November 12, 2015

We are the music makers

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

We are the music makers. And the meatball eaters. 

Nonna’s meatballs 

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. 

“If you’re going to make meatballs, then make meatballs!”

2 lb ground beef (85% lean)
5 eggs
1 cup bread crumbs
1 cup Pecorino Romano, grated
2 tsp salt
black pepper to taste
1 tsp oregano 
1 large garlic clove, minced
1/2 cup parsley, chopped
Olive oil, for frying

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. 

Rub your hands with a little olive oil. Roll out the balls to your desired size.

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.

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. 

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.

Simmer the fried meatballs in your pasta sauce to finish cooking them. 

August 13, 2015

So there.

There are three things that [I feel] New England does better than anyone else. Football, strawberries 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.

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 scientific proof, lack of due process, and the fact that Tom Brady is a God and The Organization is corrupt 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.

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.

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 backyard chickens.

Corn fritters 
Recipe adapted by Jacques Pepin’s 'Essential Pepin: More Than 700 All-Time Favorites from My Life in Food'

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 throw a bocce party. Not being New Englanders, they apparently enjoyed socializing with their fellow neighbors.

Makes 12 fritters

4 TBSP flour
3 TBSP cornstarch
1 teaspoon baking powder
1⁄2 tsp salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup ice-cold water
4 large ears corn, husked and kernels cut off
6 TBSP grape seed oil

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.

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.

*Special thanks to my brother, @JKostecki for providing the appropriate articles in support of our beloved New England Patriots.

PS- You could certainly disagree with everything I've just said. In which case, I am the honey badger.

June 19, 2015

To 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sautéed calf’s liver with onions 
Adapted from Lidia Bastianich’s recipe in Lidia’s Italian Table

5 TBSP extra virgin olive oil
1 large sweet onion, thinly sliced
2 bay leaves
2 TBSP red wine vinegar
.6 lb calf’s liver
salt and pepper

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.

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.

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.

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.

Serve with a simple salad and crusty bread. This recipe makes enough dinner for two willing adults and one brave toddler.

March 26, 2015

March too, shall pass

My 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.

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.

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).

While you’re enjoying your bowl of warm deliciousness consider this, March too will pass. Some day, it will be April.

Pea soup

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?

1 lb dried green peas
8 cups cold water
1 smoked ham shank
4 carrots, small dice
1 onion, small dice
2 celery stocks, small dice
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 bay leaf
3 sprigs fresh thyme
Cayenne pepper to taste (I put at least 1 large TBSP into my pot)
Salt and pepper to taste

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.

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.

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.

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.

March 11, 2015

Catholic guilt with a side of eggs

Melting! 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.

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 parcel of day-old chicks.

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.

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 oh so Italian-American scene 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.

Eggs a la Moonstruck

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 taken off the no-fly list. This is why I say it's always good to question authority.

2 TBLS extra virgin olive oil
2 eggs
2 slices of bread
1 fire-roasted pepper, sliced thin
1 garlic glove, sliced thin
salt and pepper to taste

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.

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. 

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. 

Using a spatula, flip each slice of toast and cook for approximately one more minute.

Serve with peppers on top of each egg.

March 2, 2015

Bocci and meatballs

Last night it snowed. Again. On March 1st. All I hear these days is grumble, grumble, snow, grumble.

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 bocce party (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?

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?

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 hot toddy and make some meatballs.

One last note- to this day, Nonna has yet to determine any life situation to be a “real problem”. Something to think about.

Tiny Veal Meatballs 
Adapted from Angela Catanzaro’s recipe in Mama Mia, Italian Cookbook

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.

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.

1 slice day-old bread
1 lb ground veal (if you [unlike me] have issues with eating baby cows feel free to substitute ground pork)
2 eggs
2 TBSP grated Pecorino cheese
1 tsp chopped parsley
salt and pepper

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 alternative name for a hazelnut.

February 24, 2015

Rockin’ 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.

In the words of a dear friend we keep on rockin’ and rollin’.

Some things have stayed constant. Nonna still greets us from our twelve-hour drive every December with a big pot of Nonna Soup. A trip made longer with a toddler in the back seat… Spiedini and sfingel 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 Italian hamburgers and come (our super bowl worthy) football season, company chili is made per Tom’s request.

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 bowl of spaghetti is the only thing that will seem familiar in the midst of new paths, broken hearts, and time’s never-ending onward march.

February 20, 2015

Being brave

When 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.

The last few years have catapulted me to the very edge of my comfort zone. I earned my Master’s in Gastronomy. I completed certificates in Culinary Arts, Wine, and Cheese (yes you read that correctly, a certificate in cheese). I learned from culinary legends Jacques Pepin and Mary Ann Esposito 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 Psy, 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.

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.

We packed up our adorable apartment in Cambridge and became honest to goodness homeowners in Belmont. I embraced yoga. We raised chickens.

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.

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.

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.

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.