Lasagna Part Deux

I'm learning the art of winning friends by cooking for them.  This weekend I made a batch of lasagna for my friend Lynne as a belated housewarming/Superbowl gift.  This morning in my email box I found such tickling statements as "Truly that was the BEST lasagna I've ever eaten" and "everyone raved about it."  And at the end was a plea for the recipe.  Well!  If one person thinks it was that good, then maybe others will too.  I've spent some time honing my vegetarian version of this dish, so if you're looking for a change of pace from the old ground beef game, then give this a shot.

The way to make veggie lasagna is start about four or five individual cooking projects (make this recipe, by the way, on your day off-- it ain't no 30-minute meal).  At the end each of these projects will come together, each its own layer.  Work on each project as simultaneously as you can.  As you develop your technique you'll be dancing like a prima ballerina from one burner to the next, to the cutting board, to the cuisinart, and back again.  It's really fun.

*Sauce.  Dice one onion and garlic to taste and saute in olive oil.  After a few minutes, add one large can of tomato sauce (cheap stuff=fine) and one can of diced tomatoes.  Season to taste with pepper, oregano, thyme.  Do not add salt!  Those canned tomatoes are very salty already. (Although Lynne, you might need a 1/4 cup of salt or so here...)  The key ingredients of yumminess: a splash of red wine, and a pinch of sugar.  Let simmer.

*Pesto.  This element is optional, but well worth the effort.  Wash and pluck the leaves from a large container of basil (my store sells them in large tubs).  Place leaves in the waiting Cuisinart and add two cloves of garlic (don't need to chop 'em), a large splash or two olive oil, about 1/4 c. pine nuts, two big pinches grated parmesan, salt and pepper.  Blend till a thick paste (add a little water if it balls up).

*Veggies.  Thaw two 10 oz. boxes frozen spinach.  This is one of the few cases where frozen is better than fresh.  Trust me; I've tried it with fresh leaves and they come out like bloated dental floss nestled between the noodles.  Rather unappetizing.  When totally de-thawed, squeeze spinach as dry as you can through paper towels.  [If you really want to waste not want not, reserve the squeezed water for future pasta or rice water, or soup stock.  There's some major nutrients in that green juice.]

Also, chop whatever fresh veggies you want.  A couple zucchinis, halved lengthwise and sliced.  Sliced mushrooms, squash, artichoke hearts, grated carrot.  Chop what you love.

*Cheese.  Mix one large (not huge) container of ricotta cheese with two eggs, a couple pinches of parmesan, salt, and pepper.  If you have made pesto, stir it in too.

Grate a whole wedge of fontina cheese.  It's more expensive than mozzarella but infinitely tastier, and not at all rubbery like our childhood pizza friend, Mozz.  The fontina's too good to waste between the layers, so save it all for the top.

*Assembly.  Spoon enough sauce on the bottom of the baking dish (at least 9x13) to create a thin layer.  Lay out enough no-boil lasagna noodles side by side to cover the whole surface, but don't let the noodles overlap.  Spread half the ricotta mixture on top of the noodles.  Sprinkle half the spinach.  Do another layer of noodles.  Spread another layer of sauce.  Sprinkle your veggies.  Are you getting the idea here?  Continue the layering till the ingredients are gone or the dish is full, with the idea that dry and wet ingredients should alternate.  Make sure the last layer of noodles is covered with sauce so they don't dry out, and then sprinkle all of the fontina cheese over the top.  Bake, covered, at 375 for 45 minutes.  Uncover and bake 15 minutes or so more, until cheese is browning at the edges.

Phew.  That's a large recipe, sorry.  I'll be as succinct as I can when describing the ideal side dishes

Salad.  Garlic bread.  Red wine.

A Day in the Life

I had what you might call a synchronous moment the other day.  I was peevishly scanning through radio stations; on the hour-long drive to Portland on Sunday, NPR was inexplicably out-- its normal station had been replaced by a dull static and it was bookended by a Christian call-in show on one side, and some Spanish crooner on the other.  Not to sound narrow minded or anything, but I never listen to anything but NPR on the radio, and without wasting my time or yours in trying to explain why that is so, I will just skip that and say that I certainly didn't plan on finding anything of remote interest while pounding the Tune button.

Then I heard the unmistakable harmonies of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, in what had to be a Beatles song, only one that I had never heard before.  I stopped my channel surfing at once.  The song soon ended (before I had the wisdom to pay attention to some of the lyrics, so I could find out later what it was), and the announcer came on with his honey-voice, welcoming me to the Beatles Basement, and declaring the purpose of the show to be in honor of Sir George Martin's 83rd birthday.  It took me a second to remember who George Martin was-- ah yes, the producer of all the Beatles records-- and I almost changed the channel again.  But then I thought, hmm, well, might as well listen to some classic old Beatles songs.  Even if you never need to hear "Hey Jude" again, you can still always manage to hear it one more time.  Better than fire and brimstone, any day.

Then a clip of Martin speaking came on, and he told a story about how John approached him before the making of Let it Be and said, "We're not going to need any of that production crap on this album."  Apparently John wanted each song to be an organic whole, recorded and preserved in its integrity from beginning to end.  And so Martin obligingly went home.  Only problem was, Sir George recounted, sometimes it would take 20, 50, even 75 takes before they'd get a song right, if they got it right at all.  Which of course did not exactly lead to harmony within the recording studio.  By the time they shelved the project (out of frustration maybe?), Paul called George Martin and asked him to come back.  The product of Martin's return was Abbey Road.  Of course, I was transfixed.

So when "Day in the Life" came on, I heard the song with brand new ears.  And hearing a Beatles song, especially a really good one, for the first time, is a pretty shattering experience.  The hairs on my arms stood up on end.  First John's ghostlike and melancholic lines, "I read the news today, oh boy..." and then Paul's perky piano interlude: "Woke up, fell out of bed... ."  What an incredible song!  I will confess, that by the time that intense piano chord is struck at the end, my chin was quivering a bit.

But I think the experience was enhanced by the fact that it was the Sunday morning of what was turning out to be an awesome weekend: I went for a great hike with a new friend, Adam and I went house-hunting, we had some other new friends over for dinner...  It's like I was being escorted right into a new life that was very excited to have me.  New house, new friends, new town.  And then, right when I'm rushing headlong into the future, here are The Beatles all over again.  Those four Liverpoolians did no small work of flooding my mind with the existential blasts of childhood.  If my metaphor isn't too irritating, I'd like to venture that life is a little bit like lasagna.  There's old stuff, that you love so much.  You know, like The Beatles, and listening to their records with your little sister when she was so young and cute, and being in that old house that you can still smell and imagine but will never see again.  But the new stuff piles on, and you forget about the old stuff for the most part, but sometimes at very well-timed moments all that new stuff sort of comes to a head to make you love the old stuff that much more.  Funny thing is, I'll probably look back at these crazy novelties one day and have a little sniff of nostalgia.  And there might even be a Beatles song playing.  But anyway, what I'm trying to say is, and the reason I sort of weirdly mentioned lasagna at all in the first place: it's all about the layers.   

The Improvisational Kook

So when you're fourteen and a freshman in high school and you're looking around at all the candidates for your life-long best friend, my advice is that you choose someone who is very creative and generous.  Trust me, it really pays off.  After many years of hard work, you can actually trick this person into thinking that you're worthy of her attentions, and she'll start to give you some incredible stuff.

As if walls full of art work, and several rad pieces of handmade or hand-silkscreened clothing were not enough, my well-chosen friend Hilary sent me this book for Christmas.  It is, as usual, handmade-- and when I say handmade, I mean bound and designed by HAND.  This ain't no gussied up storebought sketchbook.  Anyway, in the words of the author, here is the thesis of the creation:

A cookbook!  Or should I say Kookbook?  I have always enjoyed the syntax of Hilary's recipes-- I've got a few treasures from years past, and it's really fun to laugh while cooking at phrases like "splashies of tamari" and "lemon of 1 juice."  This book is no exception in the creative descriptions department, but it is also so so much more.  Look at these pages for example.
Beautiful!  In her characteristic style, she mixes and matches drawings and prints.  How appropriate that recipes are the newest addition to her amalgamation of media; if any of you have ever eaten something that Hilary has cooked, chances are you've swooned and asked, "What's IN this?"  But like any true creative, Hilary shuns precise measurements and instructions.
There are as few numbers and quantities as possible, which can be a bit unnerving for a Virgo cook like me.  But the principle is sound: she wants you to trust yourself and your ability to think of the meal as a balanced composition.  Why should some recipe-writer miles away from one's own town and life and tastes know any better how to assemble your dinner?

And so I started with two of the recipes and ran with them.  It's what Hilary would have wanted.  I made the "Marinated and Baked Tofu" (soy sauce, ginger, garlic, sesame and olive oils, pepper, chili flakes, lime juice-- that was my version, not Hil's) and cubed it up and threw it on top of "Taylor's Favorite Salad," which is now also Megan's Favorite Salad as well.  (Hilary, was this inspired by The Bangkok from Savor?)
It's a pretty basic salad-- lettuce, tomatoes, cukes, carrots, lots of cilantro, green onions, but it stands out in three ways.  One, the aforementioned tofu, especially if it's eaten while still warm.  Two, a lovely and spontaneous sweet and salty Asian-flavored salad dressing composed of orange and lime juices, soy sauce, oils, ginger, honey, and other stuff probably too that you can find if you rummage around.  And three, a crunchy nut topping akin to crack cocaine in its addictiveness.  I got a little wild with my nut topping too-- I threw some honey roasted peanuts, coconut, and cashews into the mortar and pestle and pounded them into a rough crumble.  And as you can see, I did not use sparingly.
It was so delicious!  Adam wasn't feeling well and only ate a bite or two of his before going to bed early, so after inhaling mine I polished his off as well.  I'm not proud to admit it, but I mention it as a testament to the deliciousness.  There are lots of leftover salad makings, so tonight I'm going to make it again, only this time I'm going to top it with Chili/Tamarind shrimp.  Drooling yet?

Here's one last excerpt from Hil's book.  Don't forget the peeper!

Another Old Standby

Back when I lived in Santa Fe, I had the great good pleasure of having The Best Neighbors Ever.  And, yes, by those capital letters, I mean to say that it's official.  They are the best.  Ever.  Among the many things that Doug and Jenni did to support, entertain, counsel, and just all around make us feel good, they also had us over for dinner.  And since you know that the most direct route to my heart is through my stomach, I thought it was very cool that our neighbors took it upon themselves to feed us every once in a while.

And one evening Jenni whipped up some of her Curried Red Lentils.  I immediately requested the recipe, and I've been making this lovely, simple dish once every few months ever since.  Since Jenni was so cheerfully willing to part with the How-To, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I shared it with you here.

In order to keep this recipe as UN-time-consuming as possible, here's what you can do the night before.

--Cook enough rice to yield 2 or 3 cups (with, as Jenni suggested, but I've never been willing to spring for it, a pinch of saffron) and just leave it in the pot with the lid on in the fridge.

--Chop one small or half a large onion, a clove or two of garlic, a red bell pepper (and I threw in a couple ribs of celery for the first time tonight), and store in the fridge.

When you want to eat,

-- Saute your chopped veggies in a splash of evoo "until softish," as Jenni writes in my recipe book.

--Rinse a cup or so of red lentils, add to the pot with the veggies, and add water to cover.  You can add more water as it cooks down, if you like.  You'll find the consistency that you dig after you make it a couple times.

--While it simmers add any or all of these spices: curry*, s&p*, cumin*, coriander, allspice, turmeric, and tonight I thought "What the Hey," and I tossed in a little cinnamon and ground cloves.  *= most important.

--As the lentils are cooking, add a couple tablespoons of water to the rice, and re-heat on a low burner.

--When lentils are tender and spices are adjusted, serve spooned over rice.

--Garnish with yogurt, chopped parsley or cilantro, and a small squirt of Bragg's Liquid Aminos or soy sauce.

Not only is this recipe utterly delicious and fantastically easy, it reminds me of friendship.  Here's to that!