New Yorkers may remember back in January, 2009 (and in ’05, ’06, ’07 and ’08), there was this mystery plaguing our city. The watercoolers in Midtown offices were buzzing with workers asking the question, “Why the hell does our city smell like maple syrup?” Even our ridiculously rich mayor couldn’t figure out what was going on. Just like one may walk in the city on a hot summer day and smell wafts of trash cooking on the sidewalk mixed with sauteed onions and garlic, and possibly a hint of sidewalk vendor smoke, during this week you really smelled syrup. In fact, Gothamist blog created an awesome Google Map showing where the majority of calls and e-mails about this phenomenon came from during that time (using oh-so-cute mini Mrs. Butterworth images to pinpoint them on the map).  Also noted, was the maple syrup mystery made its way on to a segment of 30 Rock.

After a lot of investigating, it was discovered that the smell that took over the city was from a North Bergen, New Jersey (god, we really DO love Jersey, we swear) factory that produces “food flavors” (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit) and the culprit of the smell was from the processing of fenugreek seeds.  Many of you may use fenugreek in your cooking — most commonly in cooking Indian food.  But, did you know, fenugreek seeds are also one of the main ingredients used to flavor fake maple syrups (besides nasty things like high fructose corn syrup and sodium hexametaphate, a sequestering agent most commonly found in soap and photography products)? We’re not not joking here.  Yup, you learn something new every day, huh? The maple syrup smell that overtook NYC was not from an actual tree, but from a processing plant across the river. Sigh.

This summer we took a lovely roadtrip to Quebec City for a few days. Driving lazily through New York State, Vermont, and some of Canada was not only relaxing but helped us see some beautiful parts of the great Northeast. We found ourselves at a Vermont Maple Syrup Shack and picked some up. Later on in our trip, we discovered how crazy the Quebecois are for their own maple syrup.  So, yet again, we bought some Canadian Maple Syrup, curious what the flavor difference between this and the Vermont kind would be like.  Growing up on Aunt Jemima, I figured it was a worthwhile experiment to do another blind taste test  (remember our Vodka tasting?) of fake versus real maple syrup. Could we spot the fake? Would we really, really like the real stuff? Would I, GASP!, prefer high fructose corn syrup and refined fenugreek seeds to real sap from an actual tree?

I was actually nervous to eff this one up. Jonny, on the other hand had less to lose — his palate isn’t as trained to spot the fake as mine. He has only had the pleasure of getting to know pancakes as a normal weekend breakfast for the five years he’s been living here in the States. In fact, one of the first interactions he had with my mother (now his mother-in-law) was when he sat down for his first breakfast with the family and mom asked Jonny if he wanted syrup with his pancakes. Without even waiting for an answer (and in typical “Italian-American Mama” fashion) she proceeded to give a death grip squeeze to the plastic Aunt Jemima bottle, dousing his silver dollar Bisquick beauties in the fake stuff. Politely, he changed his side-to-side head-shake to an up-and-down nod saying, “Well, yes. Thank you!”. These days, he knows how to speak up to the Italian-American Mama…. it takes some practice.

So, last night we did a blind taste-test of four kinds of syrup. On the block were two American “fake” favorites: Aunt Jemima and Mrs. Butterworth.  On the “real” side were the Vermont “Dark Amber” style syrup and the Canadian Medium 100% maple syrup.  Jonny was blindfolded first and I wrote down his comments. then we switched places.  Here are some of the results of our taste test:

#1: TASTE TEST RESULTS FOR AUNT JEMIMA

Jonny’s Comments:

• “Taste like Sunday morning at Rosie’s” (that’s my mom – his mother-in-law.)
• “Not actually that bad on the whole.”
• “Caramel backnote, very sweet, burnt-flavor.”

Amy’s Comments:

• “Less chemical-tasting than #1 (later to find out was Mrs. Butterworth’s) but with an aftertaste of corn syrup.”
• “Buttery, thick and, I’m going to regret this, but I kinda like it.” (Probably because this is the crap I was brought up on!)

Jonny’s Guess: Aunt Jemima – CORRECT (+1 for Jonny)

Amy’s Guess: Mrs. Butterworth’s – INCORRECT (0 for Amy)

#2: TASTE TEST RESULTS FOR MRS. BUTTERWORTH

Jonny’s Comments:

• “Powerful nose!” (LOL – you’d think he was at a wine tasting).
• “Very sweet, more flavor than #1 (which was Aunt Jemima), more caramel flavored in the mouth.”
• “Tastes darker and thicker than some of the others – not loving this one.”

Amy’s Comments:

• “Very sweet, very familiar.”
• “Gluey, sticky and thick.”
• “Sugar and caramel in flavor.”

Jonny’s Guess: Vermont Dark Amber Maple Syrup (Oh boy!) – INCORRECT (0 points for Jonny)

Amy’s Guess: Aunt Jemima (at least I knew it was fake!) – INCORRECT (0 points again for Amy)

#3: TASTE TEST RESULTS FOR VERMONT DARK AMBER REAL MAPLE SYRUP

Jonny’s Comments:

• “Eww! Very Sugary and sweet.”
• “Tastes like the bottom of a teacup.”
• “I don’t like it at all – you need to rely on good pancakes to save that!” (Oh Jonny, you really are going to be embarrassed when you find out that you royally messed up on this one!)

Amy’s Comments:

• “More natural than the first one (Mrs. Butterworth).”
• “Less fake sweet and more natural in flavor.”
• “Almost floral in smell – this one is my favorite.”

Jonny’s Guess: Mrs. Butterworth  – INCORRECT (0 points for Jonny)

Amy’s Guess: Vermont Dark Amber Maple Syrup – CORRECT (1 point for Amy)

#4: TASTE TEST RESULTS FOR CANADIAN MEDIUM MAPLE SYRUP

Jonny’s Comments:

• “Much thinner than the others, less viscous.”
• “I really like this.”
• “No caramel flavor, cleaner in the mouth and very woody – like freshly cut pine.”

Amy’s Comments:

• “Stronger and sweeter than #2 (the Vermont Maple).”
• “Stronger flavor and thinner than 1 & 3 (the two fakes).”
• “Very nice.”

Jonny’s Guess: Canadian Medium Maple Syrup  – CORRECT (1 point for Jonny)

Amy’s Guess: Canadian Medium Maple Syrup – CORRECT (1 point for Amy)

Well, this experiment proved to be an interesting one.  I grew up with fake maple syrup and I could spot it from a mile away, unlike Jonny.  I was actually disappointed in myself for not nailing the Aunt Jemima test — that was the household favorite back in the day.  One thing that is for sure though, Jonny and I both preferred the real maple syrup.  I enjoyed the Vermont Maple best and Jonny loved the Canadian. The grades of the maple syrup may have made it harder to really do a side-by-side test of the two real ones.  Either way, it was obvious to me that there is a major difference in the texture, flavor and aftertaste of real maple syrup versus fake.  It is worth the cost to get the real deal.  A little goes a long way!  And why would anyone want to put those chemicals in their bodies just to save $9?

Some food for thought – fake maple syrup costs about $28 per gallon to produce where real maple syrup typically sells for around $100 per gallon. The fake stuff is quick, cheap and easy to make.  Why tap a tree for sap when you can make a whole fake bunch of it in something that resembles an oil refinery?

Although Jonny made a huge boo-boo by thinking Vermont Maple syrup was Mrs. Butterworth’s, he doesn’t have the years of expertise that I do. He’s actually eaten more fake syrup while living in American than real. I’d like to say he was at a disadvantage, but I’d encourage you all to seek out some real maple syrup and think twice about what’s in that $1.89 version of “table syrup” you may have been eating for years.

Next, we’re on the hunt for real NY State Maple syrup!  Check out this site if you’re interested too.

Not your average Christmas meal…

We couldn’t let this month go by without doing some sort of “holiday themed” post. We were scratching our head trying to come up with this months “Top 5″ contest thinking of such winners as, “Top 5 Most Friggin’ Annoying Christmas Tunes” and “Top 5 Christmas Sweaters Your Mom Owns” but settled on our original, and simple, idea of asking you to divulge your Top 5 favorite foods and/or drinks that you only really have around the holidays.

The first Christmas Jonny and I spent together was his first Christmas living in America. It was a bittersweet time for him because it was a reminder that he was really, really living in the US and not going home to the UK for awhile. It was also a serious reminder to him that he was stuck spending more time with my family than with his own. Not that there was anything wrong with him thinking this – my family is very loud, very loving and very crazy (in a good way?) and a quiet ‘ole Englishman would sometimes love to press the “mute” button on all of us every once in awhile if he could. That first Christmas, I thought I was pretty clear about our family’s traditions. We “do it up” for Christmas Eve dinner and our Christmas Day is basically spent leisurely opening up gifts and watching 5 reruns of “A Christmas Story” in a row only to be interrupted around 1PM by my mother screaming “brunch is on the table”. Brunch usually consists of some eggs, scrapple, pork roll, bagels and anything else that is found in the fridge. It’s nothing really that special, I guess.

This particular Christmas, I believe we all slept in. If memory serves correct, we all didn’t start opening up gifts till about 1PM and brunch was moved to about 3 or 3.30PM. After brunch we continued our normal Christmas Day which usually also involves a nap. Jonny and I awoke from our nap on the couch to find my sister also asleep and my mom and dad gone. They were invited to the neighbor’s house for dinner as were we. But Jonny was still in his “getting to know everyone” phase and, during this time, he was often treated as a specimen, being poked and prodded as though no one had ever encountered anyone from another country in their life. “So you really are English, Jonny, huh!? That’s soooo cool!”

A Ginger-Bling Would be a Fine, Strong Christmas Drink

Needless to say, Jonny didn’t want to go to the neighbors. He pouted as he looked around wondering what the frig was going on. “It’s Christmas! Where is everybody? When is everyone going to start cooking!?” I sat there unable to really understand why he was so upset, “Well, Jonny, we don’t really cook Christmas Day dinner. We have our big night on Christmas eve. I guess we could just go to the neighbors if you want to eat.” He couldn’t believe it… he began to get very irritated and sad… actually sad! As the night unfolded, we ended having our first disagreement based on our different Christmas traditions. I tried to do the best I could to make him feel better pouring him a huge glass of something strong and telling him we were going to make this work. WE were going to cook our own Christmas Day dinner. In my fantasy we’d start our own tradition. And then we looked in my parents fridge – nothing, not even leftovers from Christmas Eve dinner. We looked in the freezer – holy shit. Nothing but a ball of hamburger meat!!! And then I walked to the pantry with a desperate look on my face and there it was in all it’s glory – a can of Sloppy Joe mix. And that’s what I made my new love who moved across the ocean to be with me – canned slopply joe on toast. Why he’s still here I’ll never know. One thing I can tell you is that sloppy joe’s will NOT be on Jonny’s Top 5 Holiday Food list!

So, without further ado, I have based my Top 5 Favorite Holiday Food/Drink on the traditions I grew up with. You know, those things that only rear their head in December or only on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.

1. My mom’s kind of gross, but very delicious Crab Dip that is on the app table every Christmas Eve (recipe involves mayo, cream cheese, sherry and lump crab or KRAB if you must).
2. Chestnuts (roasted on an open fire – kidding, we’ve never done that at home)
3. Egg Nog (the processed kind that is local to the Philadelphia region – ie: Wawa brand)
4. This delicious appetizer that our good family friend always bring over that involves a dried apricot topped with nuts and some cream cheese. Not sure what the hell it’s called but it’s DAMN good.
5. Communion. Let’s be honest, the lord’s communion tastes better after 2 cosmo’s, 6 glasses of wine and 2 Sambuca’s before midnight mass.

Hey, Jonny, why don’t you chime in with your Top 5?

1. mulled wine (gluhwein/vin chaud). Nothing says Christmas to me like the taste and smell of the aromatic spices in mulled wine, not to mention that warm alcohol goes straight to your head.
2. brandy or rum butter/hard sauce: I actually hate this stuff with a passion, but again it’s redolent of the Christmases of my youth when my grandma (gawd bless her) would have a tiny piece of Christmas pudding topped with about a pint of hard sauce, and then pass out about half an hour later. Not sure whether it was the booze or the cholesterol.
3. mince pies: another English tradition, but this one I really like. there’s no mince (it’s dried fruit & nuts, sugar and spices) in a sweet pastry sprinkled with sugar. perfect combination is a glass of mulled wine in one hand and a mince pie in the other, possibly mumbling some Christmas carols and trying not to spit raisins and hazelnut bits everywhere.
4. cheddar cheese and pineapple cubes on cocktail sticks: the essential 1980s hors d’oeuvre that always seems to get resurrected at Christmas.
5. Christmas cake: again, I’m not that keen on this traditional cake of dried fruit, nuts, sugar and spice wrapped in marzipan (frangipane) and thick white icing which is left to improve for at least a month before Yule, especially since I have awful memories of taking my sister’s Barbie plate and destroying my mother’s perfectly smooth icing one year and making her cry.

Nominate and Win!
Tell us what your top five Holiday comestibles are and win yourself some hand-made sachets of mulling spices and enjoy the holidays with some spiced-up booze!

Gentle readers, please sympathize with me, for I, like a man who’s been dining exclusively on centipedes, have the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth. That this humiliation and defeat arrived, to twist a metaphor, at the hands of nothing more sinister than a pig’s foot, has only served to exacerbate these feelings of embarrassment and self-loathing.

Those of you already somewhat familiar with our body of work here at We Are Never Full may know that we are always ready to face down even the hardiest gastronomic challenges, frequently with all-to scant regard for liver, waistline and coronary arteries. It’s a kind of culinary cockiness and machismo that, strangely enough, we find so odious in TV food tools like Guy Fieri. I sincerely hope that this foolish trend, which continued during our recent trip to Montreal, has no lasting repercussions on our health.

Having heard about the restaurant Au Pied de Cochon (literally, at the foot of the pig) and its joyful, some may say reckless, use of duck and pork fat (& offal) in the preparation of traditional French and Quebecois dishes, plus several unique heart-stopping creations, we figured that it sounded like the kind of place we should visit.

“…a green salad tossed in warm, duck-fat vinaigrette and topped with a fritter of trotter mush…”

The red sign near the entrance cautioning patrons to be careful on the greasy floor should have been taken as warning, as should the glazed and listless gazes of departing patrons. Heedless, we proceeded to order the sliced tongue and the crispy PDC salad as starters. The former, which was beef tongue, sat nicely in our comfort zone. Meltingly tender and served with a butter-finished veal stock sauce and garnished with sliced cornichons for a texturally-satisfying crunch. We were intrigued by the latter when the waiter explained that it was basically a green salad tossed in warm, duck-fat vinaigrette and topped with a fritter of trotter mush. Yes, that’s right – the nerves, cartilage and natural gelatin from the pig’s foot, mashed together and seasoned, then breaded and deep-fried. Not a salad for dieters, but amazing tasting, wonderful mouth-feel, with the prince of vinaigrettes.

That we had ordered mains after this was our first major mistake, and the second was that one of them happened to be the pied de cochon with foie gras. (The fact that the other was a large tranche of foie gras with a side of poutine (more on this in a later post) barely registered.) Few are the times in my life that I have had a plate of food put in front of me and I have suddenly felt weak, timid and overawed – even at the most trying times I usually soldier bravely on before leaving the table bloated and sweaty – but, on this occasion I was defeated the moment I was served.

“…like the governor of a provincial state thrust into the spotlight of CBS News … I was suddenly way out of my depth and performed pathetically, embarrassing myself in the process.”

Never before have I even seen a plate of food that large for one person, let alone been prompted to eat it. It was gigantic. The pigs foot was large – maybe a foot long - and deep-fried, though that of itself caused little consternation as it was mostly bone, and was topped with a 4oz slice of seared foie gras, again, excessive, but perhaps not fear-inducing exactly. What really intimidated me was that the trotter sat on an inch-deep bed of creamy mashed potatoes and between two foot-long trenches – for that’s what they were – of button mushrooms and spinach in a cream and butter sauce. I would estimate there were two 6oz boxes of button mushrooms plus a cup of cream on the plate, and the whole thing must have weighed about 5lbs and could have served six adults. What was I to do in the face of such magnitude?

You’re right, I could have plowed in and tried to eat it all, and then admitted defeat gracefully later on. I could also have harangued the waiter for not giving me any idea of what a fool I was making of myself, but frankly, my spirit was broken. You see, I’ve always managed to perform creditably at the table before, even if I have ultimately been overwhelmed, but, like the governor of a provincial state thrust into the spotlight of CBS News for the first time, I was suddenly way out of my depth and performed pathetically, embarrassing myself in the process.

As these photos attest, I was barely able to make a dent in it, and in truth, it was my wife who ate the lion’s share. I had been psyched out and failed to regain my composure. Some would say, with good reason, that it was a shameful waste of food, but I prefer to think of it as a lesson in humility.

Indeed, chatting with the maitre d’ later on over calvados (one of the few things that can cut through thick layers of duck fat) I learned that this was Martin Picard, the owner’s, dastardly plan for this dish, — that no-one who orders it leaves unscarred. Everyone is dominated by it and no-one gets anywhere near cleaning their plate. So confident are they at Au Pied de Cochon of their ability to manifest gluttony so vaingloriously that they number every deep-fried pig’s foot they serve. Mine was 5141. So from now on, like a retired GI with a talisman made of shrapnel, I shall wear that number with pride and humility, in place of a hospital bracelet during the bypass surgery I expect to now need.

Au Pied de Cochon
536 avenue Duluth Est
Montréal, QC H2L 1A9, Canada
(514) 281-1114

Check out some other posts you might enjoy:

• Thursday, It’s Gloria Day
• Quickest Meal to Make… Ever – Pasta con Tonno
• Authentic Tortilla Soup
• South African Hot Toddies

So, maybe I’m trying to blame everyone and everything else for this crappy attempt at cooking. Ok, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m going to put a picture of my baking soda-less ‘cake’ here:

Delicious, right? Are you still there? Do you still love us? Could you possible forgive me for not knowing how to cook sweets? PLLLLEEEAAAASSSEEE, I’m on my knees beggin’.

Well, the next day I dusted myself off, wiped my tears and snot away and threw that flour-stained apron on for one last attempt. This time I’ll used the baking soda!! I also changed recipes. Pixie at You Say Tomato had a sweet idea to bake better and more easily – check off the ingredients you’ve used and the steps you’ve finished. Brilliant!! So, I did it. Here’s the result.

I used some Nigella Lawson icing recipe but I have to tell you that two days after I made the cake, alot of the icing actually was absorbed by the cake instead of staying on the cake. Maybe this is a normal thing and most people finish cakes in 2 days. Hey, there’s only two of us here! I was also able to use a bit more of the blood oranges from this post to color the icing a bit pink.

Anyways, I’m sure I haven’t inspired you to bake with this post, but I had to share the story of a “Girl Baker Gone Wild”. I may leave the baking to the husband from now on.

STRAWBERRY BUNDT CAKE WITH ROYAL ICING

Ingredients for Cake:

• 3 cups cake flour (or substitute 3 1/2 cups of regular flour with 1/2 cup corn starch to make 4 cups of the cake flour “substitute” – remember to only use 3 cups of it, though!)
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder (this is important, remember!!)
• 3/4 teaspoons salt
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• 1/2 cup milk
• 3 large whole eggs
• 2 egg yolks
• 1 tbsp. vanilla extract
• 1 1/4 cup unsalted butter (divided)
• 10-15 fresh strawberries, sliced and mashed with back of a fork

What to do for cake:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Generously grease and flour a 12-cup Bundt pan or tube pan. Tap out any excess flour.
2. Sift the cake flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, and salt into the bowl of a standing electric mixer.
3. In a medium bowl, using a fork, beat together the sour cream, milk, whole eggs, egg yolks, and vanilla until very well blended and smooth. Add the butter and half the egg mixture to the dry ingredients. Beat at low speed just until thoroughly incorporated. Increase the speed to high and beat for 1 minute; do not overmix.
4. Add the remaining egg mixture and beat at medium-high speed until the batter is fluffy and smooth, about 1 minute longer.
5. Throw in the sliced/mashed strawberries along with any juice that was extracted and fold into the batter.
6. Scrape the batter into the prepared bundt pan. Rap the pan on the counter several times to remove air bubbles. Bake the cake in the middle of the oven for 50 to 60 minutes, or until it is well browned, pulls away from the pan sides, and a toothpick inserted in the thickest part comes out clean.
7. Run a thin knife around the pan edges to loosen the cake if necessary, then invert onto a serving plate. Allow to cool before adding icing.

Ingredients for Icing:

• 2 large egg whites (or substitute powdered egg whites)
• 3 cups confectioners’ sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice plus 1/2 teaspoon blood orange juice (Feel free to just use 1 whole teaspoon of lemon juice if you don’t have any blood orange juice)

What to do for icing:

1. Combine the egg whites and confectioners’ sugar in a medium-size mixing bowl and whip with an electric mixer on medium speed until opaque and shiny, about 5 minutes.
2. Whisk in the lemon juice/blood orange mixture, this will thin out the icing. Beat for another couple of minutes until you reach the right spreading consistency for the cake. Should be stiff but able to run a bit down the sides of the cake.

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS YOU MAY ENJOY:

• CHESTNUT CUSTARD TART
• SWEET ANISE-FLAVORED SALMON IN A POUCH (SALMON EN PAPILLOTE)
• SOUTH AFRICAN HOT TODDIES
• GINGERBLING DRINK
• LEBANESE-SPICED LAMB OVER CRISPY PITA WITH CHICKPEAS, PINENUTS, POMEGRANATE SEEDS SMOTHERED IN GARLIC YOGURT SAUCE
• CREAMY LEMON PASTA

BMI, or body mass index, is the standard way that doctors calculate a person’s total amount of body fat vs. the ideal weight for their height. It’s quite a simple calculation of weight divided by height, but its outcome has great importance for ones’ health. Apparently, the ideal BMI is 21 which, I suspect, was the age at which my BMI was last at that number, and at which age I accurately resembled the hollow-cheeked, lank-haired student that I was. A BMI above 28 means, among other things embarrassment & shame at the beach, in clothes stores, and when faced with stairs, but more sinisterly, a greater likelihood of heart disease, strokes, kidney and liver disease, diabetes, and therefore, premature death. Chilling stuff, eh? Well, here’s the interesting thing, a BMI of 31 will have you officially categorized as obese, meaning that you can be some way shy of obesity and still be destined to cark it at an early age, which actually sucks quite badly when you think about it.

Anyway, if that hasn’t scared the sh!t out of you, and you still wish to put yourself through the frankly terrifying ordeal of calculating your BMI, the first thing you have to do is weigh yourself — something I hadn’t done in at least four years, owing to the absence of a set of scales in my home, you see, not because I didn’t want to know how much heavier I had become. I want to be clear on this point.

So, on Monday of last week – after a reasonably active weekend, fortunately – I weighed myself in the locker room at the gym sporting nothing but a towel and a furrowed brow as I tinkered fruitlessly with the slider thingy to shave off a couple of extra ounces. 194lbs. Exactly nine pounds heavier than the last time I was weighed, showing an average weight gain of 2lbs per year.

I wasn’t exactly overjoyed with this, but decided to proceed with the BMI experiment all the same. Here’s how it’s done:

• Take your weight in pounds and multiply it by 703.
• Divide the result by your height in inches.
• Then, divide the result again by your height in inches.

For example:

• My weight in pounds: 194 x 703
• The result: 136,382 / 73 (my height in inches)
• The 2nd result: 1,868.25 / 73 inches = My BMI is25.

Yes, it was anticlimactic in the end, I’ll admit. But, as with anything to do with health, it’s a great relief to find out that you’re not about to drop dead like you might have feared – at least, it seems, not from being overweight… yet. That said, there are a lot of scientists who dispute the usefulness of BMI in indicating a person’s ideal weight because it makes no consideration of an individual’s build. For instance, a heavily-muscled, yet ripped, man of medium height might have a BMI exceeding 30 but is unlikely to be at as great a risk of a heart attack as a taller person with only light muscle mass and a large gut.

And, here is the point, or at least I think so, because four years ago when I last checked, I weighed in at 185lbs. At that time, I was pretty skinny – it’s true, just ask my wife, but using the method above, my BMI would still have been 24.5. To achieve the ideal BMI of 21, I would have to weigh 165lbs or less. I stand six feet and one inch tall and am of medium-build (typical British build, if you will). So, I ask you, is 165lbs an ideal weight for someone of my height? I’d be nothing but skin and bones at that weight, some thirty pounds lighter than I am currently, and 20lbs less than when I was actually skinny. It all kind of sounds insane to me. What do you think? Should I attempt to lose those 30lbs? Should I even care about my BMI? Or, is it, in fact, just another potential source of paranoia in a world where everything you eat has some sort of warning or health risk? Being alive is starting to seem like a recipe for a sticky end…

Ever since we bought our Kitchen Aid Mixer (kneel down, bow your head in a moment of silence, please), I have only used it for one thing – making pasta. I am not a baker. I can not even pretend to be one. In fact, the other day, I thought I’d be cute and also use up some rotting fruit by making a Strawberry Cake. A-hole me left out one itty bitty part of the recipe. It was such a small part of the recipe I must’ve just skipped over it!! Butter, check. Milk, check. Sugar, check. Eggs… got it. Oven, on. After an hour of cooking, I realized my attempt to be a cute wifey failed. So I forgot the freaking baking powder!!! SUE ME. And here’s another ‘baker insiders tip” – no matter how long you cook a cake made without baking powder, it will never rise, cook properly or look/taste normal. I took a picture of the pitiful thing, but I’m too embarrassed to post it.

But I digress… I’m better at cooking. I’m better at not really having to measure things exactly. I’m better at making pasta with my Kitchen-Aid Mixer. I was craving a stuffed pasta. We had some watercress and I figured, why not stuff my rav’s with that? For the sauce I was reminiscing about the first course we had at our Italian wedding last June – it was a radicchio-stuffed pasta with a radicchio sauce. Radicchio overload? I think not. Some people are not fans of this Italian purple leaf vegetable, similar to how some just can’t stand the bitterness of broccoli di rape. Radicchio has a strong flavor and you know instantly when it’s been mixed in with other greens. It is also known as chicory and has a bit of a bitter taste. But what I love about radicchio is that it tastes delicious chopped raw, grilled with some olive oil and sprinkled with salt and a squeeze of lemon, or cooked in a sauce. Originally from the Veneto region, radicchio actually has many different looks and each type is named for the area of Italy it comes from. The version I used, and the one most common in the U.S. is radicchio di Chioggia, a town outside of Venice.

This dish worked really well together. The pepperiness of the watercress and the mellowed bitterness of the radicchio was balanced out perfectly by the creamy ricotta and, of course, the butter. For a quicker version, feel free to use wonton wrappers if you can’t make your own ravioli, but once you try making homemade pasta, you’ll realize how easy it really is!

As I was writing this post I came across a fun blog with tasty recipes called Proud Italian Cook, by linking from another favorite Greek-cuisine and beyond blog of mine, Kalofagas. Proud Italian Cook and Finding La Dolce Vita, Festa Italiana another great blog with beautiful Italian recipes and pictures, are teaming up for an event called . I thought, what a great way to spread the love and also meet some new peeps out there in food blog world, so I’m entering this recipe for the event.

WATERCRESS AND RICOTTA RAVIOLI WITH A RADICCHIO BUTTER SAUCE (Serves 4 as a Main, 6 as a Starter)

Ingredients for the Ravioli (I always use Lidia Bastianich’s Poor Man’s Pasta recipe – makes 1 pound of pasta, but I only used about 3/4 of the pound for this recipe):

• 2 cups of all-purpose flour
• 2 large eggs
• 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
• 3 tablespoons water

Other Ingredients for the Ravioli:

• 8 oz. (1 cup) of whole milk ricotta, drained
• 1/2 shallot, minced (may substitute with 1/4 onion, minced)
• 1 clove garlic, minced finely
• 1 bunch of watercress, chopped
• 1/2 cup of Parmigiano Reggiano, grated
• olive oil
• salt and pepper

Ingredients For the Sauce:

• 3/4 stick of unsalted butter
• 1/3 head of radicchio, sliced in 1/2-inch ribbons
• 1 shallot, thinly sliced (may substitue 1/2 onion, thinly sliced)
• salt and pepper
• more Parmigiano Reggiano, grated for garnish

How to Make the Ravioli’s:

1. BY HAND: Sift the flour to aerate it into a big mixing bowl. In separate bowl, beat eggs and add the oil and water to the bowl. Make a well in the middle of your flour and pour your wet ingredients into the well. Slowly incorporate the wet ingredients into the dry with a fork until it’s mixed. Knead into the bowl to completely incorporate it together then put dough onto floured board and knead for few minutes (2 – 3). Add more flour or water if it’s too wet or too dry. When it’s a good consistency and has been kneaded, allow to rest for a bit.
2. USING FOOD PROCESSOR: Use regular, large blade. Put flour in and pulse a few times to aerate. In separate bowl, beat eggs and add the oil and water to the bowl. With machine running, add your wet ingredients and run for 30 seconds. Dough will form quickly. Scrape sides of food processor if necessary. Turn dough onto floured board and knead for few minutes (1-2). Add more flour or water if it’s too wet or too dry. When it’s a good consistency and has been kneaded properly, allow to rest for a bit.
3. HOW TO ROLL OUT: Slice a 2-inch piece of your dough to roll out. Roll your dough out using a rolling pin (hope you have some muscles!) or using a pasta machine. I never let it go thinner than the 5th or 6th setting on my machine (Kitchen Aid). Put each strip you roll out on a floured surface, not touching each other. Put a floured kitchen towel on top before adding more pasta strips down on top of the others.
4. HOW TO SHAPE, STUFF AND SEAL: Depending on the shape you want will depend on how you stuff and cut your pasta. Here are a few easy ways to cut some ravioli:
   1. For circular ravioli, you can use a glass or a ravioli stamp and ‘cut’ the pasta the shape/size as the glass (I often use a glass with a 3 to 6 inch diameter depending on how big you want your ravioli). Put a bit of stuffing in the middle of the circle and wet all the side of the pasta with a bit of water. Top with another circle of pasta and squeeze all around to seal it. Sprinkle a bit of flour on the ravioli and lay on a floured baking sheet. Do not allowing each rav to touch the other made ravioli’s while they wait to be cooked.
   2. You can also put a bit of stuffing towards the bottom of the strip of pasta, then fold the end of pasta over (the way I did in this recipe), seal with a bit of water and cut around so it is more of a square shape, but the stuffing is at the bottom of one part of the pasta. Sprinkle a bit of flour on the ravioli and lay on a floured baking sheet. Do not allowing each rav to touch the other made ravioli’s while they wait to be cooked. THEY SHOULD LOOK LIKE THIS:

   

   3. Without cutting the sheets of pasta you roll, figure out how big you want your ravioli’s and put a bit of stuffing on the long pasta strip every 3 to 6 inches (again, depending on how big you want your ravioli). You will moisten the area of pasta around each bit of stuffing with some water and then lay another rolled out strip directly on top of the bottom one. Using your fingers, squeeze the top strip on to the bottom moistened strip around each bit of stuffing. Once it is sealed, use a pasta/ravioli cutter or just a regular old knife and cut your pasta from the big, long strip. This will give you square-shaped ravioli (unless you’re creative and cut it differently!). Squeeze around the sides again to make sure it’s sealed. Sprinkle a bit of flour on the ravioli and lay on a floured baking sheet. Do not allowing each rav to touch the other made ravioli’s while they wait to be cooked. AFTER THEY ARE CUT, THEY WILL LOOK LIKE THIS:

   

How to Make the Stuffing:

1. Saute your shallot, garlic and watercress in some olive oil on medium until soft. This should take about 4-5 minutes. Remove from heat and put in a bowl. Allow to cool for a couple minutes.
2. To the bowl w/ your shallot, garlic and watercress, add the ricotta, the cheese and salt and pepper. Stir until well combined. You’re done and ready to stuff your ravioli (see above). You may have some left over, or you can use it up by making more pasta!

How to Make the Radicchio Butter Sauce:

1. Boil some salted water for your ravioli’s.



2. Saute the shallot in a pat of butter for a few moments till soft.
3. On medium to low heat, add the rest of your butter. Allow to melt, but do not allow to color. While butter is melting, add your ravioli to the boiling water. They will be cooked in about 1 to 2 minutes and will float to the top when ready.
4. Once butter is melted, add your radicchio ribbons and a pinch of salt and pepper and cook only for a minute. You do not want them to completely melt, but to wilt so you can still get the strong flavor of it.
5. Add your cooked ravioli to the sauce and toss. When butter sauce has covered each ravioli, plate a few on your plate, spoon on some extra butter sauce with some wilted radicchio and sprinkle parmigiano on top. Enjoy!

SEE SOME OF OUR OTHER PASTA RECIPES:

• GNOCCHI DI PATATE WITH A BROWN BUTTER, SAGE, BREADCRUMB SAUCE
• FETTUCCINE FRA’DIAVOLO WITH CRAB AND SHRIMP
• CREAMY LEMON PASTA
• PASTA (PERCIATELLI/BUCATINI OR SPAGHETTI) AL’AMATRICIANA (ROMAN CLASSIC PASTA DISH)
• PASTA WITH LEEKS, ASPARAGUS, MUSHROOMS AND GRUYERE, TOPPED WITH A FRIED EGG
• ORECCHIETTE WITH SAUSAGE AND KALE
• PASTA WITH LEFTOVER VEG IN A CREAMY WINE SAUCE
• PASTA (BUCATINI) WITH PISTACHIO SAUCE
• PASTA WITH TUNA (Pasta Con Tonno)

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
- William Blake

Have you ever thought, as you sit red-faced, breathing shallowly, “just… one… more… bite”? Have you ever then taken that extra bite and thought to yourself — in your blood-starved brain — “maybe, after all, I could manage another one”? And, finally, upon swallowing said final mouthful and feeling a previously unknown thickness on your tongue, have you ever thought, “perhaps I’ve overdone it”? It is at this point, as your mouth slowly stops salivating, your breath becomes labored and characterized by sharp exhalations and sighs intended to revitalize your flaccid organs, and your belly feels so tight and distended that if it weren’t for the shocking quantity of food you’ve just ingested (and several other flabby bodily areas), you might resemble a starved Ethiopian child, that you begin to understand why gluttony was included among the seven deadly sins.

Such was my state of mind as I sat, gravely concerned that I might actually suffocate myself internally as my stomach pressed up hard on diaphragm and lungs, at Casa Portal restaurant in Madrid, after a meal that would make a man’s recommended weekly caloric intake appear somehow unlikely to provide sufficient nourishment. The culprit you ask? Well, apart from my own greed, gluttony and propensity to exceed normal physical boundaries, the culprit was fabada. Fabada Asturiana to be precise. The famed bean and pork stew of the Asturian mountains (Picos de Europa) in northern Spain.

As earlier posts have described, I passed a vacation several years ago traveling in northern Spain and found it to be a formative experience. The food, the landscape, the culture and the climate had a profound impact on me and have kept me returning to Spain as regularly as possible given the intervening years in which I’ve gotten married and moved to the United States. Enjoying fresh seafood, doused in garlic, parsley and olive oil, and washed down with non-carbonated local cider in the beautiful, secluded harbor town of Luarca is one particularly evocative memory. And so it was that when we were in Madrid recently I wanted to recollect these memories, so we spent most of a morning walking across the city in search of an Asturian restaurant that had been recommended to us.

Our meal began with a selection of Asturian appetizers, including a tunafish and tomato empanadilla, a whole steamed morcilla, and a large cooking chorizo simmered in cider, accompanied by chewy bread and a liter of Asturian cider. My wife was then presented with what can only be described as a pond-sized bowl of fish bisque, that we shared but could not finish. Thankfully, a pause of fifteen minutes offered some digestive respite to our already extended guts and allowed our moistening brows to cool. However, when the final assault came, it was one that an hour-long intermission would not have adequately prepared us for.

My fabada arrived in a bowl of similar proportions to my wife’s soup course, and in it, along with the delicious softened, yet still toothsome, large white beans, came half of ANOTHER cooking chorizo, half of ANOTHER morcilla, and an entire pork chop. Maternal warnings of eyes-bigger-than-belly swam in my head as I plowed in, loosening my thickly greased palate at regular intervals with an excellent Crianza from Navarre. The beans were, well, like butter, and the various pork products, each delicious and flavorful in their own way, but the star of the dish, and indeed the entire meal, was morcilla.

This blood sausage, sometimes made with rice, sometimes with grains, which we Brits would class as black pudding, is common throughout Spain and, I’m sure, is widely derided by most tourists — even those with gourmet aspirations — for being disgusting. As I began to labor through the final mouthfuls, it crossed my mind just what levels of dietary deprivation had forced the inventors of morcilla to collect an animal’s blood and congeal it with fat, salt and grains, and fashion it into a sausage for preservation and sustinence later on. In the same way, I often try to imagine the back-breaking work of so many grape-pickers during the annual vendanges as I take my first sip of a newly-opened wine, in order to better appreciate the effort and craftsmanship that goes into the things I enjoy most. However, in this instance, my reverie for Spanish food culture was interrupted (and would not return for a while) by a lack of blood to my brain, as it flooded south to my upper intestine to begin absorbing the porky appetizers of the previous half hour.

An uncomfortable period followed (I know not how long), during which my wife was kind enough to gently pat my limp hand and fan my flushed and fevered cheeks with a napkin, before I was able to even contemplate the short walk to the bathroom — the pressure having eased above was now pressuring a full bladder below. Even upon staggering back to the table and slumping ungraciously into my seat, I was unable to consider taking a glass of refreshing water so full was I. Apparently, until this point, I had been unable to articulate my suffering, but chose this moment to confess that not only might I have overdone it, but that I might also be experiencing a previously unheard of “pork overdose” that could turn out to be prejudicial to health. My wife replied pithily that at least I was advancing medical science by my gluttony.

Eventually, my bloatedness subsided enough for me to leave the restaurant and lurch slowly around the shopping district near the Goya metro stop, ashamed everytime my sagging and pallid features were reflected in a store window. And, lest, you think, gentle reader, that you might be prepared to risk a similarly harrowing experience in the daring pursuit of local specialties, you should know that as a result of my over-indulgence at lunch, I was unable to eat anything for the rest of the day and so missed an entire evenings’ worth of tapas.

If these were the immediate penalties of gluttony, the medium term ones have been even worse. I try in vain to shake off my fabada-induced weight gain each midday at the gym and, so far, I see no change in my girth. Yet, in spite of all this (self-inflicted) suffering, I still feel that it might well have been worth it. One only learns one’s limits by testing them, no?

Unsurprisingly, we have not yet had the courage to make our own version of fabada since returning to the States, though we intend to do so before winter is out. In the meantime, our good friend Nuria at Spanish Recipes Pic by Pic recently posted an authentic fabada Asturiana recipe on her site, which we will be putting through its paces just as soon as we can face it.

THIS IS AMY (the wife) TO SAY SOMETHING: The story you have just read above is not only true, but not even exaggerated. I really have never seen this man react to overeating (which we too often do, unfortunately) the way he did after consuming the fabada this day in Madrid. It was mildly hilarious, but kind of scary as I didn’t know how to say “Where can I get his stomach pumped” in Spanish. We hope to make our own fabada soon since we finally were able to find morcilla for sale in a speciality store. I’m just hoping it doesn’t have the same effect on the man this time.

If you are interested in reading more of our posts on Spain, please check out:

• The REAL Cocido of Spain
• Jamon, Jamon
• Pictures of Madrid
• Unusual Tapas We Ate in Madrid
• Tame Tapas We Ate in Madrid
• Cabrales Cheese: It’s a Bit of an Animal
• Vermut (Vermouth): Rediscovering an Old Classic
• CHORIZO, CHICKPEA AND POTATO SOUP

That day, my friend and I popped into said pub and sought something warming to take the chill off. The specials’ board told of a “South African hot toddy” – something I had never heard of. I was familiar, as many of us are, with the typical hot toddy – whiskey or brandy, with hot water, sugar and lemon juice, (and there are many variations on that theme – some including tea, some not) but this one contained brandy, hot water, ginger, rooibosh (red bush) tea, honey and lemon juice, the rooibosh tea making it particularly South African. It was delicious, simultaneously intoxicating, soothing and warming. The ginger and lemon enlivened the sense and the palate, the red bush tea is a restorative, the honey offered energy, and the brandy rounded everything out with a boozy smoothness that engendered warmth and relaxation. After two, or was it three, of them, we were ready to venture home in the cold, but instead, and very mistakenly, decided to have a go at ice-skating. We didn’t break any limbs or endanger anyone with our drunken attempts at toe-loops and salcos (we were the only ones on the ice), but when the alcohol wore off and the bruises came through, it became clear that it had been a mistake.

However, the drink really is a treat if you’ve got chill in your bones you just can’t shake, just please don’t go ice-skating afterwards. Before perhaps, but definitely not after.

South African Hot Toddies Recipe (serves two):

4oz brandy (doesn’t have to be good stuff ’cause you’re adding lots of flavor to it)
10oz boiling water
2 bags or 2tbsp red bush tea
4oz lemon juice (juice of 2 or 3 lemons)
4tbsp runny (clear) honey
2tbsp ginger root (stem ginger), sliced into thin rounds

Divide brandy, lemon juice and honey into two mugs. Toss in the ginger and red bush tea. Fill mugs up with hot water and stir vigorously until honey has mixed in and you can smell the ginger. Allow to steep for three to four minutes before removing red bush tea bags (or tea strainer with loose tea), put your feet up and enjoy!

P.S. – in case you were wondering, like I was, why it’s called a hot toddy, here’s what I found the explanation to be. During the British Raj in India, the British came upon a sweet sap, and a liquor fermented from the sap, from tropical Asian palm trees (the so-called toddy palm – genus Borassus), called toddy by the locals. The British then added this sap to their cups of tea as a sweetener, making it a hot toddy. In many cases, the fermented sap (which was alcoholic) was also added to these cups of tiffin. British sailors (who are not famous tee-totallers) picked up on this idea and began making their cups of tea in this way, substituting the sugar and their rations of rum for the toddy. Quite how whiskey or brandy became involved, I didn’t discover, but there you are, a little history with your recipe.