Boots in the Oven

IMBB #22: Klaatu Pasta Nikto

Recently, on a dark and bitterly cold Tuesday morning, I was inducted into a Secret Society; a Society shrouded in flour and water and sometimes eggs. Yes my friends, I was tapped to join the Noodly Brotherhood.

I showed up dressed in black (with a small white towel… and a tiny apron, fine) in the back of Vespaio – the finest Italian restaurant in Austin. It was 5 a.m., the mythical Pasta Hour. I can’t delve too deeply into details dear readers, but in a multi-hour affair we were anointed with truffle oil, the air was perfumed with burning bay and sage and we were flogged with sheaths of winter wheat, the hardest of the wheats, as you know. And the kneading- oh the kneading was copious and intense. There was also an olive race, but of this I shall not speak.

Painful theatrics aside, I have had the pleasure of hand-making pasta “professionally” for the last few months. Really I’m somewhat of a pasta-whore as I have a borderline unhealthy affinity for the stuff and have been known to do strange things to obtain it. Such as getting a job, making pasta.

Pasta making in a restaurant does have several benefits however. One is that we own a huge pasta machine with the Roller of Doom “Bane of Fingers and Scourge of Board Scrapers”.

The upside being that this industrial beast makes it possible to work dough made of durum flour; a chore that by hand is virtually impossible. The durum gives the finished product a great bite and a particularly nice mouthfeel- closer to the dried pasta you buy rather than the softer homemade varieties.

Another of the perks of this new job is that we end up throwing out a lot of scraps. So on occasion I rescue a few of the stragglers destined for dustbindom and bring them home for a new life of deliciousness. On this particular IMBB occasion, I introduced them to a happy passel of clams and they all hit it off quite nice as Spaghetti alle Vongole.

I’m not a cookbook, so I’m not going to get all numbery and specific with you. I pretty much made it up to fit my tastes and those of the incomparable Mme. Pants. I’ll give you a “so’s it was kinda like this” rundown, though:

Buy some fresh smallish clams. Figure 2/3 to 3/4 of a pound per person. I put them in about a gallon of water with a couple teaspoons of salt added and kept them in the fridge for an hour to purge. Does this help? Hell if I know, but it makes me feel better. And give them a quick scrub before you use them. That’ll make everyone feel better.

Heat up some butter and oil in skillet. Remember, it’s all going in the sauce so only use as much as you want to eat later. Sauté some chopped garlic, a couple pinches of chili flake, and a few torn basil leaves. Give it couple of minutes without harassing it.  Check your salt.  Always keep checking your salt.

Now deglaze with white wine. Add a can of peeled whole tomatoes that you’ve crushed roughly. Add a cup of stock, preferably seafood, but whatever. Reduce it for ten minutes or so.

Toss in your cool, shiny, freshly brushed clams and a tablespoon of cold butter. Cover the whole crazy, good smelling pan with another skillet or a pie pan or some foil or something MacGyverish that you build out of thumbtacks or some such.

Let it steam for five minutes or until your clam friends open up. Dump in your drained, perfectly al dente noodles. Toss them with the shellfish and sauce and let them all get to know each other for a couple of minutes.

Garnish with parsley and fresh pepper. Serve it up. It’ll make you friends.

And here's a closer look 'cause i know you want one.

As a special bonus addendum to all you people that made it to the end (you probably watch movie credits too) I’m including one of the best, most freaking awesome appetizers of all time. You guessed it, Fresh Mozzarella Grilled on Lemon Leaves. I just can’t get too much capitalization.

It’s super easy. Wipe some clean lemon leaves with olive oil. Put a small piece of fresh mozzarella and a touch of garlic on top. Grill until the cheese melts. Squeeze on a few drops of lemon juice and that’s good antipasti. Booyah.

-L. Pants

Tagged with: IMBB # 22 + Noodle

(And my goodness - Amy already has the roundup up! Here is a link to see the rest of the tasty entries.)

A Million Little Pieces

Our first year of college, we went through what has apparently become a rite of passage these days - getting arrested in the depressing freshman dorms by a campus rent-a-cop for underage drinking.  Fun.  Part of our "sentence" was visiting four AA classes, where we met people who were afraid to give their children cold medicine when they were sick because it might send them into a downward spiral of addiction and death.

Oooh-kay.  This succeeded in making us little offenders more sure than ever that we didn't have an alcohol problem.

So, when I heard about James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, my disinterest was epic.  And, even if there had been a smidgen of interest in reading this book, this review would have crushed it.  (Warning - that  review, while HYSTERICAL, is kinda profanity-laden.)

And now we find out that it's mostly lies.  Mostly.  So, I did good by not reading it.  I usually don't clap myself on the back for NOT reading a book, but this time, I think I will.

-girlie

I give up on numbering honeymoon posts. So, here's the one about leaving Positano.

While I think we would have been happy staying at the Villino delle Orchidee (good pictures of the little villa at that site, by the way) for years, we stupidly only rented it for a week.  On June 12th, it was finally time to leave Positano.

That morning, we packed up.

I am so proud of my modular packing!  Don't even get me started.  I can seriously wax rhapsodic for way longer than you'd care to listen about the merits of different packing systems.   Of course, now that I've discovered solid shampoos and conditioners from Lush, my packing is going to be even better!  Because I can escape the tyranny of the bottle! 

Flush with pride after a successful packing, it was time to clear out the kitchen.  For the most part, this meant finishing off the last little dregs of various liqueurs.

It's a tough job, but we couldn't have left that behind, you know?  Plus, it did make the trip from peaceful little Positano to crazy-ass Naples and then to slightly less crazy Rome less stressful than it otherwise could have been.

We strapped on our backpacks, took a couple farewell pictures of the apartment, grabbed the trash, and headed out the door.

I was almost, but not quite, sorry to see the last of the crazy stairs.  Of course, at the time I was unaware of Santorini's fairly stair-centric nature... but let me remain blissfully unaware for another day, 'kay?

We had our best view of Mt. Vesuvius yet, on our way to Naples to catch our train to Rome.

Though our first couple of days in Rome had been fairly cool, it seemed like summer had finally arrived - with a vengeance.  The train from Naples to Rome was ridiculously hawt.

Shiny girlie!

On the Rome end, our hotel was just a couple of blocks from the train station.  This was good, because we were catching a train pretty early in the morning to get to the airport - but also not so good, in that the area is apparently the toilet of greater Rome.  Oh, did it smell like pee... wheuuuu! 

We passed this sign on the way to our hotel.

I just took a picture of it because I grew up near the University of Chicago, so his was a name I actually heard a lot when I was a kidlet.  After I got back home, I found out that my grandparents were actually good friends with his widow!  (it's a small, small, world...)  For my feeble attempt at a translation, click on the picture.

Thankfully, the pee smell stopped at the gate of our hotel.  Praise Somebody!  (probably the hotel's proprietors?)

The hotel (hotel pavia) was nice, with a great location for our needs.  I'd stay there again.

Plus, it had a sweet view out the back, of what we're pretty sure are the baths of Diocletian.

We settled in, then debated over where to go eat dinner.  With only one night left in Italy before leaving for Greece, we really wanted to have a great meal.

Alas, we were to be disappointed.  The place we went, Arancia Blu, made us very, very sad.  The service came with an extra side of snoot, which we didn't order - I think it may have had something to do with the fact that we tried to order house wine, in a place that had a very extensive wine list on which they really prided themselves.  Or perhaps it was because everyone in there seemed to know all of the waiters and the sommelier, and we didn't.  Or maybe it was that the food tasted like hardboiled ass.  ('scuse my language.)

Whatever the reason, the meal was really disappointing.  Arancia Blu is supposed to be some of Rome's most innovative, and tastiest vegetarian cuisine, and it nowhere near lived up to that billing.

Of course, that was not the last time on our honeymoon that we were to be really disheartened by a meal.

We left Italy for Greece the next morning, and we were definitely sad to be leaving Italy behind.  Leaving just made us more determined to make it back, sooner rather than later - and we're working on it.

girlie

Italian Election Posters

While we were in Italy on our honeymoon, it happened to be election time for the EU.  This led to some interesting conversations with cabbies about the merits of Berlusconi.  It also meant that we got to see some terrific posters with giant pictures of, for the most part, hopeful-looking middle aged men. 

I couldn't help but be struck by how different most of the Italian politicians (at least in the area where we were staying) looked from our run-of-the-mill 'Merkan guyz.  We really saw some killer unibrows!  (Here is where I admit that I know pretty much nothing about Italian politics.  I better get to remedying that!)

I think the backdrop on this poster is pretty kewl.

girlie

Happy Birthday, Benny Boy!

I just found out that I missed Ben Franklin's birthday!  So, let me slip under the wire and wish the gentleman a happy happy.

I'm sure a lot of people are quoting his pithy sayings about those who sacrifice freedom to preserve liberty deserving neither, or perhaps the little chestnut about beer being proof that G-d loves us and wants us to be happy, but I think I'll go in this direction:

One good Husband is worth two good wives; for the scarcer things are, the more they're valued.

All you menfolk out there - I think you just got burned by Ben Franklin!  And he's 300 today, so I'm pretty sure he knows whereof he speaks.

(and kisses to you, husbear - you're definitely worth any two of my wives.)

girlie

Luna de Miel 7 - Capri

Normally, I hate the idea of a tour group.  We saw them everywhere in Europe, groups of people clumped together (yet somehow taking up whole streets), all wearing the same color shirt, following a chirpy person holding a giant umbrella, or large walking stick, or klieg light.

But, we really wanted to go to Capri!  We were running out of time in Positano, and Capri was RIGHT THERE, and we couldn't just leave the Amalfi Coast without heading over that way. 

There are several little stands down by the water in Positano, staffed by people wanting to jam you into a boat with 50 of your closest friends and then throw you off onto a crowded dock.

We talked with all of the tour operators going from Positano to Capri, and eventually settled on a small boat, with tours kept under 15 people.  (I think the tour was operated by Gennaro e Salvatore - there's actually a picture of a very similar boat to the one we were on if you follow that link.)  We made reservations for later in the week.

And it was GREAT.  Seriously one of the best days we had on our honeymoon.  We relaxed on the deck of a smallish boat, or possibly ship (yeah, not really nautical over here) and headed out to Capri with 6 other people - two British couples and a mother/daughter duo from Queensland.

Our tour guide was named Frank.  He told us that part of the secret of Italian cooking is to put a laurel leaf in everything, and it wasn't until we got to Santorini that we found out that laurel = bay leaf.  Dur.

He was a wonderful tour guide.  First we went through Capri town, tromping through gardens and oohing and aahing at beautiful buildings.

It seemed like there were actually more flowers (especially bougainvillea) in Capri than there were in Positano.

We didn't have too much time to spend in Capri town - but that was fine, as it was ridiculously crowded with giant tour groups.  I would definitely like to go back there and stay for a couple of nights, since it seemed like the island was sagging under the weight of all the day-trippers - it would be really nice to see the island at night.

We did go on a lovely hike, though.  Capri changes from town to rugged landscape with astonishing rapidity.

These fingers are really interesting - on the furthest one out (far left in this photo) lives a species of lizard found nowhere else.  Plus, you can take a boat through them, which we got to do!

We had a little time on our own, which Husbear and I used to hunt down and purchase Capri's famed basil liqueur, in a shop that had signs in Italian, English, German, and Japanese.  Good liqueur, though.

Since the tour was to Capri, we had to go to the blue grotto, right?  And we did.

And we took a really crappy picture of it.  If you were looking at this picture and thinking, "Hey, now I don't need to go to Capri, because I've already seen the blue grotto in all its majesty," well, you're wrong, though thank you!  True, you do pay an extra ten bucks to get in a little rowboat, and you have to lay down in the boat to go through the small hole that serves as the entrance to the grotto, but oh my god, was it completely amazing.  I went into a cave in Israel that was similar, but they had a constructed walkway with a railing and everything.  Somehow, in this grotto, even though you were surrounded by other rowboats full of people, it felt completely peaceful, and like it had always been like this.  And one of the girls we were with got to jump in (!) where she turned ghostly blue.

It was great.

After the blue grotto, we climbed back in the boat and headed over to the less famous, less touristed green grotto.  (I don't think there's a red grotto, or chartreuse, but if there was I would totally go.)

There's a cave-beach in there that you can swim to.  We all stripped down to our bathing suits and jumped in the water.  I was probably thirty feet or so (?) from the boat, when I felt something brush against my hand - I looked down and saw a little floaty pillowy tentacly thing, and then my hand started burning.  Lots.

I looked over to where the other people were swimming while also simultaneously treading water and trying to grow eyes on every side of my head, and noticed they were all heading past me to the boat rather quickly, all of a sudden.  Cries of "jellyfish!  Oh crapcrap ouch whatthehell!" may have been heard, and there could have been some frantic splashing.

I don't think I've ever swum a creepier thirty feet, desperately not thinking about where the jellyfish were, if they were moving fast, how many of them there were, and whether they were between me and the boat.  Luckily, I didn't get stung again - but once on my hand was enough.  Husbear got a good sting all the way across both of his shins.

The boat was prepared for a problem like this, meaning that at least we didn't have to pee on ourselves to stop the stinging pain (though now I hear that may not even work!).  They had a bottle of ammonia - yay!  We sprayed ourselves liberally and settled in for the ride back to Positano, where I couldn't get my hand wet for a few days without that weird stinging sensation returning.  Husbear toughed through, that psycho.

Jellyfish notwithstanding, I totally want to go back to Capri.  I feel like I was only there barely long enough to get a little taste of why people flock to the beautiful island.

girlie

Runon sentences and falling heads

I was going to come home today and post a little story about how I went out for Chinese for lunch, and a guy came in and ordered vegetable fried rice and asked them to put chicken in it, so the waitress said, you want chicken fried rice? and the guy said, no, vegetable fried rice with chicken added, so the waitress said, sure, that'll be an extra dollar, and the guy said ok, and as the waitress walked away he said - actually, think you could add some shrimp, too?

Some people.

Like I said, I was going to post that story, and what's more, actually make an attempt to make it fun to read, but then I went to this blog and found this game with all the crazy falling heads and it doesn't have a pause, at least that I can find and I CAN'T STOP PLAYING IT WHY CAN'T I LEAVE THE COUCH?

Warning - don't click on the link to that game if you have any plans for, say, the next six hours or so.

-girlie

Why I Sympathize with Online Daters

So, OK Cupid, that site I signed up for to take that politics test?  It's also a dating/meeting friends kind of site, so they sent me a list of 10 people living in our general geographic area, just to look at.

This list really makes me feel for people who turn to online dating.  I'm sure there are plenty of lovely people on these sites, but it looks like you may have to sift through thousands of toadyfrogs to get to one princelyfrog.

Here are some examples, from the list I was just sent:

I spend a lot of time thinking about: various things. I love thought and analyzing things.  (ooh, deep.  I'm sure this person is a great conversationalist, as long as you want to talk about things.  And stuff, perhaps.)

The most private thing I'm willing to admit here is: As a man, I admit i'm vulnarable. I'm a big dude, and people don't take the time to know you, they judge you. I love beutifull women to, and i'm not gonna settle for something, just to fit the status quoe. (sigh.  I'm not certain what this means, but I can tell you this is certainly one person who could have benefited from a spell-check.)

My self-summary: I'm Christian. I consume Dungeons and Dragons and Beer at My Apartment. (wow.  This guy really knows how to get a lady all het up.)

My self-summary: Im a lover and a fighter. I enjoy existential reads and the deep dark prose of camus, satre, nabokov, kerouac and burroughs. I'm a blissful companion, but slowly tire of shallow aquantences and court either the feverent thinkers or the pang of introversion. (huh?  This illustrates the intersection of thesaurus and lack of dictionary.)

My self-summary: What do you call a 23 year-old guy who still owns a lightsaber ? ..Who wears a kipa and a prayer shawl even though he wasn't born of Jewish blood? ..Who wears more black than a Catholic priest? ..Who actually considers himself a priest ? ..Who speaks in tongues? (backs away slowly)

To be perfectly fair, I have no idea what I would write in an online dating questionnaire, but I'm pretty sure I'd make an effort to 1) proofread and 2) not sound completely insane.  Of course, each of these people answers a lot of questions, and I'm sure ok cupid has just pulled out the dumbest answers they gave.  Right?

I'm sure there are plenty of lovely folks out there, who turn to online dating to meet people, and now I have to say just how much I'm pulling for them over here!

girlie

Stock It to Me Baby

A while back I had the unfortunate pleasure of eating dinner at a friend’s house who spent almost an hour preparing a lovely risotto. When he finished, it looked delicious, but due to a regrettable lapse in judgment he used reconstituted bullion cubes for the broth so the whole thing tasted like some sort of weird, overly salty, canned ramen thing. Not tasty.

Trust me people, there’s just no substitute for homemade stock. Sure there are plenty of substitutes for sale, but calling a pig’s ass a bar of gold ain’t gonna help you pay off your mortgage any sooner (or insert your own appropriate colloquialism here).

It’s just so easy and so cheap. And once it’s made you can just whip up a soup, stew, or gravy, make rice and polenta tastier and hook-up paellas and risottos like they deserve. That’s right. Homemade stock just delivers the goodness.

And it’s not like there’s some super secret recipe. Say you want to make veggie stock. Take a big pot, chop up some vegetables (onions, carrots, garlic and celery are staples, but feel free to throw in things like leeks, mushrooms, turnips and such) toss in a bay leaf and a few peppercorns and add enough water to cover the top by several inches. Turn it on low heat and let it simmer uncovered for a few hours. Skim off any gunk that accumulates on top. Strain.

Want chicken stock? Same thing, but toss in some chicken bones, necks, wings, whatever you’ve got and add a few less vegetables. Tough huh?

Afterwards, you can freeze it in bags or ice cube trays and it keeps for a good long time, but odds are you’ll use it up pretty fast.

See, if you have your own stock lying around, a leek, an egg and some old bread turns into this fantastic egg poached in leek soup dinner. I know you’re jealous, but with just a little effort on your part, you too can have the awesome power to turn things into delectably scrumptious other things.

Oh, I couldn’t resist putting up the salad we had with the soup. Avocado, green onion and spiced pecans. You can’t beat a good salad.

L. Pants

Who knew?

Well, I learned something today.  Apparently, I'm a socialist?

Huh!

You are a Social Liberal (70% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (11% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Who knew?  It's pretty simplistic, but fun nonetheless...

girlie