pasta with ricotta, peas and basil

we've always been committed

to home cooking,

but since we've moved,

i feel like we've strengthened our resolve.

we were always strict,

sunday to thursday,

but on friday and saturday it was

so easy, and so nice, to just go out,

get out, be somewhere else.

but, we knew that when we moved,

we'd give up a lot of that up,

using time at a restaurant as a

special treat, not a given.

so, we've been in the kitchen quite a bit.

but, instead of the very involved

dinners i used to take on without

a thought, now that we wake up very early

and both of our commutes are taxing,

i feel like we're not really cooking.

we're stirring some ingredients

together, turning on the oven and loving

the quick boil option on our range.

but, except for a handful of things -

larry's addictive guacamole,

a salad with scallops and watermelon,

boursin-stuffed turkey burgers we made

for father's day -

i can't really remember most of

what we've eaten. and that obviously means,

there's not so much to write about.

but this dish?

this is one i should have told you

about a year ago.

it's by no means a

company's coming meal.

but, it's fast, it can be made without an oven -

vital right now in this 100 degree heat - and uses

no more than a pot, a bowl and a spatula.

and, i think it tastes pretty darn good, too.

i usually save it for a day in which we

need dinner pretty quickly, or one in which

it's too hot outside to muster up much else.

but this time, the day started out as neither

and i wondered if i was wasting it on a

pleasantly warm easy-going day. but then,

fate stepped in and kept me at work

one hour later than expected for something

i never would have expected and once i

finally got out of there, i crawled in traffic

for almost two hours. suddenly, pasta

tossed with ricotta, peas, lemon and basil

seemed perfect.

i quickly said hello to larry

who was outside,

trimming a hedge.

after i put a pot of water over the flame

and then remembered that the precious

rapid boil also means that i have to

prep quite fast, i pulled out the ingredients.

ricotta,

a good hunk of parm,

a lemon,

basil,

salt,

pepper,

and this time,

a clove of purple garlic.

purple garlic.

i'm usually content with

run of the mill cloves, but

last week i saw purple garlic

at the market and snapped

it up the same way i had

pink lemons a year earlier.

but, like the pink lemons whose

flesh was like that of a pale grapefruit,

but boasted the flavor

of typical everyday lemon,

i felt duped. purple garlic

is sheathed in a purple skin,

but on the inside, it's just as

cream-colored as the next.

here's the one difference though -

purple garlic is significantly stronger

and sharper. i used only one clove,

albeit, one that was certainly larger

than usual, but still nothing crazy.

as soon as i tasted the creamy mixture

for seasoning, i knew we were in

trouble. it was garlicky.

really, really garlicky.

but, back to the pasta.

i usually turn to shells,

or something else that

acts like a vessel for

creamy dollops of the lemony ricotta

and the still firm peas.

once they're in the water - or maybe

a little before - i grate lemon zest and

parm into the cheese. i roll basil leaves

into a cigar and trim them thinly

into a chiffonade. i chop a clove of garlic.

i add them, along with kosher salt,

a healthy dose of black pepper and

a large squeeze of lemon juice,

to the bowl. i mix. and i taste.

then, i adjust. some days the

mixture is screaming for another hit

of lemon, other times it's lacking

black pepper or another pinch

of salt. sometimes (but, no,

not this time) it needs more garlic.

this night, the culprit was basil.

and i didn't have any left.

so, in went chives, which we took

from our pot of chives outside

on the deck. the tiny snips were

a new, but welcome, addition.

it was then that i looked at the clock

and saw that there were 4 minutes left

of boiling time. lucky. i poured peas

into the pot of pasta and let them

simmer away, bobbing in time

with the bubbles breaking on the

water's surface.

and soon,

the timer was beeping,

the pasta and peas were drained.

i poured them,

with a little water still clinging,

into the ricotta and mixed.

we haven't had this dish in over

a year and as soon as i tasted a

piece of pasta for final seasoning,

i was transported back to our apartment,

last may, when it was sweltering outside,

and inside as well. i remembered that last

year, even though the only heat came

from the steam of the boiling water,

when we ate, on the floor and at

our coffee table,

i was too hot to enjoy.

this time, i portioned two bowls,

sat down with larry

at the dining room table and was

thankful for no frills meals

on crazy days.

and, for my chive plant outside.

and, for the deck.

and, for the air conditioning.

pasta with ricotta, peas and basil

this is really good with homemade ricotta (you can find the recipe, here), and really it doesn't add that much more hands on time. but, if cheesemaking is not in the cards for your evening, i will not give you even a second of grief for buying a container. if there are fresh peas in the market, it's your lucky day. but, again, if it's not springtime and you buy frozen, as i did this time, no grief. just remember to mix, taste, adjust and taste again until it's perfect for you.

1 pound pasta (i like medium shells)

1 pound fresh or frozen peas

1 pound ricotta cheese (i usually use part-skim if i buy)

3/4 cup freshly grated parm

1 lemon, zested and halved (seeds removed)

1 large clove garlic, peeled and chopped

1/2 cup fresh basil

20 chives

in large pot of salted water, cook pasta according to package directions, adding frozen peas to the water when there is still 4 minutes left of cooking time. (i like mine still with a little pop, but if you prefer yours softer, adjust accordingly. also, if you are using fresh peas, 2-3 minutes should work.)

meanwhile, in bowl, combine ricotta, parm, lemon zest and chopped garlic. stack basil leaves, roll stack into a tight cigar shape and thinly slice with sharp knife (you may need to make two stacks); add to bowl. using scissors, snip chives directly into the bowl. remove seeds from lemon halves and squeeze in juice. season with salt and pepper. taste and adjust.

add hot pasta and peas to ricotta mixture and stir gently to combine. taste and quickly adjust seasoning, if necessary. divide among bowls and top with chopped chives, if desired.

content. and then some.

this fourth of july,

i received the best present

i've ever been given for the holiday.

(truth be told, it's probably

the only present i've ever

gotten for the fourth.)

nevertheless, this was the best:

we bought bookcases

and unpacked my cookbooks.

you see, they've been caged up

in boxes, waiting for the office

to be painted a pale turquoise - or

what turned out to be an aqua

or slightly bright light blue, still

almost the color of a gemstone -

and for our bookcase to be

reassembled. but, after the office

was painted, i could not bring myself

to place our dark brown bookcase

in the whatever-color-it-is and white

room. and, i really wanted the

cookbooks in our office.

but, in the meantime,

i struggled. i didn't realize how

much i like just knowing that my

cookbooks are an arms length away,

just waiting to be used. and, i was tired

of forgetting they were boxed up -

more than once i came home with

ingredients, like monkfish and

an eggplant two thursdays ago,

only to realize that

i wasn't going to be able to flip

through the new spanish table

to find the recipe any time soon.

but, then on friday, we took

advantage of leaving work early

and found a great deal on white

bookcases. i practically bounced

up and down in my seat the

whole drive home, knowing

what this meant. we sacrificed our

friday night to put them together,

together - a true test, i thought,

in case larry ever gets his way

and we audition for the amazing race

(note: never. gonna. happen.).

and the moment they were assembled,

i looked at larry and he knew his fate:

one solid hour of unpacking, organizing

and arranging books. but, he was a very

good sport about it and by 10pm,

the bookcases looked like this.

i cannot lie.

i wanted to sleep downstairs,

in the office that night,

just because i was so proud

to finally have space to store

them. (there were several that

had never actually made their

way onto a shelf before, instead

relegated to stacks on the floor

of the closet.

but, now they all had their own space.

hello,

blue eggs and yellow tomatoes,

modmex and

the texas cowboy kitchen.

hello,

too many more to count.)

but, i came to my senses.

i slept upstairs.

instead, the next day, we went

and bought a pair of very

unbrooke-like chairs

that for some reason, i've had my eye on.

and now,

for the past couple days,

even though we don't have a rug,

or a lamp, any accessories,

or even a chair for the desk we're

soon to replace, i've been sitting

in these flowery chairs,

so happy to be surrounded

by my cookbooks.

when i look at them,

i'm home.

*it's very important for me to note

that while i've always loved cookbooks,

my true obsession started while working

for the magazine. we were often fortunate,

receiving five copies of the same book and

getting first dibs when it was time for

a cookbook clean out. i think larry regularly

lived in fear of what i would come home with

from the office. and while i've purchased some,

many have also come from friends who have

noticed that i have a bit of a collection and

help it grow come birthday or chanukah time.

unlike an accidental, oh-i-see-you-like-peacocks-

so-here's-another-and-another collection, this

is one i truly love, take pride in and am grateful for

all the time.

rosemary focaccia

more times than i can remember,

i've thought that it would be nice

to make focaccia.

and like most things in my life,

and like most things in my kitchen,

once i did,

it was so not a big deal.

why didn't i just do it sooner?

i think it's because, although i often spend

undivided time inside the house,

the idea of having to commit to

a couple hours for first and second

rises just feels overwhelming.

and the other thing is this -

sometimes i make dinner

and it's not so great. something

just didn't come together and it's

missing a squirt of lemon juice

or an herb or it's slightly overcooked

or really, it's a recipe that was never

meant to be. and, for me?

it's unfortunate.

but, it's ok.

i make dinner quite often.

i'll just try again tomorrow.

but baking - i love it,

yet i'm so hesitant to commit.

having to face an entire so-so cake

or a dry tasteless loaf of bread

that i've spent a lot of time on

just hurts.

so, even though i made focaccia

once - in culinary school - i've always

opted for garlic bread, or no bread,

when the occasion strikes.

on sunday, though, jenn was coming

for dinner. she hadn't seen the house

since one day after we closed and

the walls were still painted crazy colors

(seriously, watermelon, brick red and pea

green do not belong in the same room.

especially when all three face a yellow hallway).

i was torn between wanting everything to look

nice and wanting to cook a great meal.

after thinking for about 30 seconds,

i went for the latter: this place,

although now decked out with grey walls,

is not nearing finished readiness. there was

little i could do in five hours to prove

otherwise. instead, i knew i should focus

on what i could potentially

make presentable: dinner.

i decided pretty quickly to try

my hand at absorption pasta, which

i've been meaning to make. normally,

i would not risk attempting a new dish

for company, but jenn knew me in college

when i would invite her over and

cross my fingers that tonight was one

of those nights that i didn't burn the onions.

but, because i was already taking a chance

on the main course, i figured this was the time

to jump in headfirst for the focaccia.

i didn't even think about it:

i grabbed a packet of yeast.

well, kind of.

i needed a recipe.

again, reviews for everything was mixed.

but, then i saw anne burrell's version.

anne burrell. i think she's kind of kooky.

and i love her.

i met her for the first time years ago.

i was working for the magazine and

often attended press events that took

me all over nyc to different restaurants

and sometimes, odd places. but, many - it

seems in retrospect - were at the

culinary loft in the city, a very cool space

with a kitchen area in the back.

in my memory, no matter who

the main attraction was, anne burrell

and her shock of blonde hair was

behind them, moving swiftly around

the kitchen - chopping, boiling,

skimming and plating - as they spoke

about their dishes. they were the face

of the night, anne was the muscle.

after the first time, i went back and

told my editor about this speedy

seems-to-do-a-million-things-at-once

woman. she knew immediately

who i was talking about.

we googled her and pulled

up a picture. from then on, while

everyone was focused on the "star,"

i found myself watching anne. when larry

put on an episode of iron chef,

i noticed that my eyes were always on her.

i just found her fast. and talented -

her food was always delicious.

when she got her show on the food network,

i knew i would watch. and i do, often,

even though i'm often amazed at how

intensely she's obsessed with food.

i mean, i love food.

and ingredients.

and cooking techniques.

and food blogs.

but anne? she takes it to the next level.

sometimes i think she forgets

cameras are there. she loves it all.

times ten.

but you know what?

it's ok. almost all of her recipes

are reviewed amazingly high.

everything that food network

fans make of hers, they love.

and that's why i knew that if

i was going to make focaccia,

i'd want to make hers.

she may be kooky.

but, she knows her food.

the recipe was simple -

water, yeast, sugar,

flour, olive oil, salt.

i wanted to add rosemary.

so here's how it went down:

the hardest part came 10 minutes

in. the flour, salt

and olive oil were sitting in the bowl

of the mixer. the yeast was very

foamy. but the recipe specifically

said to wait at least 15 minutes

before mixing the two. so, i waited.

begrudgingly.

and then, when it came time to

turn the mixer on, i stayed near.

the dough nearly rocked the

ridiculously heavy kitchen aide

off the counter. i stopped it before

it fell to the floor, but it was brutal

in its mission, taking out a measuring cup

and pushing foil to the side, in its fury.

those were the most difficult steps.

after that, the dough came together

beautifully, it kneaded without a problem

and i before i knew it, the smooth round

was sitting in a greased bowl, set off to

the side. it was at that point that i decided

that i needed to make a dessert.

that last minute activity was enough

to get me through that hour and suddenly,

it was time to press the dough

into the pan. it was at this step that i made

my one mistake.

remember that time in culinary school

that i made focaccia? our instructor told

us to load up the pan with olive oil

before adding the dough, to drizzle well

before baking. right before it went into

the oven, she told my group that ours

looked perfect. it was really, really oily.

so this time, i was determined to be

reasonable. focaccia is an oil-laden

(deliciously oil-laden) bread. but, i

didn't want it dripping. i didn't want

jenn's hands to be shiny and have

her wonder why i would serve her

such a grease trap. so i cut back from

what i thought was an overly generous

one cup to about whatever 1/2 cup

plus 1/3 cup comes out to be. and after

it was flat and rose a second time,

there was plenty of oil still dotting

the surface. so just before putting it

in the oven, i tossed on some rosemary

and sprinkles of salt, but i passed on

the extra drizzles of olive oil.

when i checked the bread at

about 20 minutes, it smelled

amazing, but it looked dull.

i wanted to add an egg wash

to make the pale crust glisten,

or maybe while i was making wishes,

go back in time and add the

extra olive oil.

but, you live, you learn and you

serve the bread next to

a salad that has maybe just a little

too much dressing so that people

can dunk their still-pretty-tasty

squares into a

balsamic-laced mixture

and pretend that that's how it

was all supposed to go down,

anyway.

rosemary focaccia

adapted from anne burrell

the only thing that i can really say is that i know this is a lot of olive oil, but that's what focaccia is - a dough that is made with the golden liquid, squished into the dough before it rises a second time and drizzled on top before baking. it's excessive. but, it's what makes it focaccia. just embrace it.

1 packet active dry yeast

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

5 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading

1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus coarse sea salt for sprinkling

1 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided

1 tablespoon fresh rosemary

fill liquid measuring cup with 1 3/4 cups warm water. sprinkle with yeast and sugar; stir to combine. place cup in warm place; let sit 15 minutes or until the yeast is foamy and aromatic.

coat large bowl lightly with olive oil; set aside.

in bowl of electric mixer, add flour, kosher salt, 1/2 cup olive oil and yeast mixture. combine on low speed just until dough has come together. increase speed to medium and mix 5-6 minutes, or until the mixture is smooth and soft. if you find the mixture to be extra sticky, sprinkle in a touch more of flour.

transfer dough to a clean lightly floured surface; knead by hand one or two times, or just until the mixture smooths out. place in reserved oiled bowl; cover with lightly greased plastic wrap and place in warm place for 1 hour, or until dough has doubled in size.

coat a jelly roll pan with remaining olive oil. turn dough out onto jelly roll pan, pressing to fit. turn the dough over to coat both sides and continue to press until the dough fits the pan. using fingers, make holes all the way through the dough. cover dough with plastic wrap. place in warm place and let sit 1 hour, or until the dough has doubled in size.

meanwhile, heat over to 425˚f.

sprinkle dough with coarse salt and rosemary. drizzle with olive oil. bake 25-30 minutes, or until the bread is golden brown. cool on rack. transfer focaccia to cutting board and cut into squares.