Bucatini in Ragu di Salsiccia

This is a post that starts with a book, which is only right given my real news of the week. 

The Geometry of Pasta is a book I had coveted for quite a while, and even put on my Christmas wish list one year. But nobody took the bait until the following year, when C. gave it to me, because she loves me and because she knows what kind of dinners would result. The idea behind the book, and behind a lot of Italian cooking, is that certain shapes of pasta belong with certain specific sauces for very important, math-based reasons. Orecchiette, for example, go wonderfully with crumbled sausage and chopped broccoli rabe, because the bits of meat and vegetables nestle into the ear-shaped pasta. Some sauces cling better to a pasta with ridges. Some pastas work best with rich, oily sauces. In short, the reason Italian menus so often look the same is that there is a Right Way of Doing Things. The Italians might not be as rigid in their culinary techniques as the French, but there is still quite a lot of thought behind all those traditional recipes. And this book explains the process.

I appreciate when there is a Right Way of Doing Things in the kitchen, but as often as not, knowing the Right Way just provides me with the ammunition to do things My Way and still get a good dinner out of it. Which is what happened here. I had a box of bucatini, and a pile of tomatoes, and some sausage. Bucatini, I learned, is traditionally served with an amatriciana sauce, but all the other ones on the approved list were equally rich, even if they weren’t meat-based, and often had a base of tomatoes. So I flipped around, found a recipe intended for gnocchi, and voila*, bucatini with sausage ragu. 

Begin with some sausage links. Brown them in oil, in a hot pan, and then remove to a plate. It’s ok if they haven’t cooked through, because they will later. Slice them into 3/4″ rounds and then move on to the veggies. 

Chop the garlic, and brown it just slightly in olive oil. 

Then add some red pepper flakes, a lot of chopped tomatoes, and the sausage chunks.

Simmer for a long time, like nearly an hour. Don’t wait as long as you think you should to get the pasta water boiling, because bucatini, man, even with the hole down the middle, they take a rather long time to cook through. Which should be done in nicely salted water. Save a cup of the pasta water, just in case the sauce needs thinning, then drain the pasta.

Take the sauce off the heat and add in some fresh herbs, The cookbook recommends rosemary, but I had an abundance of basil, so that’s what I used, and it was lovely.

Taste for salt (which shouldn’t be a problem, given all that sausage) and mix in the pasta. 

I highly recommend this slightly unorthodox pasta/sauce combination. I also recommend having it for leftovers the next day, with or without some added fresh chopped tomatoes. If you opt for the tomatoes, try drizzling on a little red wine vinegar and olive oil.

*What is Italian for “voila”?

Keeping it Crisp

This has not been the Summer of the Zucchini so far. We’ve been getting only a pound or at most two each week. I don’t feel overwhelmed. I haven’t even resorted to zucchini bread yet. (And no, I don’t ACTUALLY need the excuse of too much zucchini to make that.) The result is that I haven’t needed to be very creative with my squash cooking, even when it comes to getting C. to enjoy the stuff.* I’ve made this pasta salad for dinner twice now. It’s essentially a very simple Ottolenghi recipe from Plenty, tossed with penne. I also swapped in walnuts & walnut oil, because cob nuts (British hazelnuts, basically) are not in my kitchen lexicon.

Start with smallish squash. Not the kind that is as big around as your arm. (Especially not if you’re this guy.)

Slice them on the bias, about a half-inch thick, and toss them with olive oil, salt, & pepper. Grill them over very high heat, just a couple of minutes on each side.

You’ll want to get grill marks, but not really cook all the way through, because no one (especially C.) likes soggy zucchini.

As soon as you remove them from the grill, toss them in a bowl with a splash of balsamic vinegar. Let them sit and come to room temperature, more or less. If you didn’t listen to me and used giant squash anyway, now is also the time where you cut them into bite-sized pieces.

Then, cook up a pot of pasta (penne works pretty well, I think), and toast some walnuts. Drain the pasta and toss with the squash. Add the walnuts, chopped, some thinly shaved parmesan, and a big handful of fresh basil. The original recipe was via Ottolenghi, meaning you should replace the word “big” with “preposterously large” handful of basil. My only source that day was my window box, which I did not feel like decimating, so I used considerably less. You should follow the requirements of your own palate & supplies. Toss it all together, drizzle in a bit of walnut oil, and add a little extra salt if you like. 

*Truthfully, she’s starting to enjoy zucchini quite a bit, as long as I keep it practically raw. Not sure if I’ll be able to make any headway with broccoli, though.

Penne with Grilled Squash, Walnuts, and Basil

serves 3-4

8 oz. penne

1 oz walnuts, toasted and chopped

1 1/2-2 lbs small summer squash

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 tsp balsamic vinegar

1-2 oz parmesan, shaved thin

1/2 oz fresh basil leaves (aka a huge handful), torn

1 tsp walnut oil

salt

pepper

Cook the pasta according to the instructions on the package. Drain and rinse with cool water.

Cut the squash on the bias into 1cm thick slices. Toss with 1 Tbsp olive oil, salt, & pepper.

Heat a grill (or grill pan) over very high heat, and cook the squash for no more than 2 minutes per side, just into there are grill marks. Toss with a little balsamic vinegar and let sit.
When the zucchini has cooled somewhat, mix in the cooked pasta, the chopped walnuts, the parmesan shavings, and the torn basil leaves. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and the walnut oil. Taste for salt & pepper.

A Way With Greens & Noodles (2 ways, actually)

The first time I got mizuna in my weekly delivery, I made something with soba noodles and mushrooms and a miso-tahini dressing, and it was just not right. Too thick, too rich, too one-texture (that texture being “mushy”). I ate it, but mostly because I don’t like to waste things. I know was working from a legitimate recipe, not my own imagination (I didn’t yet have the confidence to wing it with an unfamiliar ingredient), but I can’t find it now to see if maybe I just did something wrong.

But moving on: this year, I decided that I’d been a little premature in abandoning the asian greens + soba noodles combination, and perhaps it was the dressing that was the problem. And sure enough, I’ve found a couple of variations that I can recommend. Hooray! It only took me 4 years to learn how to cook this stuff!

First, put a pot of water on to boil. Make it a big pot, even if you’re only cooking a smallish amount of noodles. Soba likes to have room, and then when it’s cooked, it likes to be run under cold water.

While the water is coming to a boil, take some mustard greens:

or, you know, mizuna, if that’s what’s handy.

Either way, chop it up and give it a quick saute in a hot pan with the oil of your choice.

Add a little water, and either tamarind concentrate & smoked paprika*:

or some miso paste.

Cover up the greens and let them braise for a few minutes, just until they’re tender. Then toss them with the rinsed noodles.

If you’re looking for something a little more filling, cut up a block of tofu into chunks and cook them in the rest of the braising liquid, a couple of minutes on each side. (I did this with the tamarind version but not the miso one.)

Add to the noodles & greens and enjoy.

*The smokey tamarind variation is the second recipe that I’ve concocted based on a vague description in a New Yorker review of a restaurant I’ll never visit.

 

Soba Noodles with Mustard Greens/Mizuna

serves 2-4

 

1 package soba noodles (usually 8-10 oz, depending on the brand)

1 large bunch mustard greens or mizuna

1 Tbsp peanut or vegetable oil

1/4 cup water

Flavoring suggestions:

1 Tbsp tamarind concentrate + 1/4 tsp smoked paprika + 1/2 tsp salt

1 Tbsp miso paste

1 package tofu, drained and cut into pieces (usually 16 oz) (optional)

 

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Cook the noodles according to the instructions on the package. Drain and rinse well under cold water.

Chop the greens roughly, into 1-2″ pieces. Heat the oil in a large skillet and saute the greens for a few minutes, until they are wilted. Add the water and the flavorings of your choice. Stir, cover, and cook for 2-4 minutes, until the greens are tender. 

Remove the greens from the pan and toss with the noodles. 

If you’re using tofu, add the pieces to the skillet with the rest of the braising liquid. Cook for a few minutes on each side and then add to the noodles along with any remaining liquid that hasn’t cooked off.

A Sprout Even a Father Could Love

The only thing I knew about Brussels sprouts as a kid was that my dad didn’t like them.* I guess I also knew what they looked like (itty bitty cabbages!), but I don’t think I ate one until well into my 20s. My first experience might have been at Momofuku Ssam Bar, where at the time they were served roasted with dried hot peppers and possibly pine nuts. They were chewy and crispy and spicy and wonderful. Ever since then, roasted and a little spicy is my favorite to make them.

 

This recipe is an example of the Thomas Jefferson School of Carnivorism. That particular founding father espoused a belief that meat should be used sparingly, as a condiment rather than the centerpiece of the meal. I find that bacon is particularly suited to that treatment. Take a couple of pieces and cut them up into smallish bite-sized pieces. Place them in a single layer in a large baking dish, and stick it in a hot oven while you trim the sprouts. (Tip of the hat to Martha Stewart for this particular technique.)

 

You’ll want to have smallish sprouts here. They don’t have to be teeny tiny, but small enough that you only have to cut them in half to make them bite sized. Of course, if teeny tiny is what you have (the ones we get from Stoneledge are usually on that end of the spectrum, so I’m taking advantage of the absence of a harvest by buying bigger ones), then just peel off any iffy looking leaves and call it a day, no halving necessary. By the time they’re prepped, the bacon should have rendered nicely. Pull the dish out of the oven, drizzle in some olive oil to mix with the bacon fat (mmm… bacon fat…) and then toss in the sprouts. Also some salt, a few garlic cloves, crushed and peeled, and a couple of whole dried red peppers.

 

Let this roast a while longer–at least 20 minutes, though it’ll depend on just how small your sprouts are, and how charred you like them. When they’re almost-but-not-quite ready, add in a good pour of maple syrup and a chopped apple–something tart and firm, as you don’t want it to go completely to mush–and stick the dish back in the oven for 5 more minutes. 

Meanwhile, cook up some pasta. What kind doesn’t really matter, but cut shapes are more suited to this recipe than something like linguine or fettucine. Save some of the pasta water before you drain it, and when you take the sprouts out of the oven the last time, pour in that water. Most of the water will cook off or be absorbed by the veggies, but it’ll help mix up all the flavors before you pour it over the pasta. Grate on some cheese (I like pecorino romano here) and serve. 

 

I think even my dad might try this one.

*It turns out I didn’t even know THAT much, since my dad has reminded me that it’s okra and eggplant he hates; Brussels sprouts are a lifelong favorite. 

Brussels Sprouts, Apple (& Bacon) Pasta

serves 3-4

8 ounces cut pasta

1 lb Brussels sprouts

2 slices bacon

2-3 Tbsp olive oil

3 cloves garlic

3-4 dried hot peppers

1 tart crisp apple

2 Tbsp maple syrup

1/4 c grated Pecorino Romano

salt

Preheat the oven to 400F.

Put on a pot of water to boil for the pasta. Salt it well, and cook according to the instructions on the package. Reserve 1/2 cup of the cooking water, then drain & rinse under cool water until the rest of the dish is ready.

Cut up the bacon into 1/2″  pieces and place them in a large baking dish in a single layer. Stick it in the oven while you trim the Brussels sprouts. Cut off the ends and peel off any bruised outer leaves. If they are bigger than bite-sized, cut them in half. Crush the garlic cloves with the flat of a knife and peel off the skins. Take the baking dish out of the oven, pour in the olive oil, and add the sprouts, garlic, and hot peppers. Sprinkle with salt, stir, and return to the oven for about 20 minutes.

Core and chop an apple. Check the sprouts for doneness and when they seem mostly cooked, add in the apple pieces and the maple syrup. Stir and return to the oven for another 5 minutes. Stir in the reserved pasta cooking water, and then combine with the cooked pasta. Top with the grated cheese, taste for salt, and serve.

Simple Summer Supper

(Note: I hate the word “supper” but I needed it for the alliterative value here. It won’t happen again.)

I was tipped off to this pasta recipe by the Wednesday Chef, though originally it was published in the New York Times, way back in 1996, and revisited in 2007 in one of Amanda Hesser’s Recipe Redux columns. Like so many great summer meals, this is one of those “don’t bother making it unless your tomatoes are perfectly, lusciously ripe” recipes. Spaghetti is probably my least favorite pasta, so I went with the original suggestion of rigatoni.

Start in the morning. Before you go to work, mince up some garlic and mix it in a bowl with a lot of very good olive oil, and a handful of basil leaves, cut into ribbons. Ignore Hal McGee’s recent piece about the dangers of leaving food unrefrigerated for long periods of time, place a big plate on top of the bowl to keep out errant fruit flies, and go about your business for the day.

When you get home, chop up a pile of tomatoes and mix them into the infused oil. Then go do your laundry, or run to the store to get some rigatoni and fresh mozzarella, which is what you need next.

A couple of hours later, it’s dinner time. Boil a pot of water, salt it well, and cook the pasta al dente (as if there were any other way to make pasta). While it’s cooking, dice the mozzarella coarsely. Drain the pasta, pour it on top of the tomatoes, and then put the cheese on top of that. 

Here is where I made a small mistake: you should let the cheese melt a little from the heat of the pasta, but not for more than a couple of minutes. Then mix the pasta and the cheese together, leaving the tomatoes at the bottom of the bowl for now, and let it sit for another few minutes. If you let the cheese melt on top for, say, as long as it takes to run down to the laundry room, pull two loads out of the dryer, and fold them, the cheese will have melted beautifully–and then begun to cool again. When you get back upstairs, it will have reformed into one solid layer on top of the pasta. If you were making pizza, you’d be golden, but it makes it tricky to toss together. Which is what you do now, with the tomatoes and garlic and everything. 

Breaking up the cheese with tongs, or a knife, or your fingers, isn’t the most difficult thing in the world, but it slows you down significantly just as you ought to be sitting down to dinner. Which will be pretty damn good, no matter what. And it makes excellent leftovers the next day, eaten at room temperature.

Hot Weather Cuisine

This ginger cucumber salad with scallops is one of my favorite recipes. A. and I first made it years ago, when it was first published in the New York Times, and I’ve made it many times since, usually served over basmati rice. Then suddenly it showed up again on the paper’s website, in video form, and just in time for a heat wave.

One of the reasons this has become a favorite dinner–especially in the summer–is there is very little standing in front of a hot stove involved. Also because the expression “cool as a cucumber” actually has a root in reality (cucumbers have cooling properties, just like cinnamon has warming properties). So when J. and I had made plans the other week for her to come over for dinner with C. and me, and it was suddenly 90+ degrees, it seemed like an obvious choice.

Start with cucumbers. Peel them or not, as you like, and slice them pretty thin. A mandolin helps greatly in this task. Toss them with rice vinegar, grated ginger, salt, & sugar. Let them stand for a while, producing what some chefs call a “quick pickle.”

If you’re planning on eating in a half an hour, that’s perfect. If dinner will be a little later, just stick them in the fridge (especially if it’s 90+ degrees out and you are too stubborn to turn on the A/C in your kitchen because it isn’t technically summer yet).

Don’t put away the mandolin yet, though. Use it to slice up a yellow onion into thin half moons.

Then comes the heat. Put a skillet (cast iron is wonderful) over very high heat, drizzle in a little vegetable oil, and sear a bunch of sea scallops. About a minute on each side is all you’ll need. Remove them to a plate, drizzle in a little more oil, and add those onions you sliced, along with a bit of turmeric. Lower the heat a tad, and cook about 5 minutes, until the onion is soft.

Then you just want to toss everything together.

This time, I served the dish over rice noodles, which I think was even better than the rice, and as a bonus takes much less time to cook (especially if you’re a hippie and only cook brown rice).

Ceci n’est pas un gnoccho

Gnocchi are, traditionally, little dumplings made with potato, categorized in the pasta section of any menu. They are often thought of as being heavy, but made properly they are fluffy and wonderful. Well, even when they’re heavy and kind of dense, they’re still wonderful if you ask me, you just can’t eat as many.

These are not gnocchi, to my eye, though they are fluffy and wonderful, even if the photo doesn’t show that.

Dorie calls them gnocchi a la parisienne, which is fine, because they are not your Italian grandmother’s gnocchi. I never had an Italian grandmother, or a Parisian one, but I had a Viennese one. And truthfully, these dumplings remind me a lot of her farina dumplings, which she traditionally served in chicken soup.

Except that, then again, the finished dish is kind of like macaroni and cheese. So really, you’re not going to go wrong, no matter what you call it.

The dumplings are made by boiling butter and water together, then mixing in some flour, and then some eggs. Let the dough rest (or not), and then boil teaspoonfuls in salted water, in smallish batches.

Make a bechamel, butter & cheese* a shallow baking dish, cover the dumplings with sauce and grated cheese, and stick it in the oven. Delicious buttery cheesey gooiness will ensue. It doesn’t matter so much if your bechamel is perfectly smooth. It doesn’t matter what cheese you use (I went with a mix of parmesan and comte, which was one of Dorie’s suggestions). There is so much butter in this that it’s going to be amazing. Don’t skimp on the salt (at any step), and double up on the cheese if it makes you happy, which it should.

Things I learned making this recipe:

• my large-ish Corningware dish is approximately half the size of a 9″ pie plate
• next time I make farina dumplings, I’m going to use this same method

*by which I mean, coat the dish with butter and then sprinkle with grated parmesan, the better to prevent sticking. Many recipes refer to buttering and flouring a cake pan. This is better. Also good, for some recipes: sesame seeds.

Improv Night

Q: After your pizza party, what can be made with the leftover tomato sauce, ricotta, mozzarella, and caramelized onions, that also uses up some kale and winter squash?

A: Lasagne.

As I may have mentioned in the past, my mom makes fantastic lasagne. (Family tradition holds that it’s the best we’ve ever tasted, every time.) It’s a pretty traditional version, with tomato sauce, ground beef, a little sausage, and a lot of shredded mozzarella and ricotta. I’ve never attempted to make her recipe, mostly because my instinct is that it would not live up to the standard. So instead I’ve learned to make vegetarian lasagne. Usually it’s with Swiss chard and roasted eggplant (a Deborah Madison recipe, of course), but that’s not what was in the fridge this week. So I decided to be brave and wing it. 

First, I blanched and chopped some kale (stems removed). Then, I mixed that up with the ricotta, an egg, and the caramelized onions. 

I bought some sheets of fresh pasta at my favorite Italian market, which were about as wide as my baking dish, and quite a bit longer. I trimmed them to be the right size before parboiling for a minute, only to be reminded that things get bigger when they’ve absorbed some water. So my pasta sheets wound up a bit too big; I decided not to care.

The order of the layers doesn’t really matter, I don’t think. I started with a little tomato sauce in the bottom of the dish, because that’s how mom does it. Then a layer of pasta, followed by some of the kale/ricotta mixture.

Next, some roasted squash (acorn) mashed up with chopped fresh sage. 

Then thin slices of fresh mozzarella, a few spoonfuls of tomato sauce, and a generous handful of grated parmesan. Repeat, with three layers of filling sandwiched between 4 layers of noodle. Top the last pasta layer with tomato sauce and parmesan, then cover with foil and bake.

Let it be said that I don’t actually recommend making this dish unless you have several of the elements already on hand. It would be preposterous to make a batch of tomato sauce just for this occasion, or to caramelize onions (which takes a good hour to do it properly). And then there’s the kale-blanching and squash-roasting. But damn, I do love lasagne. And when you have a sort of random day off from work, is there really a better thing to do than to linger in the kitchen and cook up a dish of it in a very leisurely fashion? C. and I enjoyed it greatly, with some sage-garlic bread, followed by almost-the-last pink peppercorn ice cream.

Kale and Winter Squash Lasagne

4 sheets of fresh pasta, or 12 individual lasagne noodles
2 c tomato sauce
1-1 1/2 c ricotta
1/2 lb mozzarella (fresh is awesome, but dried and grated works just as well)
1 egg
1 lb kale
1/4 c caramelized onions
2 acorn squash, roasted
grated parmesan
fresh sage
salt & pepper

Preheat the oven to 400F.
Parboil the pasta and put in a bowl of cool water to hold while you get the rest of the elements together. (Or, alternately, use no-boil lasagne, which is practically all you can find these days anyway.)
Remove the stems from the kale and blanch the leaves in salted water. Drain and chop coarsely. Mix together with the ricotta, egg, and onions. Season with salt & pepper.
Chop up the sage finely and mix it up with the roasted squash.
If using fresh mozzarella, slice it as thin as you can.
Pour a bit of tomato sauce in the bottom of your (9″ x 12″) lasagne pan. Add a layer of noodles, followed by layers of the kale/ricotta, the squash mixture, the mozzarella, more tomato sauce, and a handful of grated parmesan. Slap on another noodle layer, squish it down a little to get out any air, and repeat the layers. And again. On top of the final layer of pasta, pour the last of the tomato sauce and some more grated parmesan.
Cover with tin foil (tented, if you can, so the sauce and cheese don’t just stick to it) and bake for 35-45 minutes. Remove the foil and bake another 15 minutes.
Serve, traditionally, with garlic bread.

21st Century Italian

This was supposed to be one of those “let’s throw a bunch of things in a pot and see how it all turns out” meals. I had bought some spicy beef sausage through M.’s CSA, and I had peppers and basil and tomatoes from my own. I bought a pound of penne and figured things would come together just fine one way or another. And then, just looking for a little inspiration, I peeked in Lynne Rossetto Kasper’s book The Italian Country Table: Home Cooking from Italy’s Farmhouse Kitchens, and found/remembered her recipe for Sausage, Peppers, and Shells, which I’d made once before and enjoyed. Further proof that there is nothing new under the sun. Also proof that while I might not be the most creative of cooks, I am adept at finding good recipes written by other people.

So I figured, “Why mess with a good thing?: Or rather, I figured, “This is basically what I was going to do anyway and now I have proof that it is a good thing.” Except that I clearly needed to switch the meat/veg ratio, updating the recipe to a more contemporary way of eating.

Start with some sausage, about 1/2 pound, pierced all over so they don’t explode.

Cook them in a hot dry pan, browning on all sides.

Pour in 2 cups of red wine and 3-4 cups of water (just enough to cover the sausages).

Bring to a boil and simmer for 15-20 minutes, long enough to cook through.

Remove the sausages to a plate, skim off the cooking liquid, and cook it to reduce by about 3/4. Then pour that into a bowl and set aside. Drizzle some olive oil into the pan and add some chopped onion and pepper, and a dried hot pepper.

(It is probably self-evident that this is the night, previously mentioned, when the power was out in my kitchen, hence the unattractive use of a flash. At this point, though, the lights came back on and we all rejoiced.)

While the peppers and onions are cooking, mince up some garlic and tear up some basil leaves.

When the onion is nicely browned, toss those into the pot, along with a little dried oregano, some chopped tomatoes, and the wine/water reduction, and some salt & pepper. Let it all simmer together, long enough for the tomatoes to break up a bit and all the flavors to meld. Finally, dice up the cooked sausage and add that to the pot.

Toss the whole mess together with a pound of cooked pasta. Theoretically you can lengthen the sauce with some of the cooking water from the pasta, but I never, ever, EVER remember to save any. It was fine without it, in any case.

The instructions in the cookbook specifically say that grated parmesan is not necessary with this dish, but if you include some with yours, I won’t tell.

Sausage & Peppers with Penne

1/2 lb sausage
2 c dry red wine
3-4 c water
1 medium red onion, coarsely diced
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 large sweet peppers, cut into 1/2″ dice
1 dried hot pepper
salt and pepper
1 large clove garlic, minced
8 large fresh basil leaves, torn
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1 lb San Marzano tomatoes or equivalent (like a 14 oz can), chopped
1 lb penne (or any shape you like)

Put on a pot of water to boil. Salt it heavily and cook the pasta as instructed on the package. Scoop out a cup of the cooking liquid before you drain the pasta, to add to the sauce at the end.

Pierce the sausage casings all over. Heat a large saucepan over medium-high and cook the sausages until browned on all sides. Then pour in the wine and enough water to cover the meat. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer 15-20 minutes, until the sausage is cooked through. Remove the meat and let the liquid reduce by 3/4. Then pour into a bowl and set aside.

Pour the olive oil into the pan, then add the onion, sweet peppers, and dried pepper. Cook until the onion starts to brown, then add the reduced wine/water, the garlic, basil, dried oregano, and some salt & pepper. Cook until the tomatoes start to break apart and the other vegetables are softened. Chop up the sausage, and then add that to the pot. Cook another few minutes, taste for salt and pepper, and mix with the cooked pasta. Add as much of the cooking liquid as needed to make a sauce-y consistency. Serve with or without grated parmesan.

Noodles and Dumplings

I have somehow become the webmaster of sorts for my CSA’s location, meaning I created a WordPress site where I post the week’s delivery and the (always lovely) note from the farmer. The site also serves as a place for members to share recipes, which, since nobody has suggested a better way to organize them, are categorized by main ingredient, with a page for each vegetable we receive. We’ve gotten scallions three out of the last four weeks, and at first, I didn’t think a page for scallions was necessary, because aside from scallion pancakes, what are you really going to make that features that ingredient? Scallions are a garnish, an accent, or even a substitute for another member of the lily family when you’re out of onion or chives. They are nothing to get excited about.

Or that’s what I thought until I wound up with three large-ish bunches of the things in my fridge, and was planning dinner for I., K., M., and myself. The question “How can I use these things up?” led to a quick Google search, which led to David Chang’s patented ginger-scallion noodles. I have eaten at several of the Momofuku restaurants, and I confess that I find nearly everything Chang does fascinating, brilliant, and (most importantly) delicious. And since I also had a couple of cucumbers begging to be eaten, this was a no-brainer.

To start: scallions. Lots of them.

Slice them up, very thin, using the entire length of the scallion. (I frankly don’t understand recipes that call for the whites only, or even only half the greens. It seems wasteful.) You will need 2 1/2 cups.

Mix in 1/2 cup of minced ginger, 1/4 cup of some neutral oil (grapeseed or whatever), 1 1/2 tsp soy sauce, 3/4 tsp sherry vinegar, and 3/4 tsp salt. Toss it all together and let it marinate for at least 20 minutes.

When I waved the bowl under M.’s nose so she could get a hint of what we’d be eating, she responded, “It smells like dreams,” which is now the standard I aim for with every recipe I make.

Toss the sauce with the noodles (soba in this case, though I’m still not sure I know how to cook them properly–the texture never seems to come out right) and there you go.

Meanwhile have your friend I. slice up the cucumbers on your mandoline and toss them with a tablespoon of sugar and a teaspoon of salt (more or less, as you see fit; the suggestion is a 3:1 sugar: salt ratio, but the actual amount is to taste). These also need to sit for 20 minutes before you serve them.

And the last step is to find a vegetable you like and pan sear it in a little oil. I believe the official cookbook calls for cauliflower, but it is high summer squash season, so that is what we used. And M. did a yeoman’s job of manning the skillet.

She was also instrumental in cooking the dumplings (stuffed with ground pork and sliced leeks mixed with a little soy sauce and sesame oil), which we all helped assemble. This process was not photo-documented, largely because I’m not a very good journalist but also because I wasn’t entirely sure how they would turn out. I had returned from the shore the previous Sunday with a pile of wonton wrappers (isn’t that what your mom sends you home with after you visit for a weekend?), and this seemed like as good a use as any I was likely to find. It turns out that (a) fried dumplings are preferable to steamed and (b) dumplings are more exciting than noodles. I suppose I should not be surprised at either of those findings.

In any case, we sat down to a beautifully set table (I. and K. are expert napkin folders, even working with paper instead of cloth) and enjoyed our Asian feast immensely.

There was also some silliness in addition to dinner. But I think that’s inevitable with this crowd.

Pork Dumplings
This “recipe” is obviously very adaptable. You can spice it up with chile oil or add in some minced ginger or fish sauce or garlic or really anything. Also I have no idea how many it makes…

1 stack of wonton wrappers
1/2 lb. ground pork
1 large or 2 small leeks, cleaned and sliced into thin half-rounds
2-3 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp sesame oil
peanut or vegetable oil (something with a high smoke point)

Mix the pork with the leeks, soy sauce, and sesame oil. Put small spoonfuls in the center of each wonton wrapper and close them up, brushing a little water around the edge to seal them properly. Try to get as much air as possible out of the dumplings.
To steam, place in a single layer in a steamer (the metal kind works though bamboo is probably easier) over boiling water. Cook for 5-10 minutes, until they are firm to the touch.
To fry, heat a little oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook a few minutes on each side, again until they are firm to the touch.
Serve with the dipping sauce of your choice (the ginger-scallion dressing is a good one, thinned out with a little more grapeseed oil).