She forgets to turn on the oven

A line from Billy Wilder's 1954 film "Sabrina" has been on my mind lately.* Shortly after her arrival in Paris, the very young Sabrina befriends a much older Baron St. Fontanel, with whom she attends cooking school. After an unsuccessful go in the kitchen, the Baron correctly determines by the look of her dish that Sabrina must be lovelorn. His explanation is simple: "A woman happily in love, she burns the soufflé. A woman unhappily in love, she forgets to turn on the oven." (And Sabrina's soufflé was definitely uncooked.)

You may be wondering where this post is going. I am certainly not unhappy in love, but last week someone that I love dearly -- my fabulous and feisty terrier – fell gravely ill. I am pleased to report that he is miraculously on the mend, so you can continue to read this without fear of bursting into tears. But the Baron’s quote is still rattling around in my head. From the moment I received the bad news until a day or so after the crisis was over, I simply could not go near the kitchen. Not even to make toast.

I was certainly able to eat now and then. (I am amazed, though, that the Hypocrite Police didn’t haul me off to the clink, given the amount of takeout Chinese egg drop soup I consumed last week.) I just had no desire to pick out my ingredients, set up my kitchen and get to work. And the one dish I did manage to rustle up – a goat cheese and basil omelet – was, very simply, not great work.

This reaction got me thinking about how I clearly equate meal planning and cooking with love and joy. I know some people can make mountains of food when they are upset or frustrated…somehow it takes their mind off things. But for me, there was no way I could turn my oven on until my beloved was safe and sound.

Now that he is pretty much in the clear, I find myself inching back toward my kitchen and the farmstands, where mountains of early winter squash are making their debut. I am thinking about roasting some of these lovely delicatas to start…and then I guess I will take it from there.



So, there you have it: My post for the week…supposedly about food, but really about love.


*If you have not seen the film -- and, no, the 1990's remake does not count -- the basics are this: Sabrina (Audrey Hepburn), daughter of the Larrabee family chauffeur, is head over heels "in crush" with the youngest son, David (William Holden). David is charming and handsome, but not considered good for much else. And so Sabrina is sent off to Paris to become a chef and, in theory, get over David. All sorts of predictable antics ensue, but it is rather excellent. And the charming turn by Humphrey Bogart as the older, more responsible brother, Linus Larrabee, should not be missed.

Calamarata Pasta with Brie & Cherry Tomatoes

I know, I thought the same thing, "pasta with brie, that's not Italian!" However, after seeing versions of this recipe in one of my favorite cookbooks (The Silver Palate) and magazines (Bon Appetit), I knew it was something I couldn't turn my nose up at any longer and need to try.

I made the dish for some friends who came over to sample my contraband salami from Italy. While making the dish, it ocurred to me that I had made a version of this dish countless times, using mozzarella instead of the brie and loved it. So why not brie! Everyone oooh-ed and aaaaah-ed over pasta. "So tasty", "what's that flavor, I can't put my finger on it," they proclaimed. I revealed the secreat ingredient, brie, that offered a tangy contrast to the sweet tomatoes.

They all wanted the recipe that night. I figured you all would want my version of it as well. Here it is...enjoy!

Calamarata Pasta with Brie & Cherry Tomatoes

1 pound calamaretti (yes, this is calamari shaped contraband pasta, but any shape would work here)

1 pound cherry tomatoes, halved
1 pound wedge brie cheese, rind removed, cut into 1/2" pieces*
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup basil, chopped or torn into pieces by hand
1/2 extra virgin olive oil
salt & pepper to taste

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add the pasta, and cook until al dente.

While the pasta is cooking, combine the tomatoes, brie, garlic, basil and olive oil in a large bowl, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Once the pasta is cooked, remove 1 cup of the pasta water (I use either a heat resistan measuring cup or coffee cup), and drain the pasta. Return the pasta to the empty pot, and add the tomato mixture along with a splash of the pasta water, and stir to coat. The heat of the pasta and the pasta water will wilt the tomatoes and melt the brie, creating a creamy sauce. Keep stirring and adding the pasta water, a splash at a time, until the pasta is coated with brie cream. Just be careful not to overdo it, otherwise you'll have a soupy pasta.

Serves 8 as a first course, 4 as a main course

*Freeze the brie for 15 minutes to make it easier to remove the rind.

The Chicken Farm

Late last summer, good friends of ours invited us to dinner and chicken was on the menu. Before you think “eh, chicken”, this was not just any chicken. We were having *Iacono* chicken. Those of you unfamiliar with the world of Ina Garten might not know of the Iacono chicken. But these chickens (and the farm itself) are kind of a thing out here. To date, I had never had one, and here was my chance.

The cooking half of this most excellent couple likes to mix things up, so we began with the roasted chicken itself. It was so “chicken-y” (as Julia Child liked to say) that I have no memory of what else was served during that part of the meal. I do, however, vividly recall the course that followed: the clearest, most concentrated broth that I have ever tasted. Served with just a few slivers of fresh green onion floating on top, it was bliss in a bowl. And I needed to learn more.

I was told that the Iacono Chicken Farm has been in operation for decades. (Since 1948, to be exact.) Their chickens run freely about a large penned-in area, and are raised without antibiotics or hormones. To achieve chicken nirvana, all you need to do is enter the small storefront, tell Mr. Iacono what you would like to buy and it will be yours.

In spite of my transcendent experience over a year ago, I had yet to actually visit the Iacono’s farm. It seems that no matter how much I want to know where my food comes from, I am still awfully squeamish about the some of the details. I feared that the sight of all those chickens running around, having a good time, might put this one-time vegetarian off meat for good.

Still, I was determined to have that “chicken-y” taste in my own kitchen. And so, after our run to the greenmarket this morning -- where we found this lovely, rich green kale and these insanely blue potatoes -- I got up my nerve and proclaimed to my husband: “I am ready. Let’s get us a chicken.” And off we went to the farm.





As we pulled up the Iaconos' driveway, the area where the chickens roamed was in full view. (So far, so good, I noted to myself.) A goat perched upon a wooden table presided over the area...I don’t know why. But everyone seemed very calm and happy, so I didn’t ask about the arrangement.

Inside, it was strictly no-frills in the best possible way: USO music gently piped through the gray room, where a large wall calendar reminded us that it was September. A few remaining cartons of the day’s eggs were neatly stacked on a nearby table and on the counter itself, a basket of the most exquisite, tiny brown eggs quietly begged me to buy a few. (By now, I was completely in love with the place.)

Behind the counter, the affable Mr. Iacono himself greeted us and asked what we would like today. We agreed that one small chicken would do, and within minutes, another gentleman came out to present us with our bird. It was all going swimmingly…until I noticed that the head and feet were still attached. (Yowzer!!) Upon reflection, it seems only reasonable that I let out a slight shriek and hid behind my husband. I was simply unprepared for this part of the transaction. Next time, I will be totally cool. I am sure of it.

Moments later, our chicken was prepared (read: heat, feet and innards removed), wrapped in paper and we were sent on our way with best wishes for a delicious dinner.

My bravery was rewarded. We roasted the small bird with as few additional ingredients as possible, so that we could really taste the meat. The flavor was just as I had remembered: intense, slightly sweet, a touch gamey (in the good way), and quite unlike any other chicken I’ve had in the States. We served it with our roasted blue potatoes and the kale cooked down with some red onion, salt and pepper. Simple and delicious!






The Iacono Chicken Farm is located at 106 Long Lane, East Hampton, NY. Tel: 631.324.1107 If you are in the area, don’t miss out!

Basil & Balsamic Vinegar for Dessert - You Bet!

Yep, you heard me right, a dessert with balsamic vinegar and basil - not to mention black pepper. Crossing the savory sweet line for both dessert and dinner isn't anything new. If you look back, you'll see people have been doing it for hundreds of years, even if I've been doing it for less.

In Italy, strawberries macerated with balsamic vinegar and ground pepper is a classic dessert. Of course, they don't use the super light and vinegary (aka - cheap) versions we are inundated with here, though. There, they use balsamic vinegar from Modena, that has been aged in barrels for many, many years which transforms the vinegar to a sweet, syrupy nectar of the

Last week, it seemed as if everywhere I went I saw and heard about this dish, and took it as a sign that I should finally try it out for myself. Coming at the end of summer, it also felt like a farewell to the season's sweetest treat. It felt too extravagant to use just the expensive balsamic, so I altered the recipe a bit. Instead of adding sugar to a mediocre balsamic to take the edge off, I just reduced (by boiling it away) that same mediocre balsamic down to a syrup, to accentuate the vinegar's natural sweetness. I like to buy large bottles of the stuff, and reduce it with herbs, then use the glaze to garnish countless dishes. Because my dear friend, Kirsten, gave me a luxurious, perfume-sized bottle of juniper-scented balsamic, I did add a dash of it at the end for a note of acidity.

The perfect accompaniments were no problem at all. Since strawberries go with mint (like most fruit), and since mint is a cousin to basil, I figured why not finally make that basil ice cream I've been wanting to try. And served with simple langue de chat (thin vanilla wafers) cookies, it makes for a light and summery dessert. I did not inlcudd my cookie recipe here, though, since I wasn't pleased with the outcome and because you would do better buying those rolled, cigarette cookies instead.

I hope you are bold enough to try it and enjoy it as much as I did.


Strawberries in Balsamic Vinegar

1 cup not too expensive balsamic vinegar

1 sprig rosemary (or any other herbs)

3 1/2 cups strawberries, trimmed, hulled and halved

freshly ground pepper

a dash of v. good balsamic, if you have, otherwise, the one above will do

Place balsamic vinegar into a small saucpan along with the rosemary (or other herb of choice) and bring to a boil. Continue boiling over medium high heat until vinegar has reduced to a syrup, about 20 min. Set aside to cool.

About 1 hour before serving, place strawberries in a non-reactive bowl and add about 3-4 tablespoons of the balsamic syrup, a few grindings of the black pepper and toss to coat. (The remaining syrup, if any, can be saved for other uses.) More or less syrup can be added depending on how "saucey" you like it. Cover with plastic and toss occassionally, allowing the flavors to develop. When ready to serve I add a dash of very good balsamic for a touch of acidity.

In the photo above, I served the berries topped with ice cream, but the sauce from the berries is so good, you may want to top your ice cream with the berries.

Serves 6


Basil Ice Cream

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

1 very large bunch of basil

6 egg yolks

1/2 cup sugar

splash of pure vanilla extract

Combine milk, cream and basil (stems and all) in a medium saucepan, and bring to barely a boil (when you see tiny bubbles surfacing around the edges). Cover, remove from heat and let steep for 20-30 minutes.

Toward the end of the steep time, whisk the yolks and sugar together in a medium (heat resistant) bowl, until pale and fluffy. Strain about a cup of the milk mixture directly into the yolk mixture and whisk to combine. Then strain the rest of the milk mixture into the yolk bowl, and whisk until thoroughly combined. At this point, throw out the "cooked" basil, wash out your saucepan, and put back on the stove (no need to even dry it!). Also prepare a large bowl of ice, for an ice bath.

Place the ice cream mixture into the sauce pan, and wash out your bowl (this is where the cooked custard will go - yes, ice cream is essentially a frozen custard). Place your saucepan over medium heat. Stir the custard constantly with a wooden spoon, being careful to get the corners of the pot too. DO NOT LEAVE THE CUSTARD UNATTENDED! The custard can quickly go from smooth and silky to a scrambled mess in seconds. I suggest novice ice cream / custard makers to reduce the heat to medium-low (to delay the process). The seasoned pros can be a bit more agressive and use medium-high heat. You will know when it is done when you pull out the spoon, run your finger across the back, and the custard stays put. This is what they mean by "coating the back of a spoon." I encourage you to do the test frequently, so you see the transformation first hand.

Once the custard does coat the back of a spoon, pour it into your clean & empty bowl. Fill the ice bowl with water, then place the custard bowl inside it. Stir the custard often. This should expidite the cooling process.

Once cool, stir the vanilla extract into the custard, then pour into your ice cream machine, following the manufacturer's instructions.

Makes about 1 quart

Croxetti with Pesto

I know it has been awhile since I have posted, but as some of you know I was in Italy. No, no, it wasn’t a whirlwind tour of the country or a romantic getaway to the coast, it was to visit family in a small town near Naples. “At least you got a chance to roam the local markets and eat authentic Italian food prepared by relatives,” you say? Ah, no! I was put on chef duty for the duration of my stay. My only culinary inspiration came from the local supermarket, one of the few places still open during the infamous August holiday, where the entire country closes and heads off to the beach...not my ideal vacation.

What I did get was a box full of culinary delights from my cousin, Teresa, who lives in northern Italy. Included in the box was an assortment of pastas, pasta makers, salami, grappa, homemade limoncello, cookbooks, etc. Teresa gave me a guided tour of everything, telling me which pastas should be served with which sauces, how to eat each of the salami (some were soft and could be spread) and how to make particular shaped pasta. Thanks to my packing skills and bravado in the face of customs agents, my friends and family back home will be able to enjoy and savor the regional specialties of Italy. Is there such thing as a salami mule? What does jail time look like for them? I digress…

My first contraband meal of smuggled products included croxetti (pronounced - crow-set-eee) with pesto. The pasta itself looks like it had shaped by a penny press machine, you know the ones that create an image of a tourist attraction (ie -Empire State Building) on the flattened penny and costs about $5. Each one was oval and flat with an embossed image. This pasta shape originated in Liguria, and is surprisingly impossible to find anywhere else in Italy. The pasta is traditionally served with a basil pesto, a sauce that also originated in this region (what a coincidence!). They say the basil there has a different (read: better) flavor than any other because of the soil and climate, but it is tasty with even domestic basil.

Croxetti with Pesto

1 pound croxetti pasta (almost any other pasta can be substituted here)

1 clove garlic, cut into chunks
½ cup toasted pine nuts (toast in a dry frying pan over medium heat, tossing/stirring continually)
¾ cup extra virgin olive oil, or more
1 large bunch of fresh basil (about 2 cups of leaves)
½ cup freshly grated parmesan cheese
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Bring a large pot of salted boiling water to a boil. Don’t be afraid to generously salt the water here, it gives the pasta flavor. Add pasta and cook until al dente.

While the pasta cooks, add the garlic, pine nuts and ¼ cup of the olive oil to a blender and blend until finely chopped. Add the basil, parmesan and another ¼ cup of the olive oil, and continue to blend. While the machine is running, drizzle in the remaining oil until it reaches the desired consistency. Tastes vary, but I’d say the consistency of maple syrup. Once you get more expert at it, you can play with the quantities of the other ingredients to totally customize it to your liking. Season with salt and pepper.

Drain pasta and put into a large bowl. Top with enough pesto to coat, tossing well to combine. A lower calorie version of this, would be to add less oil to the pesto, but save some of the pasta water to thin out the sauce when tossing with the pasta.

Extra sauce can be stored in the fridge for a few weeks, just top with a layer of olive oil to avoid darkening.

Serves 4 -6 main dish portions or 8 appetizer portions