than having to hide away within the inland waterways of Venice, enjoying a carafe of wine in a small osteria for a few hours in the afternoon.<br />
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The thing that we both remember best about Venice is a plate of calf ‘s liver with onions- slightly greasy, sweet and sour, perfectly caramelized by a still steaming sear. Whenever one of us needs to go back to Venice, I make sautéed calf’s liver for dinner.<br />
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This weekend Tom and I celebrate seven years of marriage. It’s an adventure that only gets better and I am thankful each day to share this journey with such a remarkable travel partner.<br />
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<b>Sautéed calf’s liver with onions </b><br />
<i>Adapted from Lidia Bastianich’s recipe in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lidias-Italian-Table-Recipes-Cooking/dp/0688154107" target="_blank">Lidia’s Italian Table</a></i><br />
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5 TBSP extra virgin olive oil<br />
1 large sweet onion, thinly sliced<br />
2 bay leaves<br />
2 TBSP red wine vinegar<br />
.6 lb calf’s liver<br />
salt and pepper<br />
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Nonna loves calf liver. The glee in her voice when she’s happened across a beautiful piece of calf’s liver is palpable, “It’s so good!” Equally exciting to her is the fact that no one else (who is not me) will eat it. When Nonna makes calf’s liver, she makes it for herself.<br />
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To begin, take a sharp knife and clean the liver of any membrane or blood vessels before slicing into 1-inch thick strips. Season the strips of liver with salt and pepper.<br />
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In a large non-stick skillet heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Add the sliced onion, bay leaves and a good pinch of salt. Cook over medium high heat, stirring occasionally until the onions begin to caramelize and take on a deep golden hue, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat to medium, and cook for about 5 minutes more, letting the onions take on a darker color. Add the red wine vinegar. Continue cooking for 2-3 minutes. At this point check for seasoning, adding more salt, pepper or vinegar to your taste.<br />
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Push the onions off the direct heat, to the side of the pan. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil to the skillet and adjust the heat to high. Add the sliced liver and carefully brown on all sides, cooking for 1-2 minutes. The liver should still be pink in the center when cut with a knife. Not overcooking the liver is crucial to enjoying this dish. Nobody should ever have to eat well-done liver. It should not be allowed.<br />
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Serve with a simple salad and crusty bread. This recipe makes enough dinner for two willing adults and one brave toddler.<br />
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-2947634842152733352015-03-26T15:04:00.001-04:002015-06-19T13:23:31.478-04:00March too, shall passMy yoga instructor asked us a really interesting question last week. What was the worst year of your life? The purpose for recalling this moment was to understand just that, it was a temporary moment in time. It forced you to acknowledge that bookending this period were moments of something other than misery and despair. Each person in class had come out on the other side of their remembered year. How reassuring it is to know that Nonna’s relentless adage, “this too shall pass” is truth? Of course there is one small caveat. You have to choose to move towards happiness. You have to force yourself to make uncomfortable, often scary choices and then own them. That’s the only way to end up somewhere different from where you were.<br />
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Anyways, taking that metaphor even further during these damp, blustery winds of March I considered what was the worst food of my life. Pea. Soup. Ugh. It’s awful. The color, the texture, and oh the flavor…so not good.<br />
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Except that lately it clearly has been pea soup weather. It’s been chilly, windy and raw; all prerequisites for a comforting bowl of something steaming, thick and filling. So I considered what changes would make this, “throw-in-a-pot and you’re done” recipe appealing. With a few thoughtful adjustments I arrived to something different than what I remembered as a kid (sorry Mom). <br />
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While you’re enjoying your bowl of warm deliciousness consider this, March too will pass. Some day, it will be April.<br />
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<b>Pea soup</b><br />
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Nonna and Mom both use the recipe from Joy of Cooking for pea soup. I more or less follow along with a few changes. I never make this recipe without doubling it and throwing half in the freezer. All that’s required of you is some dicing, skimming and simmering, why not get two meals from one pot?<br />
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1 lb dried green peas<br />
8 cups cold water<br />
1 smoked ham shank<br />
4 carrots, small dice<br />
1 onion, small dice<br />
2 celery stocks, small dice<br />
3 garlic cloves, minced<br />
1 bay leaf<br />
3 sprigs fresh thyme<br />
Cayenne pepper to taste (I put at least 1 large TBSP into my pot)<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
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Put the peas in a large stockpot with the ham shank and cover with the water. Bring to a boil, skimming off the green foam that rises to the surface and reduce to a simmer, stirring occasionally.<br />
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After an hour add the carrots, onion, celery, garlic, bay leaf and thyme. Let simmer another hour, stirring often to ensure nothing sticks to the bottom.<br />
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At this point add your seasonings and check for consistency. I almost always add another 1-2 cups of water to thin out the soup. When the meat begins to fall off the shank bone the soup is ready to eat.<br />
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The absolute worst part of eating pea soup can be the consistency. If it’s not piping (like your house is on fire) hot it will take on a congealed mush-like state. So. Bad. So serve hot and eat as soon as humanly possible.<br />
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-49448367949780682092015-03-11T20:25:00.002-04:002015-03-11T20:26:45.616-04:00Catholic guilt with a side of eggsMelting! It's happening. I view March as a remarkably useless month until the snow begins to melt, and only then do I admit to myself that February is over and spring will come again. Last week Boston hit 40 degrees for the first time in a record 43 days. Today I am sitting on my porch, windows open, happily listening to the sounds of ice becoming puddles. I have hope that someday soon, our chickens will be able to free range the yard again.<br />
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So, chickens happened. About a year ago Tom and I decided we wanted to be chicken owners. Tom researched coops, I researched breeds and on Easter weekend the United States Postal Office delivered <a href="http://www.mypetchicken.com/" target="_blank">a parcel of day-old chicks</a>.<br />
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Today, our flock of seven ladies (Brenda, Goldie, Henrietta, Rosie, Annabelle, Red, and Martha) keeps us in eggs all day long. They've formed a very friendly chicken club together and enjoy throwing a dance party every time someone lays an egg.<br />
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We’ve always been an “egg happy” family and I tend to be obnoxiously specific about how I like my eggs prepared. I recently watched Moonstruck for the millionth time, which means that I've been experimenting with "eggs in a basket". The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGxOhy08N0A" target="_blank">oh so Italian-American scene</a> in the kitchen where Rose is making breakfast for Loretta, and not-so-subtly dishing out a healthy helping of Catholic guilt always makes me want to make eggs and call my mother.<br />
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<b>Eggs a la Moonstruck</b><br />
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Remember when the proverbial “they” said that eggs were bad for you? Nonna got so MAD. She refused to believe it. Recently, the powers that be changed their tune, and eggs were <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/24/upshot/behind-new-dietary-guidelines-better-science.html?_r=1&abt=0002&abg=0" target="_blank">taken off the no-fly list</a>. This is why I say it's always good to question authority.<br />
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2 TBLS extra virgin olive oil</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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2 slices of bread</div>
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1 fire-roasted pepper, sliced thin</div>
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1 garlic glove, sliced thin</div>
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salt and pepper to taste</div>
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Using a small biscuit cutter (I use the top of a small mason jar), cut a hole in the middle of each slice of bread.</div>
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Heat oil in a non-stick frying pan, add peppers and garlic and sauté for about two minutes. Push the peppers off to the side. Add the two slices of bread and toast on one side for about two minutes or until golden brown, flip and wait about another minute for the second side to begin to brown. </div>
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Crack your eggs into each hole. It's easier to crack each egg into a small bowl first and then pour into the hole. Cook for about two minutes until the whites begin to set. Salt and pepper the eggs. </div>
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Using a spatula, flip each slice of toast and cook for approximately one more minute.<br />
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Serve with peppers on top of each egg.<br />
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-19424067450525370162015-03-02T10:01:00.000-05:002015-03-02T10:38:59.024-05:00Bocci and meatballsLast night it snowed. Again. On March 1st. All I hear these days is grumble, grumble, snow, grumble.<br />
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Whenever one of her children experiences a “crisis of self”, an unforeseen life emergency or find ourselves stuck in a general pattern of “when it rains it pours” (or more appropriate perhaps, when it snows it blizzards) my mother tells us the same story. She was going through a difficult break up. She had just received her pink slip at work and then later that afternoon a drunk driver totaled her car (while she was in it). She had the police officer drive her to Nonna and Papa’s house where they of course, were hosting a neighborhood <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/295759900505103311/" target="_blank">bocce party</a> (they were always hosting bocce parties). As my mom tells the story, she walked into the backyard, burst into tears and Nonna shook her head, told her to get herself some wine and then said, really Ann Marie, what are you going to do when you have a real problem?<br />
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So, to all of my fellow New Englanders moaning about the 100+ inches of snow, the colossal ice dams (I’m not saying I want one to land on anyone, but it would be kind of great to see a few people get a “close call”…), the impossibly cold temperatures, the inability to drive down the pothole ridden, ice covered streets, the… wait, what was my point? <br />
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Right. We could have REAL problems and winter isn’t making my list. Snow is what we do in Massachusetts. So to all the winter haters I ask you, what are you going to do when you have a real problem? Probably, you should just pour yourself another <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/02/warm-bones.html">hot toddy</a> and make some meatballs.<br />
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One last note- to this day, Nonna has yet to determine any life situation to be a “real problem”. Something to think about.<br />
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<b>Tiny Veal Meatballs </b><br />
<i>Adapted from Angela Catanzaro’s recipe in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mama-Mia-Italian-Cookbook-Cooking/dp/0883652161/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">Mama Mia, Italian Cookbook</a></i><br />
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It takes some time to roll out these delightful little balls of deliciousness, but I assure you that they are well worth your efforts. Being so delicate and small, there is no need to fry them; they can be cooked right in your tomato sauce.<br />
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My favorite way to prepare these meatballs is to poach them in some homemade chicken stock with leeks, kale and some Arborio rice. It’s the perfect antidote to a snowy night.<br />
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1 slice day-old bread<br />
1 lb ground veal (if you [unlike me] have issues with eating baby cows feel free to substitute ground pork)<br />
2 eggs<br />
2 TBSP grated Pecorino cheese<br />
1 tsp chopped parsley<br />
salt and pepper<br />
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Soak the bread in warm water for 5 minutes, and then squeeze it dry with your hands. Combine bread with remaining ingredients, mixing well. Angela Catanzaro says you should then “shape the meat into balls no bigger than a filbert”, which according to our friend Wikipedia, is an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hazelnut" target="_blank">alternative name for a hazelnut</a>.<br />
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-9105556311138010232015-02-24T15:38:00.000-05:002015-02-25T07:56:08.111-05:00Rockin’ and rollin’Everything is as it was, and yet everything has changed. My family is, as it’s always been, together through good times and bad. We fight. We laugh. We pick each other up. We celebrate new love, tiny babies, and any democratic victory. We humbly remind those less fortunate, who do not live in New England, that we are the home of the once again, world champion New England Patriots.<br />
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In the words of a dear friend we keep on rockin’ and rollin’.<br />
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Some things have stayed constant. Nonna still greets us from our twelve-hour drive every December with a big pot of <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/01/twelve-hours-before-christmas.html">Nonna Soup</a>. A trip made longer with a toddler in the back seat… <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/03/labor-of-love.html">Spiedini</a> and <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/12/just-as-long-as-we-have-we.html">sfingel</a> are still made at Christmas (and for people we like)...Together with my new sister we have taken over the tradition of making Uncle Danny’s cookies. My go-to dinner on cold winter nights is still <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2010/11/frozen-burrito-month.html">Italian hamburgers</a> and come (our super bowl worthy) football season, <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2011/02/no-football-required.html">company chili</a> is made per Tom’s request.<br />
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While life propels us forward, sometime with a just a bit too much force, it is comforting to have these little things to hold onto. Because sometimes a <a href="http://www.mynonnaskitchen.com/2011/02/and-its-magic.html">bowl of spaghetti</a> is the only thing that will seem familiar in the midst of new paths, broken hearts, and time’s never-ending onward march.<br />
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<br />Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-76588710461776381342015-02-20T18:10:00.000-05:002015-02-22T15:24:35.117-05:00Being braveWhen will you pick up your blog again? What happened to Nonna’s Kitchen? What’s your plan? What are you doing these days? Oh the questions. My answer? I have been doing lots and lots of things. Now I humbly return to you dear reader, to report on my journey and the practice of being brave.<br />
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The last few years have catapulted me to the very edge of my comfort zone. I earned my Master’s in <a href="http://www.bu.edu/met/programs/graduate/gastronomy/" target="_blank">Gastronomy</a>. I completed certificates in <a href="http://www.bu.edu/foodandwine/culinary-arts/" target="_blank">Culinary Arts</a>, <a href="http://www.bu.edu/foodandwine/wine-programs/" target="_blank">Wine</a>, and <a href="http://www.bu.edu/foodandwine/professional-certificates/" target="_blank">Cheese</a> (yes you read that correctly, a certificate in cheese). I learned from culinary legends <a href="http://www.kqed.org/food/jacquespepin/" target="_blank">Jacques Pepin</a> and <a href="http://www.ciaoitalia.com/" target="_blank">Mary Ann Esposito</a> and observed and worked for many chefs who are the fabric of the Boston food scene. I started a small business and sold soup at local farmers markets, I helped teach children how to make pasta, adults how to pipe macaroons, boxed 1,000 Bibimbap lunches for international super star <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0" target="_blank">Psy</a>, assisted in the baking, frosting and assembling of 725 lamingtons for charity and participated in countless other such culinary adventures. To my amazement I found myself belonging to a new community of mentors and friends for whom I am so grateful. And yet, surrounded by those who where achieving such extraordinary culinary accolades, my ordinary stories of family and food seemed to fall too easily into the category of inconsequential.</div>
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While navigating through my culinary journey, Tom and I have made room for new adventures together. We spent a few weeks in Italy doing absolutely nothing except eating and drinking wine. <br />
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We packed up our adorable apartment in Cambridge and became honest to goodness homeowners in Belmont. I embraced yoga. We raised chickens.<br />
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And then, together we held our breaths, closed our eyes and leapt into the terrifying world of parenthood, welcoming our beautiful daughter, Lucia Marie into the world in August 2013. She is named for Nonna’s mother, my Great Nonna Lucia. She is quite simply, our joy.<br />
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A good friend once told me her greatest regret had been that she spent the majority of her life reacting; to emergencies, change, and the day-to-day challenges that life throws at us. I know only too well how easy it is to settle into that reactionary role and stay permanently in survival mode. I have spent the last few years extracting myself from that state of being and have worked hard to cultivate a space where I can approach change without necessarily reacting to it. That space allowed me the autonomy to run a soup business, teach a cheese class, and work with the best people in the world at Boston University. It also gave me the freedom to spend the last eighteen months watching my daughter grow. Somewhere in this space I have also reclaimed my stories.<br />
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At the end of the day I am not a culinary genius, I’m not a five star chef, and all evidence suggests that I am not an outstanding teacher to whom students will someday owe their careers. But I do cook good food. And I still have stories to tell and recipes to share.<br />
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Most importantly, my greatest happiness still comes from cooking with Nonna and for my family. So here I am, returning to my narrative, picking back up “My Nonna’s Kitchen”, dusting it off and turning to a new page. I hope you will join me.<br />
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<br />Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-73022385105534575972011-10-09T10:29:00.000-04:002011-10-09T21:20:24.522-04:00Absent without leave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Guilty as charged. I left with no explanation and have no good excuse for my prolonged silence. It started as writer’s block, morphed into procrastination, and ultimately succumbed to the persistent happenings of day-to-day life. However, this I promise - though I stopped writing, I by no means stopped cooking. There is much to share with you, and I guess the best place to start is with zucchini.<br />
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When I first moved to Boston, Tom had just started graduate school and I was desperately looking for a permanent job that did not involve me scheduling meetings for over-educated, middle aged, white men, in the steam pipe room, in the bowels of Harvard University (yes, best temp job EVER). This marked the beginning of a five-year slog, of what I understood to be a college graduate worthy career track- making a living in a cubicle and putting up with incompetent, self-important, no good bosses. <br />
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It never really occurred to me that the best part of my day was coming home to make dinner. The best part of my week was grocery shopping and Sunday cooking projects. My favorite thing to do was to cook food for my family and friends. When I was home sick with a cold, I would make spiced zucchini bread to stimulate the senses. When the meltdown the day before I took the GRE’s ended in pencil throwing and tears, Tom promptly took me to Whole Foods, and I spent the rest of the day making risotto and stuffed artichokes. <br />
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One day, not so long ago, I left the rat maze of cubicles for good. In the world of gastronomy, I’m learning that I can do more with food than just write about it. At the risk of sounding like the ideological, bleeding heart that I am, I believe that we can do good with food. I’m sure that not even Nonna realizes the impact her cooking has had on the people around her. I want to multiply that impact. I’m not ready to share with you my latest project, but here’s a hint: Soup. Lots and lots of soup. <br />
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So, the point of all this is simply to remind you to do what you love. And if you have time, make this zucchini bread. Especially if like me, you are currently suffering from, The Cold That Would Not End. It will fill your home with warmth and spices, and will give you something to do with the bounty of zucchinis that are currently taking over the local farmers markets. <br />
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Zucchini Bread</b><br />
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Nonna stumbled across this recipe in a newspaper years ago. I don’t know how Italian it is, but it continues to be a fall staple in three generations of my family’s households.<br />
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<i>*Note: Nonna and my mom make this recipe with vegetable oil. I substituted olive oil this past time with wonderful results. Be sure not to use extra virgin olive oil when baking- you will run the risk of turning your batter bitter. </i><br />
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2 cups shredded zucchini<br />
3 eggs<br />
1 cup olive oil<br />
2 cups sugar<br />
2 tsp pure vanilla extract<br />
8 oz crushed pineapple drained<br />
3 cups flour<br />
2 tsp baking soda<br />
¼ tsp baking powder<br />
1 tsp salt<br />
1 ½ tsp cinnamon <br />
¾ tsp nutmeg<br />
1 cup dates, pitted and chopped<br />
1 cup walnuts, chopped<br />
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Preheat the oven to 350*<br />
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Peal zucchini. Finely chop or pulse in a cuisnart for about 1 minute. Empty zucchini onto a paper towel and let drain. <br />
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With an electronic mixer, beat together eggs, sugar and vanilla until creamy. Beat in olive oil. <br />
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Stir in zucchini and pineapple. <br />
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In a separate bowl, whisk together baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Stir into wet ingredients. <br />
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Fold in dates and walnuts.<br />
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Pour into loaf pans (I usually have enough batter for two).<br />
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Bake for 1 hour or until the edges of the bread turn golden brown and start to pull away from the pan.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-32340275219902008262011-04-03T15:21:00.000-04:002011-04-03T16:32:03.883-04:00False counsel from Mr. TwainMarch, in like a lion, out like a lamb. Such lies. Friday morning I awoke to the sound of wet, icy snow sliding down the roof. There was no April fooling about it. Who wants to be thinking of <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/02/warm-bones.html">warming their bones</a> on the first of April? Sometimes the price we New Englanders pay for living in the best place on earth is mighty high. <br />
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<a href="http://www.cmgww.com/historic/twain/"> Mark Twain</a> once said, “If you don’t like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes. “ I feel that he should have been more specific. I waited all day and watched the snow change to sleet and then to rain. Thank you Mr. Twain for the false optimism.<br />
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Tom and I were naïvely hoping that this weekend would be just warm enough to pack a lunch and visit our rock at Halibut Point. Wishful thinking my friends. I was even prepared to <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/06/picnic-essential-this-weeks-pinch.html">finally</a> share with you that wonderful chicken recipe that works so well for picnics. <br />
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To be fair, even though there was no outdoor picnicking this weekend the sun did shine warm enough to sweep off the back porch and air out the apartment. I suppose that’s reason enough to go forward with making this spring chicken. It certainly does not require a picnic, just enough sunshine to have faith that April snow showers will eventually bring May flowers. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4032/4681475891_5f9b31c547_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4032/4681475891_5f9b31c547_b.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><i><b><br />
Oven Baked Rosemary Chicken </b></i><br />
Nonna has been fooling people with this recipe forever. When done right, it looks and tastes better than the fried stuff. <br />
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Before we begin, I would like to take this opportunity to document the fact that after several decades of making this dish, Nonna officially changed the recipe about two years ago by omitting the butter and upping the olive oil. After some reluctance (I’m never one to readily accept change) I tried the updated version. The result? The Nonna is always right. <br />
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2 lbs. chicken thighs<br />
1 ¼ lbs. chicken drumsticks<br />
1 ½ cups Italian breadcrumbs<br />
½ cup flour<br />
Extra virgin olive oil<br />
3 sprigs rosemary<br />
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Preheat the oven to 400*<br />
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In a medium bowl combine breadcrumbs and flour. Season with salt and pepper to taste. <br />
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Pat the chicken dry. Dip the chicken in the olive oil, wiping off the excess oil. Place the chicken in the breadcrumb/flour mixture and thoroughly cover. Shake of excess and place in an oven safe baking dish. Repeat until all the chicken is breaded. <br />
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It’s okay and even preferable for the chicken to fit snugly into the baking dish. Place the sprigs of rosemary on top of the chicken.<br />
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Bake for 30 minutes and then turn chicken over. Bake until golden and crisp, about 25 more minutes depending on your oven. <br />
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As previously noted, this chicken is the perfect picnic food because it tastes even better cold! Or serve with mashed potatoes and enjoy a lovely Sunday dinner.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-53459631509400744362011-03-25T14:33:00.000-04:002011-03-25T18:32:45.296-04:00Are we all donkeys?When I turned twelve Nonna told me that I was old enough to swear in Italian. She would teach me a word to use when I was mad or frustrated only if I promised to refrain from using the English counterpart. Though I can’t remember the exact word she taught me, I don’t think it was an actual swearword. Most likely it was Italian for crap. Or donkey. <br />
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Nonna likes to tell you how her mother never swore; instead she would just call you a pig or a donkey. Any reference to a barnyard animal indicated that you were in big trouble- except not really. Great Grandma Chinni was not so good with the discipline and would never swat a fly. She would yell, “brutto porco, cicuco, sporco!” (ugly pig, donkey, you filthy) at the kids and they would just roll their eyes. <br />
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I am trying to imagine what would happen if, today, our family gathered around the table and started calling each other donkeys and pigs in Italian. It would probably go something like:<br />
<blockquote>“The liberals are destroying our government!”<br />
“Brutto porco, cicuco, sporco!”</blockquote><blockquote>“I am a bleeding heart and want health care for everyone.”<br />
“Brutto porco, cicuco, sporco!”</blockquote><blockquote>“God is punishing the East Coast with snow because there lives too many democrats.”<br />
“Brutto porco, cicuco, sporco!”</blockquote>I actually think it would make for great fun. Think of how well we’d all get along if everyone was yelling the same insults? In the end we’d all end up as donkeys. I’m thinking family experiment…<br />
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Or maybe we should just keep the spice in the food and stick with niceties at the table… probably the better idea. <br />
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Speaking of spice, remember those <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2011/02/no-football-required.html">fabulous peppers</a> I bought last month? They have been dried and ground, and are ready to burn up some palettes! Who needs Italian insults when you have homemade hot pepper flakes? <br />
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</i><b><i>Habanero Pepper Flakes</i></b><br />
10 Habanero peppers <br />
*A food processor<br />
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Great Grandmother Chinni would string up peppers and dry them in the attic. I don’t have an attic so instead I to use them as a table centerpiece. <br />
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Cut the peppers in half. Spread out on a tray, skin side down. Let dry for at least 3 to 4 weeks. <br />
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Before processing, I leave four or five half peppers in tact and store in a plastic bag. These are great to add to long simmering soups or sauces.<br />
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To process, you may want to consider protective eyewear or at least a handkerchief around your mouth. Also, it’s best to open a window. Pulse the peppers for a good two minutes. As they grind down, pepper micro dust will escape the processor and inhabit your kitchen for about an hour... or two.<br />
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Store flakes in a jar or plastic bag. If offering as a condiment warn people of the intense spice… or not and be amused.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-77294389672552723772011-03-05T10:10:00.000-05:002011-03-07T12:31:37.718-05:00So much funYes I make my own pasta. No it is not difficult. In fact, it’s really quite fun. Especially when you need to make enough to feed forty people and Nonna's twenty-five year-old pasta-making machine chooses to die... and you have to do the last two batches old school. Christmas 2009. So. Much. Fun. <br />
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Untimely as the breakdown of The Pasta Machine was, it was ultimately saved by a gracious elderly gentleman from the local hardware store who took the whole thing apart, gave it a good cleaning and put it back together again. <br />
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I cannot over emphasize my family’s gratitude for this good deed. In a frantic attempt to replace said machine Nonna had dispatched children and grandchildren alike in search for its replacement. We searched restaurant supply stores (on Christmas Eve), we crossed country borders (Canada), we scoured the Internet (you would think that ebay would be helpful) but it was to no avail. The company, which still exists today, no longer makes pasta machines. <a href="http://www.bialetti.com/BialettiUSA.htm">Bialetti</a>, if you’re reading this perhaps its time to consider the return of the pasta machine. Do it for overworked, pasta-making Nonna’s everywhere. <br />
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In the meantime the rest of us will have to make do with suitable alternatives. My alternative comes in pink. <br />
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Ironically, it’s not as fast or as sturdy as the twenty-five year-old Bialetti but it works just fine if you don’t have to feed forty people. <br />
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Nonna’s Pasta Dough </b></i><br />
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Don’t let the long list of steps intimidate you. The end result is worth it- nothing beats the texture and feel of well-made pasta. And there is something therapeutic about the rolling, stretching and cutting. It’s like playdough for grownups!<br />
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2 cups all purpose flour, plus extra for rolling<br />
3 eggs, room temperature, lightly beaten<br />
*Milk or cream, as needed <br />
<i>*The goal is to use as little liquid as possible. It’s best if your dough comes together without the addition of milk or cream</i><br />
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<b>**Special equipment</b><br />
Standing mixer with paddle and hook attachments and bowl guard <br />
Electronic pasta maker with pasta cutting attachment, or if you’re a glutton for punishment (a hem… Mom) a manual one will work just fine<br />
A large table or bed covered with an old sheet that you’ve floured<br />
<i>**The following are directions based on a using a KitchenAid mixer</i><br />
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<b>To make the dough</b><br />
This recipe makes about a pound of pasta. I usually make two recipes, which feeds about eight people. Do NOT double the dough recipe- you need to make each batch separately. So says Nonna.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/4869865845_e97fa3cdcf_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/4869865845_e97fa3cdcf_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><ol><li>Place 2 cups of flour in the bowl of the mixer. Push the flour from the middle of the bowl to the sides to create a well.</li>
<li>Place the eggs in the well.</li>
<li>Using the paddle attachment and mix flour and eggs on medium speed for about thirty seconds. If the dough does not come together add a small amount of milk or cream to bring the dough together. Use as little liquid as possible- you do not want the dough to be sticky. </li>
<li>Once the dough has come together use the hook attachment on medium speed to knead the dough for about one minute.</li>
<li>Flour a work surface and your hands. Remove dough from bowl and using your hands knead it two or three times. Wrap it in plastic wrap until you are ready to roll it out. </li>
</ol><b>Rolling the dough</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4034/4298974712_7e012e3101_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4034/4298974712_7e012e3101_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><ol><li>Tear off a piece of the dough roughly the size of the palm of your hand. Be sure to keep the remaining dough wrapped when not working with it. </li>
<li>Form dough into a rectangle of even thickness. Sprinkle with flour so that the dough is not sticky. Turn roller on setting “2” (the second widest setting), turn mixer on to speed “2”. Put the dough through the roller. Re-fold into a rectangle, flour and put through roller until you have done this five times in total. On the last time through setting “2” do not refold- leave dough as is. Be sure to properly dust with flour to prevent sticking. </li>
<li>Proceed to move the pasta roller setting to “3”. Put the dough through the roller once. DO NOT FOLD THE DOUGH. Adjust setting to “4” and roll. Continue this process until you have rolled through setting “6” (or desired thickness of pasta).</li>
<li>Transfer the rolled dough to your floured table. Dust dough with some more flour.</li>
<li>Repeat steps 1-4 until you’ve rolled out all of your dough.</li>
<li>More than likely your rolled dough will stretch to about 3 feet. You will want to take a sharp knife and cut the dough in half so that you don’t end up with extra long spaghetti! </li>
</ol><b>Cutting the dough</b><br />
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<li>Return the pasta to the table. Separate it out so that no individual piece is touching. </li>
<li>Continue until all dough has been cut. </li>
</ol><b>A few notes on cooking and storing</b><br />
<br />
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add pasta. <br />
<br />
Fresh pasta takes less time to cook than the dried stuff so keep. I tend to stand over the pot and watch it cook so that I can pull it off the heat precisely the right moment. Over cooked fresh pasta can taste gummy. <br />
<br />
The sooner you cook the pasta after cutting it, the less time it takes to cook. Usually I let it dry out a bit (an hour or so) and gather it in a large box lined with paper towels. It will keep for a couple of days if covered, or you can freeze it.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-34279157416002429192011-03-01T08:16:00.000-05:002011-03-02T13:36:53.175-05:00Morning bribesI am not a morning person. Never have been. On more than one occasion I have been known to burst into tears when looked at before 8:00 am. When I was about five I went through a horrendous meltdown phase (I know, surprising) that left my parents at their wits end. Ever the pragmatist, Nonna’s solution was to bribe me. She said that if I could go two full weeks without a temper tantrum she would buy my doll a new dress. It was fantastically tempting. After considering her proposition for a day or two, I picked up the phone and called Nonna with a counter-offer. “Nonna,” I began, “could the day start after 10:00 am?” She was so tickled that she readily agreed. I didn’t make it the full two weeks even with the time adjustment, but not unexpectedly my doll still got a new dress. <br />
<br />
One of the consequences of not being a morning person combined with a rather willful disposition was that I rarely ate breakfast. My mom would go to great lengths to try and entice me to eat something to start the day, but if it was before 8:00 am I would have nothing to do with it. A few bites of toast maybe, but that was it. When I got a little older my mom got a little more creative. <br />
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Breakfast was my first introduction to cooking. Well, maybe not cooking, but preparing food to eat. My mom showed me how to soft boil the perfect egg and to melt cheese on toast in the oven. Something about having to taken an extra step or two to get breakfast ready gave me more time to become human and find my appetite. <br />
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I wish I could say that my morning disposition improved with age. It certainly has been helped by coffee. Tom and I abide by very strict morning rules- no talking before coffee, and even then proceed with caution. And if I go two weeks without picking a fight before 10:00 am I get a brand new, shiny teapot.<br />
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Just kidding. I got the teapot just for being me (willful disposition and all) and turning another year older. <br />
<b><i><br />
Whipped Ricotta with Orange and Nutmeg</i></b><br />
<br />
This is a nice substitute for cream cheese and is especially delicious on raisin bread. It makes for a very pleasant breakfast on a rainy Sunday morning and an even better not-too-sweet afternoon snack with tea. You can substitute low fat for whole milk ricotta if you must.<br />
<br />
1 cup whole milk ricotta<br />
¾ tsp orange zest, finely grated<br />
1 tsp nutmeg, grated<br />
1 ½ tsp sugar<br />
2 tsp milk<br />
Raisin bread for toasting <br />
<br />
Drain the ricotta. <br />
<br />
Combine ricotta, orange, sugar, nutmeg and 1 tsp of milk. Using an electronic mixer whip on medium speed for about a minute. Check the consistency and add more milk if needed. Whip for another minute or two.<br />
<br />
Adjust sugar, orange and nutmeg to flavor as desired. <br />
<br />
<b>To serve<br />
</b><br />
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Turn on the broiler<br />
<br />
Spread a thin layer of ricotta on slices of raisin bread<br />
<br />
Broil until the cheese is just melted, maybe two minutes.<br />
<i>*Warning- the second you walk away from the oven the ricotta will burn and you will have to begin again. Not a good way to start your morning. </i>Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-32195687342820541782011-02-18T18:02:00.000-05:002011-03-30T13:54:51.729-04:00No football requiredChili is messy. It is not pretty or delicate and it flies in the face of all good food habits I’ve acquired in my almost twenty-seven years of life. I admit that my experience with the stuff is severely limited. I’ve never ordered it in a restaurant; my mom never made it for me as a kid and to say that I was not a school cafeteria/college dining hall type of a gal would be an understatement. Based purely on observation, to me chili always appeared to be this collection of ingredients that had no business being in the same bowl together. <br />
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And then one afternoon on the eve of what was probably a very important football game, Tom turned to me and asked, “Do you know how to make chili?” At the time we were still in our first year of marriage and I wanted to make a good impression so instead of responding with a look of repugnance I replied “um… sure... let me just go call my mom” (who will undoubtedly have no idea how to help me with this). Except that I was wrong. My mom’s advice was this, “call your Nonna, she makes great chili”. Of course she does. How else could something so wrong ever stand a chance of tasting so right?<br />
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It turns out that like me, Nonna can remember her very first bowl of chili. She and my grandfather were newly married and visiting with my Great Aunt Rosemary and her husband, my Uncle Harold. Apparently they liked the stuff so much that Nonna decided it was worth making. And it absolutely is worth making. Especially if unlike me, your football team isn’t dead to you. <br />
<i><b><br />
Company Chili </b></i><br />
<br />
I should probably tell you that every time I make chili at home I have to call Nonna for a refresher and I swear to you she tells me a different way of doing it each time. So the following is an account of my most recent creation, which deviates slightly from Nonna’s instructions with the addition of pancetta and habenero peppers. Feel free to adjust the types of beans and the amount of chili powder to your liking, but do not omit the baked beans- they make all the difference. <br />
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You will be making enough chili to feed a football team so make room in your freezer and be ready with the Tupperware. <br />
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Oh and for the record this will be the first, and I promise the last recipe I offer to you that includes tomato sauce from a jar. I can feel your look of disgust and I understand. Honestly, I had my doubts about some of the ingredients in this recipe and every time I make it I still feel slightly dubious that it is going to come together and produce something edible. But the proof is in the pudding. Or in this case the text message from my brother, which reads: “amazing chili”. <br />
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3 lbs. hamburger meat<br />
.25 lbs. pancetta, chopped<br />
3-4 TBLS olive oil<br />
2 28 oz. cans crushed tomatoes (yes, I realize that in the past I have lectured against using crushed tomatoes, but per Nonna’s instructions chili is apparently an exception to many, many rules…)<br />
1 jar tomato sauce<br />
1 6 oz. can tomato paste<br />
2 cans red kidney beans, drained<br />
1 can pinto beans, drained<br />
1 can baked beans, drained<br />
3 onions, chopped<br />
2 red peppers, chopped<br />
1 habenero pepper, chopped (optional) <br />
4-5 garlic cloves, chopped<br />
2 oz. chili powder of your choice<br />
<br />
In a very large stockpot heat the oil and add the pancetta. Cook over medium heat until crisp. Remove pancetta with slotted spoon and reserve for later.<br />
<br />
Add the hamburger meat. Breaking it up with the back of your wooden spoon brown the meat thoroughly. <br />
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Add onions and sauté until soft for about 10-15 minutes. Add garlic and peppers and sauté for about 15 more minutes.<br />
<br />
Push the meat and onions aside to create a hot spot for your tomato paste. Stirring frequently, cook the tomato paste for about 2 minutes and then mix it with the meat and vegetables. <br />
<br />
Add your tomatoes, sauce, beans, pancetta and chili powder and stir to combine.<br />
<br />
Let simmer for at least an hour. Add water as needed to get your desired chili consistency. <br />
<br />
Serve with raw chopped onion.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-69185922721821310722011-02-11T16:05:00.000-05:002011-02-11T20:44:41.007-05:00And it's magicWow. It occurs to me that I’ve been puttering around this last year telling you all about <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/01/twelve-hours-before-christmas.html">soup bones</a>, <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/11/true-patriot.html">prune cake</a> and <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/10/suitcases-and-sausages.html">fried cauliflower</a> without so much as nod to that which sustains us. Pasta. Or rather in this case, pasta sauce. Surely my Great Grandfather Chinni would disapprove. It is my understanding that his dinner was never, ever served without a side dish of pasta accompanying it. <br />
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In my family we differentiate between “Sauce” and “quick sauce”. Sauce with a capital “S” has the meatballs, the pork chops, the sausage and the salt pork. Nonna makes Sauce the way maestros conduct orchestras- it’s a production where things bubble, sizzle and reemerge as a harmonious symphony of taste. But quick sauce is different. One minute all you have are tomatoes, olive oil and garlic and before you can even bring the pasta water to a boil a sauce appears as if by magic. <br />
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The very first time I tried making a quick sauce I failed miserably. I added all sorts of things that I thought were supposed to be in sauce like oregano, onion, and red wine. And those things do sometimes go in sauce but for goodness sakes one should never just throw them all into the pot, give them a stir and wait for a miracle. It was a very foolish thing to do. <br />
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I now know better. Nonna taught me that the most important thing to remember when making quick sauce is that you should always be able to taste the individual ingredients. It doesn’t need much fuss; all that’s required is the right touch.<br />
<br />
I rely on quick sauce the way some people rely on boxed macaroni and cheese. It’s my go-to meal when I have late classes, am unmotivated to “create” or if I just need some cheering up. It will indeed make you feel happy like an old time movie. <br />
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<i><b>Quick Sauce</b></i><br />
<br />
This recipe is a great foundation to build from. Nonna sometimes adds some of her pesto and toasted pine nuts. I like to add a few dollops of creamy ricotta and fresh basil to the pasta before tossing. <br />
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A couple of things to note before we go on. First, Nonna will tell you to always use whole peeled tomatoes (even if a recipe calls for the other) and crush them yourself. The reason being that crushed tomatoes are usually picked too early and aren’t as sweet. Second, I prefer this sauce with long pasta or ravioli preferably homemade, but it goes wonderfully with any shaped pasta you favor homemade or not. <br />
<br />
2 28 OZ cans whole San Marzano tomatoes<br />
1 6 OZ can tomato paste<br />
Extra Virgin Olive Oil, roughly 5 TBLSP<br />
4-5 cloves of garlic, crushed<br />
Kosher salt to taste<br />
Pepper to taste<br />
2 sprigs of fresh basil <br />
Good quality Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated for serving<br />
1 lb of your favorite pasta<br />
<br />
In a large bowl, using your hands crush the tomatoes. I like to leave them a little chunky but you might prefer a more pureed consistency. You can break them down further while they cook with the back of your spoon. <br />
<br />
Heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the garlic cloves. Brown the garlic until they are lightly golden on all sides then push off to the side so they are not directly on the heat. <br />
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Add the tomato paste and let it caramelize for about 2 minutes, stirring frequently to keep from burning. <br />
<br />
Add the crushed tomatoes, stir and let simmer for about twenty minutes stirring occasionally. <br />
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Add the basil, salt and pepper and let simmer for another five minutes. At this point you can remove the garlic cloves or do what I do- leave them in but warn the husband.<br />
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For the pasta, bring a large pot of water to boil. Salt the water generously. Add the pasta, cook until al dente, stirring occasionally. Drain pasta and toss it with sauce and cheese directly.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-37197421152595133442010-12-31T19:05:00.000-05:002011-01-03T11:30:10.067-05:00Pigs, cows and lettuceThis week, we returned from Nonna’s full, exhausted and ready to embrace vegetarianism for the next month. I think we ate our way through at least two pigs and an entire cow last week. It was delicious. Nonna sent me home with more of that <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/10/suitcases-and-sausages.html">special sausage</a>, a piece of great grandma’s fruitcake (fruitcake that took us half a day to make and somehow didn’t make it to the table on Christmas...the best laid plans), and a beautiful chunk of salt pork. But right now all Tom and I want to eat are vegetables. <br />
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My mother did her best to get green, leafy food into us. She cooked up some escarole and put it in our soup when she didn’t think we were looking, and everyday without fail she diligently dressed up a salad to serve with dinner. But you try convincing twenty hungry Italians that what they really want in between the raviolis, meatballs, braciole, <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/03/labor-of-love.html">spiedini</a>, <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/09/no-apologies.html">veal</a>, <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/04/it-cant-always-be-about-pasta-and_15.html">stuffed mushrooms</a> and cannolis, is salad. Her determination was admirable, her success rate, marginal at best. <br />
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We give my poor mother such a hard time about her salads. The lady fusses more over mixed greens than most people do over a roast chicken. The final result is always well worth it, and maybe if we did eat a little more salad and a little less spiedini we wouldn’t need to resort to such drastic measures as vegetarianism… On second thought, less spiedini? NEVER. <br />
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But since we are back home and neither pig nor cow are anywhere to be seen, tonight we will kick 2010 out the door over a nice plate of salad. <br />
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<b><i>Orange and Fennel Salad</i></b><br />
<br />
This salad is not only scrumptious; it’s also very pretty. It has a lovely crunch from the fennel and a surprise of flavor from each and every one of those little pomegranate seeds. Don’t be afraid of chopping the pomegranate in half and deseeding the whole thing. Also, if you don’t share my obsession with all things fig, regular balsamic vinegar is completely fine.<br />
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1-2 hearts of Romaine lettuce, chopped<br />
Half a bulb of fennel, thinly sliced<br />
1 orange, thinly sliced into pinwheels<br />
Pomegranate seeds (as many as you like)<br />
<i><br />
Vinaigrette</i><br />
Extra virgin olive oil, 6 TBLS<br />
Fig balsamic vinegar, 1 tsp<br />
Juice from half of an orange<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
<br />
Assemble the lettuce, fennel, orange and pomegrante seeds.<br />
<br />
Whisk together the olive oil, vinegar and juice. Add salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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Toss the vinaigrette with the salad, using as much or as little as you want.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-6377844873005150712010-12-17T17:04:00.000-05:002015-02-20T15:06:32.806-05:00Just as long as we have weWelcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. We need it. It has been quite the roller coaster of a year and right now, what we need most, is to cram into Nonna’s tiny kitchen, listen to tacky Italian Christmas music and pound out some <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/03/labor-of-love.html">spiedini</a> and <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/09/no-apologies.html">veal</a>. <br />
<br />
My family has so much to be thankful for. We have truly beautiful friends, we have our health and most importantly, we have each other. Faced with loss and disappointment our foundation might shake a bit, but at the end of the day we are solid. It’s sad to think that some people don’t have this support. Perhaps sadder to realize that sometimes the reason they don’t is of their own doing. So I am reminded to be thankful, very thankful for all of the wonderful people that surround my family and me. <br />
<br />
The recipe I want to share with you is very special to me. In Italian these cookies are called “Sfingel”, but to me they are simply Uncle Danny’s Honey Cookies. Delightfully intricate, they look almost like snowflakes, snowflakes that have been doused in warm, golden honey. They were my Uncle Danny’s favorite Christmas dessert. <br />
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Every year growing up I would watch Nonna putter around the kitchen a few days before Christmas mumbling, “I still have to make Uncle Danny’s Cookies”. I would ask, “why are these Uncle Danny’s cookies?” and Nonna would say, “Because he’s the only one who eats them!” Now, I didn’t think it was quite fair that Uncle Danny got a whole plate of cookies all to himself, especially cookies covered in honey. So being all of eight years old, I remember making sure that he knew they were now my favorite cookie too. He was more than happy to share. <br />
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That was his nature- to share and to take care of those around him. And to school you on the finer points of republican politics. Now, we’ve already established that I am very much a liberal so you might assume that Uncle Danny and I didn’t get along. And you would be so wrong.<br />
<br />
On Christmas afternoon, Uncle Danny would step into the room with a glass of wine, sit down next to me and ask, “So how’s your girl Hillary?” And we’d be off. Our conversations were one of my favorite parts of Christmas. He loved people who had different opinions (er, I’m still working on that) and my memories of the verbal sparring between he and his brother, my Uncle Angelo, were conversations screenplays are born from. They talked politics all the way through antipasto, took a break for dinner, and then would pick it up again for dessert. They were wise enough to realize that politics and pasta are never a good mix. <br />
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This will be our first Christmas without my Uncle Danny. The table will surely feel a little bigger, and the room a little quieter but there will be two things of which I am certain. There will be no politics during pasta, and a big plate of Uncle Danny’s Honey Cookies will be prominently placed in the middle our table. <br />
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Now, I am not a religious person but I’m sure that Uncle Danny would have closed this with a prayer. I instead, will rely on <a href="http://www.seussville.com/lb/bio.html">Dr. Suess</a>. <br />
<i><br />
“Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. Cheer to all Whos far and near. Christmas Day is in our grasp so long as we have hands to clasp. Christmas Day will always be just as long as we have we. Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand."</i><br />
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Uncle Danny’s Honey Cookies (Sfingel)</b><br />
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As delicious as these cookies are alongside a cannoli or two, they are even better for breakfast. Trust me on this. One more thing, these cookies are somewhat labor intensive. Especially when trying these for the first time, but don't get discouraged. Remember, it's the journey.<br />
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2 cups flour<br />
¼ tsp salt<br />
2 tsp baking powder<br />
3 eggs<br />
2 TBLS corn oil + enough for frying<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
1 egg white<br />
1 large jar of honey<br />
2 tsp of sugar<br />
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<i>Special equipment</i><br />
Pasta maker<br />
KitchenAid <br />
Deep fryer (not required)<br />
Dough crimping wheel <br />
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The first step of the honey cookie making process is much like making pasta dough. <br />
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Using the paddle on your KitchenAid, combine ingredients one through six and create dough.<br />
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Gather the dough with your hands and form a ball. <br />
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Divide the dough into rectangular blocks, a little smaller than the palm of your hand.<br />
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Turn on your pasta maker and put it on the widest setting. I use the KitchenAid pasta maker attachment, and the widest setting on that is 1, but yours may be numbered differently. <br />
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Run a piece of the dough through, and then gently refold it back to the rectangular block shape. Repeat this process four times. Then adjust the setting to level 2 and run the dough through. DO NOT fold the dough this time. Adjust to level three and repeat. Rest the finished dough on the table. Repeat the process the remaining dough.<br />
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Once all of the dough has been rolled out let it rest about 20 minutes. Then, using your dough-crimping wheel, cut strips about 8 inches long, and ½ inch wide. <br />
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Now for the fun part! Taking one strip, begin to roll it. The end result will look much like a fully bloomed rose, or for those of you who grew up in the 80’s, like the “<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Jc-EA-gcnfU/SYEaiy_ATRI/AAAAAAAAABw/fb5oMjxbLYc/s320/bubble%2Btape.jpg&imgrefurl=http://adaywithsonja.blogspot.com/2009/01/things-that-so-remind-me-of-growing-up.html&usg=__yz_dOe4IoZc9hQIesYDYByfPhaI=&h=240&w=320&sz=19&hl=en&start=84&sig2=Ep0Sh2QRMVeuTSdcot1_tA&zoom=1&tbnid=1Jny8VEpIlVUFM:&tbnh=135&tbnw=165&ei=OtQLTYTHJsKblgeDsKzQDA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dbubble%2Btape%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DwqN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1404%26bih%3D622%26tbs%3Disch:11%2C1812&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=111&oei=CdQLTZDVFYT78Ab7nIHSDQ&esq=18&page=5&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:4,s:84&tx=59&ty=34&biw=1404&bih=622">Six Feet of Bubble Gum</a>” that was rolled up to look almost like a snail. Using one finger as your “egg white finger” carefully dab the dough every ½ an inch or and press it together with the next layer of dough. Continue dabbing with egg whites as you finish rolling the strip. What your doing with the egg white is ensuring that the “rose” holds its shape during the frying process.<br />
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Let the rolled cookies sit out for about an hour.<br />
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Fill either a deep fryer or a pot about ¾ of the way up with corn oil. Once the oil is rippling, you’re ready to fry. Carefully, using a fork drop two or three cookies at a time into the oil. They will immediately puff up. They only take a minute or two to cook, so as soon as you see the color turn light gold, get them out of the oil and onto a paper towel. <br />
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At this point, the cookies can be stored or frozen until you are ready to serve. <br />
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You should dip them in honey the day you serve them. To do this, combine the honey and sugar in a small pot and heat until it begins to boil. Carefully dip each cookie in the sticky mixture, covering the cookie completely. <br />
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When you finally take your first bite do me a favor, think of my <a href="http://www.mideathnotices.com/view-single.php?id=247724">Uncle Danny</a>. <br />
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Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-78214590427635219552010-11-30T22:35:00.000-05:002010-12-01T15:32:16.686-05:00A true patriotIt’s that time! With tinsel, turkey and Bing Crosby, the holidays have officially arrived. Tom and I are just now emerging from the food-induced coma that was Thanksgiving. <br />
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It may surprise you to know that my family enjoys a very traditional Thanksgiving dinner. We do the turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and countless vegetable sides. We set a festive table and have yet to miss Santa’s arrival while watching the Macy’s Day Parade.<br />
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I will admit that the turkey dinner is preceded by a very Italian antipasti spread including Genoa salami, imported prosciutto, provolone cheese, artichokes and peppers. <br />
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But really, when we feel like it, we can be as American as apple and pumpkin pie. Except for me. I don’t much care for pie and I have an especial aversion to that which is pumpkin. I like to think that this speaks to my contrary nature…my inner rebellion which let’s face it, is as American as it gets. That’s me, a true patriot. A patriot who prefers Italian prune cake to pie. That’s right. Prune cake. <br />
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I can tell you just scoffed but don’t be too quick to judge. This richly spiced cake with a slight chewy texture captures all of the warmth of the season with just one bite. Eating it makes you feel like you’ve just watched Mr. Stewart in <i>It’s a Wonderful Life</i>. If you take issue with a cake with “prune” in it’s name then perhaps think of it instead as Spice Cake. Or, you be thankful for your orange colored pies, and let me be thankful for my prune cake. Yum. <br />
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<i><b>Prune Cake</b></i><br />
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This is my Great Grandma Tocco’s recipe and I’ve been told under no uncertain terms that it is not to be fooled with. It's best to make this the day before you intend on eating it- give the spices time to get to know each other. <br />
<i><br />
Cake</i><br />
2 ½ cups flour<br />
1 tsp baking soda<br />
¾ tsp baking powder<br />
1 tsp ground cloves<br />
1 tsp allspice<br />
1 tsp cinnamon <br />
½ cup Crisco, plus more for greasing<br />
1 ½ cups sugar<br />
2 large eggs<br />
1 cup prunes, pitted and roughly chopped<br />
1 cup buttermilk<br />
<br />
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.<br />
Grease and flour a 9 x 13 baking pan with Crisco.<br />
Simmer the chopped prunes in hot water for ten minutes. Drain well.<br />
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In a medium bowl combine the dry ingredients.<br />
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With an electric mixer, beat the Crisco, sugar and eggs. <br />
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Slowly add the flour and buttermilk.<br />
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Gently fold in the prunes.<br />
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Bake for 30 minutes. As soon as the top is golden and the sides begin to pull away from the pan it is done. Do not rely on a toothpick for this or you will run the risk of over-baking the cake. And nobody wants a dry cake.<br />
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<i>Frosting</i><br />
1/4 cup strong coffee<br />
½ box of confectioners sugar<br />
2 TBLS butter<br />
Walnuts, whole<br />
<br />
After the cake has cooled, whip the sugar and butter with an electric mixer. Add coffee to taste. Frost the cake and carefully place walnuts to cover the cake, evenly spaced. Mom breaks out the tape measure for this step. Do make sure you pick the prettiest, most in tact walnuts. It does make a difference. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5088/5219230215_6b494ea224_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5088/5219230215_6b494ea224_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-80143563223095230642010-11-21T17:37:00.000-05:002010-11-21T18:35:37.708-05:00Frozen burrito monthIt’s 4:24 pm and darkness has already begun to fall. Chilly afternoons turned nights, preceded by stark, grey skies and cutting winds, it looks and feels like November- the pause before the colors of the holidays and the sounds of Christmas music. <br />
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Time speeds up during these short, grey days and it takes a decided effort not to resort to pre-packaged meals that require defrosting on a daily basis. With deadlines and finals and Tom and mine’s ever shifting Google calendars (our half-hearted attempt to assemble some order), I admit that I’ve been woefully tempted to make November our official Frozen Burrito Month. Then I remember that I didn’t even know what a burrito was until college and that the only form of frozen food I ever consumed as a child was French bread pizza, prepared by the occasional Friday night babysitter. Shamefaced, I return the burritos to the freezer and go to my short list of no fuss recipes. Topping the list? Italian hamburgers. <br />
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<b><i>Italian Hamburgers </i></b><br />
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If you were to ask me if I’ve ever had meatloaf, I’d shake my head, scrunch up my face in a displeased expression and say, “nope”. My mother never made such things. Until recently, I didn’t realize that the below recipe was actually an Italian rip off of the American comfort food classic. A rip off? Perhaps. An improvement? Most definitely. <br />
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As is often the case, the below measurements are approximations at best. The consistency should not be too dry, think of these as really large meatballs. Dijon mustard and <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-like-it-hot.html">peppers in sauce</a> are good accompaniments to this quick, satisfying meal. <br />
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<i>Makes 4 servings </i><br />
1lb ground meat <br />
¾ cup Italian flavored breadcrumbs<br />
1/3 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated<br />
½ onion, chopped <br />
1 egg <br />
3 good sized garlic cloves, minced <br />
Hot pepper flakes<br />
Oregano <br />
Salt <br />
Pepper<br />
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In a large bowl combine meat, breadcrumbs, cheese, onion, garlic and egg. Using your hands, mix thoroughly and add hot pepper, oregano, salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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Form hamburger patties. Place on a broiling pan covered with tinfoil.<br />
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Broil on high until golden and crisp, flip and cook the other side.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-50190197716478562282010-10-31T18:38:00.000-04:002010-10-31T18:39:26.776-04:00Just in timeI blinked and October all but disappeared. It came in one colorful burst of activity leaving as abruptly as it entered. Starting tomorrow it’s going to be November and I’m so not ready for it to be November. Although the fact that my freezer is filled to capacity with roasted tomatoes, hot pepper paste, pesto, applesauce and eggplant caponata suggests that perhaps I’m more prepared for grey November skies than I thought. Knowing that I can now conjure the aromas of a warm September afternoon by simply defrosting some pesto makes the whirlwind that was October ever so worth it. Still, the final push to get these lovely tastes of early autumn frozen in time has left me feeling breathless and even a bit dazed.<br />
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I’m particularly excited about the eggplant caponata. Tangy with a slight sweetness, pungent and just a little crunchy this is one dish that leaves your taste buds singing. I’ve never met an eggplant that I didn’t want to take home to turn into something special. <br />
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It is surprising then, that a few weeks ago was the first I had heard of Great Grandma Tocco’s eggplant caponata. But hear about it I did, (from my mother who made it without me!) and I raced to find a couple of eggplants that hadn’t yet been exposed to the cold New England frost. <br />
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I made it just in time to bid a cheerful farewell to October has she made her hasty exit. <br />
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<b>Sicilian Eggplant Caponata </b><br />
Adopted from <i>Mamma Mia Italian Cookbook: The Home Book of Italian Cooking </i><br />
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2 large eggplants, cubed<br />
1 TBLS salt<br />
¾ cup good quality olive oil<br />
2 onions, chopped<br />
1 can plum tomatoes, drained<br />
A generous ½ cup green olives, pitted and roughly chopped<br />
3 celery stalks, diced <br />
¼ cup capers<br />
¼ cup red wine vinegar <br />
2 TBLS sugar<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
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Cube your eggplant, salt it and let stand for 2 hours. Squeeze dry with a towel.<br />
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Heat your oil and sautee the eggplant until golden brown. Remove from pot with slotted spoon.<br />
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Add onions to the oil and let soften for about 10 minutes. <br />
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Add tomatoes, olives and celery and sauté for another 15 minutes.<br />
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Return eggplant to the pot and add the capers.<br />
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In a separate pot heat the vinegar, add the sugar and let it dissolve.<br />
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Pour the warm vinegar over the eggplant and vegetables, cover and cook slowly for 20 minutes over medium heat.<br />
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Serve warm with a crusty loaf of bread.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-33136635107893109932010-10-10T19:21:00.000-04:002010-10-28T13:32:31.549-04:00Suitcases and SausagesMay I have your attention please? Nonna has arrived. With frozen sausages, ricotta, homemade cannoli shells and oregano all packed in her suitcase (I’m serious); she has been flown in to cook for <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/03/labor-of-love.html">that annual party</a> I’ve told you about. More importantly, she’s here to spend some quality family time with the Kostecki’s. <br />
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Yesterday we bundled her up against the crisp autumn weather, and despite the small craft warning we put her into the boat and we all enjoyed the New England coastline. The afternoon ended with steamers and lobsters in celebration of my dad’s birthday.<br />
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Today Tom and I spent the afternoon preparing our little apartment for Nonna’s inspection. I even ironed the linens. Honestly that was more for my mom’s benefit than Nonna’s- last time my mom came to visit and my tablecloth was wrinkled she got out my iron and did it herself. <br />
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And there won’t be time for ironing during this visit. I have to bring Nonna to my neighborhood farmer’s market so that she can have a word with my veal guy and taste the cheese stand’s homemade ricotta to see if I have finally found ricotta in Massachusetts that warrants Nonna’s approval. There’s a reason she gets on a plane with frozen ricotta and sausages from Detroit. They’re just better there. <br />
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So, I bet you think that I’m now going to give you a recipe for Italian sausages right? Sorry. This week I had such success roaming the farmer’s market in search for the leafiest, greenest vegetables available that I just have to share with you a different family favorite: Fried cauliflower. <br />
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I don’t think too many people are used to eating cauliflower this way, but I strongly encourage you to try it. If you get a really leafy one such as the one seen above you could try sautéing the greens with some olive oil and garlic and serving them over penne with Parmesan cheese and hot pepper flakes. That’s what my Grandma Chinni would do. <br />
<i><b><br />
Fried Cauliflower<br />
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I never realized how significant cauliflower is to the Italian diet. Throughout my childhood my mom would make this dish during the fall and winter seasons but I always just assumed it was a random recipe that she had stumbled upon. Come to find out that this in fact a Nonna recipe and that cauliflower is a prominent player in Italian cuisine. <br />
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1 head of cauliflower cut into into florets<br />
Corn oil<br />
Flour<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
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Par-boil the cauliflower florets until just fork tender. Maybe five minutes.<br />
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Heat up the corn oil so it covers the surface of your non-stick pan. <br />
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Salt and pepper your flour. Douse the par-boiled cauliflower with the flour. <br />
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Gently place in the pan and fry until golden and crisp. Sprinkle with kosher salt and enjoy!Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645427028753437236.post-21133865201656787602010-09-28T14:26:00.000-04:002011-03-02T08:54:49.664-05:00A Perfect Cookie in a Not So Perfect WorldWe all have our faults and idiosyncrasies, which at least in our family make for some rather rambunctious holiday gatherings. No one is perfect, no one is always right; our flaws (and in our case, the Sicilian Temper) are what make us who we are. But Nonna sees her job as assuring each and every one of us that we are perfect, flawless and should be proud (albeit acutely aware) of our Sicilian blood. This is all fine and well, although my guess is we shouldn’t always take her encouragement to heart. We are not perfect. <br />
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Case in point- Three years ago, much to my utter dismay and humiliation, I developed a food sensitivity to nuts which included a full out allergy to sesame seeds. I had become one of “those” people. As you can imagine, with all of the almonds, pine nuts and *sigh* sesame seeds that are involved with Italian cooking it was difficult to come out to my family- especially Nonna. I had no desire to be judged for what I viewed as an unwelcome character flaw. What kind of Italian is unable to enjoy nuts? But Nonna, bless her heart, did not judge. She (as she does for everyone) went to work accommodating my newly acquired limitation. Because of her efforts I am still able to enjoy most of the family staples, but there is one recipe in particular that is no longer an option for me. It breaks my heart to abstain from the following, as it is quite possibly the world’s most perfect cookie. <br />
<i><b><br />
The Sesame Cookie (aka The Death Cookie)</b></i><br />
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It’s everything a cookie ought to be- not too sweet, pleasingly nutty and dense with flavor, the perfect accompaniment to a strong cup of coffee or as Nonna might suggest for a particularly hard one, dunked in wine. <br />
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These cookies were made by both of my great grandmothers and were considered the “every day” cookie. Grandma Chinni had several renditions of this recipe including substituting anise seed for the sesames and taking them out of the oven half way through baking to brush egg yolk on them. When last my mom made these cookies she crushed some crystallized rock candy and used the sugar as the sesame substitute for my cookies. She, like Nonna, is a great Mom. <br />
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4 cups flour <br />
1 cup sugar <br />
1 TBLS baking powder <br />
¼ tsp salt <br />
1 cup <a href="http://mynonnaskitchen.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-suppose-it-was-inevitable-that-as-we.html">lard</a><br />
2 tsp vanilla <br />
2 eggs slightly beat<br />
½ cup whole milk warmed (Note: you may not need this much depending on the consistency of the dough) <br />
Egg whites slightly beat <br />
Sesame seeds<br />
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In your mixing bowl combine flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Using the mixing paddle attachment add the lard, vanilla and eggs. Begin adding the milk a tablespoon at a time. You may not need to use all of the mild because you do not want super sticky dough.<br />
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Gather the dough into a lump and let set for about 10 minutes or so. Wrapped in plastic wrap, let it sit in the fridge for at least 30 minutes. <br />
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Preheat oven to 375*<br />
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Using your hands, roll dough into oversized almond shapes. Brush with egg whites and roll in sesame seeds. These cookies need to be baked for at least 15 minutes until the bottoms are light brown.<br />
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Storing Note:</b> After baking let the cookies sit out in a bowl for a day or so. Sesame cookies freeze beautifully but if you wish to enjoy them over the course of a couple of days remember to leave them uncovered otherwise they will go soggy and become less fantastic with each passing moment.Anina Kosteckihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13097586363281522280noreply@blogger.com3