What to do with Farmers' Market Cipollini

So you've spent three or four or five bucks on a wee bunch of donut-shaped little Italian onions.  There's no shortage of recipes for them: baked, fried, glazed (think Ottolenghi), but these invariably require a bowlful of onions.  And who wants to spend $20 or more just for one recipe's-worth of onions?

Here's an idea that takes just a few perfect local jewels of allia, and through the magic of Italian simplicity and devotion to the very best ingredients, makes a thoroughly elegant and satisfying dinner for two in half an hour.

In addition to the onions, you'll need good quality pasta.  You want the artisanal, bronze-die, imported stuff.  I get mine at Marshalls / Home Goods for a song.  Mass-produced pasta, even Barilla, is dried at a higher temperature---that's why it's a darker color---that affects flavor and nutrition, and the smooth surface makes the sauce less apt to stick.  This is especially important for lighter, more fluid sauces like this one.

I'm a fan of Parmigiano Reggiano, although I want to point out that IT IS NOT the "Undisputed King of Cheeses," an opinion that is easily and obviously demolished by simple disputation.  But for pasta I almost always use grated pecorino cheese.  The flavor is more forte.

An assertive herb note is important here, and I went with sage from my big pot of herbs out back.  Rosemary, or a combination if the two, is also a good choice.  A sprinkling of parsley won't cut it.

This is easy-peezy.  But get the onions cooking in advance.  Remember the motto is The Sauce Waits for the Pasta!

For Two:

200g high quality spaghetti

4-6 cipollini

3 tbsp. chopped fresh sage

1/3 cup grated pecorino Romano

extra virgin olive oil

sale and pepper

Put a big pot of salted water on to boil and heat the oven to 425 degrees.

Trim the cipollini but keep the stems intact.  Cut them into wedges: quarters for small ones, Sixths for bigger ones.  Any bits that separate during cutting can be cooked in a skillet for a few minutes to soften.

Toss wedges to coat with a bit of olive oil and salt and roast in a pan on parchment paper until soft and slightly charred at the edges.  It should take 15 minutes or so but keep an eye on them. 

When the onions are done, start the pasta.

Put a sauté pan on medium heat, add a few tablespoons oil, and cook any of the separated onion pieces to soften, then add the sage and cook for a minute. Then transfer the onions from the oven to the pan and turn the heat to low

By now the pasta will be almost done.  Cook it for a minute less than the package says.  Ladle a half cup +/- of cooking water into the pan and stir the ingredients well.  Ladle another half cup into a bowl just in case and drain the pasta.

Add the drained pasta to the sauce, turn up the heat, and add the cheese gradually while tossing.  Add the reserved water if necessary to reach a creamy consistency.  Taste for salt and pepper and serve on warm plates.  Drizzle with more oil if desired

Wine?  This works with just about any Italian wine, red or white.  We drank a nebbiolo.

Science Experiment: Grapes and Bread

People who think beer pre-dates wine are numbskulls.  Beer takes effort, technology, and a recipe.  Wine, like shit, happens; all by itself.  How?  Because that white bloom you see on grape skins is actually wild yeast. 


So thinking back to the marvelous chapter Adam Real Last Name Unknown from Kitchen Confidential and it's descriptions of the degenerate baker's lexan tubs full of various dough starters  ("feed the bitch") I said to myself, self, let's see if we can make bread with flour, water and grapes.  I didn't even add salt to give the yeasts the best possible fighting chance.


I'd like to be able to say that I carefully measured everything, but like many other things I'd like to say, such as Jennifer Aniston just did my manscaping, I can't.  But this should come close and is more of a general guide.  I also saved a bit of the starter and now have my own wee bitch in a jar in my fridge, so we'll see how long I can keep it alive.


Put approximately 1 1/2 cups of AP flour in a bowl big enough to allow expansion and add UNWASHED grapes.  I used five big seedless black grapes, but you can use smaller ones I guess and just add more.  I also cut a slit in each one to let out a little juice to help the fermentation.  And here's a tip, leaving the stems on will help with extraction later.  Stir well with 1 cup of water, or more as needed; it should be rather liquid. cover with plastic wrap and let the magic happen.  It may take several hours.  Once the fermentation gets going you can stir in more and more flour until you have something like bread dough.  Once you have a nice rising dough you can do the punching down, kneading, etc.  I suggest a day or two of cold fermentation in the fridge, too.


WARNING: It's not going to have that sour, boozy smell like s. cerevisiae, but will instead seem rather . . . funky.  Don't worry and start imagining all the vile critters growing in your starter.  The oven kills everything anyway.


When ready to bake, fish out the grapes and stems (I used tweezers), make a nice round loaf and let it rise on cloth---I recommend the super peel---covered with another cloth.  Note that this dough will spread as much as it rises, it's that kinda dough.  I baked mine on a pizza stone at 450 degrees using the Julia Child water spay method: apply dough to stone, spray water on the stone, then again after two  minutes, then again after another five.  I took it off the stone and transferred it to a rack after another ten minutes so the bottom doesn't get too burned, and it cooked for another ten minutes, so say 25-30 minutes all day.  You want an internal temp of 200 degrees.  I really recommend this method.  The stone gives great oven spring and the steam keeps the crust from forming before the bread has really risen.


The crust was nice and the crumb had a very interesting texture.  It was soft and nicely colored with a few large vertical air holes in the dome.  I served it with homemade goat cheese ricotta and olive oil.  Yum.


Try it!

Felafel Fail, your oil's too hot

One of the nuptial burdens I've learned to live with is that my wife's appetite for variety meats is the barest fraction of mine.  So while I can sometimes sneak in some lengua tacos or chicken liver pate, I have to wait for her to be out of town to enjoy tripe, kidneys, tendon or other nasty bits.  But it was a surprise to learn that she's no fan of falafel either.  None of this diminishes my affection and commitment, but it does limit my practice sessions with this deceptively simple preparation. 


One thing I have learned over time is that success is not so much about the recipe but the technique.  No great epiphany, I suppose, since that's almost always the case.  But instead of obsessing over dried fava vs dried ceci, cilantro to parsley to mint to whatever ratios, or whether or not to use scallions, onions or both, I have focused on the actual frying. 


After numerous batches of charred, bocce-worthy falafel balls, I have come to the conclusion that when it comes to falafel frying temperature, lower is better.  Incidentally, this is a concept I've been warming to (pun intended) for some time.  From Robuchon's seminal cold-start frites to a growing availability of science-based information: the old saw about "high temp good, low temp greasy" is getting shopworn.  Furthermore, unlike breading, batters or just raw protein, things like herbs and spices and alliums---the stuff that falafels is made of---can just plain BURN in hot oil.  So forget the 350-375 degree world of overdone, bitter---and yes, possibly greasier---falafel.  Be like Fonzie, and cool it down to 300-325 degrees for the best results.