• spaghetti with vodka cream tomato sauce

    Yesterday—Monday—I had nothing on the calendar.

    No rehearsals.
    No shows.
    No canning.
    No freezing.
    No doctors’ appointments.
    No nothing.

    Since the weather was cool and overcast, I decided to spend my morning cooking actual food. I’ve had so many things on my to-make list, but what with all the Busy, I’ve only succeeded in getting by with the bare minimum. So while the children played, I caught up on my NPR shows and made granola, yogurt, a chocolate cake, and the base for salted caramel ice cream. It was just the kind of day I needed after the rush-rush of the last couple weeks. And then, to top off the perfectness, I made a supper worth writing about, whoo-hoo!

    Two things:
    1) When I was in NYC this past winter, I had ravioli in a vodka cream sauce at Carmine’s. The ravioli was nice, but the sauce was spectacular. Upon my return home, I researched recipes but none seemed right. The end.
    2) When we were in Guatemala, one-pot spaghetti was all the rage. I tried it and hated it. The end.

    Except not the end. Enter, just yesterday, a friend’s Facebook status update: We made a vodka-cream-tomato sauce…

    Of course I begged the recipe, and shortly thereafter he obliged with a follow-up post that began with a sentence that could not have been more straightforward:  This is a post about how to cook pasta in one pot. After a flurry of questions and answers, I set about making the spaghetti to end all spaghettis.

    My friend’s method is direct, just like his opening sentence. Saute garlic and onion. Add five cups of liquid (stock, water, tomato juice), some tomato sauce/paste, chopped tomatoes, and seasonings. Boil. Add the spaghetti, and when it’s almost done, add the vodka and cream. Toss in the precooked meats, if desired, and add lots of chopped fresh basil. Transfer the whole glorious mess to a giant serving bowl, sprinkle with Parmesan, and serve.

    I was a bit nervous, starting out. Carmine’s vodka cream sauce was nectar-of-the-gods good, and that one-pot pasta was such a pile of muck. Turns out, I needn’t have worried. Each taste test along the way lightened my mood, and by the time I added the vodka and cream I was practically tap-dancing around the kitchen, pausing every time I passed the stove to slurp the sauce.

    The family fought over the spaghetti. At one point, my husband even tried to steal my older son’s entire plate (no luck). There wasn’t one speck of pasta left over, but the delicious memory lingered well into the night when I dreamed, no joke, of Carmine’s. Except that meal, in my dream, was flavorless and cost 600 dollars, so I’ll happily stick with my new favorite homemade recipe, thank you very much.

    Spaghetti with Vodka Cream Tomato Sauce
    Adapted from Christian’s Facebok Status Update. (He needs to start a food blog.)

    The key is five cups liquid to one pound of pasta. I used water with chicken bouillon and the juice from a can of strained tomatoes. I added the drained chopped tomatoes and then a pint of pizza sauce for richness. You can play around with types and quantities of tomato products, but don’t mess with the quantity of liquid.

    Updated measures, so I can eliminate thinking: 4 cups water/broth, 1 quart canned, chopped tomatoes, 1 pint pizza sauce.

    1 onion, chopped
    5-6 cloves garlic, minced
    2 tablespoons olive oil
    5 cups liquid (water, broth, tomato juice, etc.)
    3 cups chopped, canned tomatoes
    1 pint pizza sauce
    salt and black pepper, to taste
    1 teaspoon sugar, optional
    1 pound dry spaghetti, broken
    1/3 cup vodka
    2/3 cup heavy cream
    precooked meat, optional (I added a couple pounds of meatballs)
    ½ cup chopped fresh basil
    ½ cup freshly grated Parmesan

    In a large stock pot, saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil. When the veggies are tender, stir in the pizza sauce, chopped tomatoes, liquid, salt, pepper, and sugar. Bring to a rolling boil. Add the spaghetti. Cook for 8 minutes, stirring frequently. When the spaghetti is almost done, add the vodka and cream and return to a simmer. Add the precooked meat and fresh basil. Transfer the pasta to a large serving bowl and sprinkle with Parmesan.

    ***

    A word about the play: people are really enjoying it! Comments I’ve heard include, “It’s really funny,” “This may be the best thing I’ve seen at Court Square Theater yet,” “Everyone was crying,” and “What a great story!” We’ve got four more shows this weekend! I hope to see you there!

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (8.12.13), and totally worth it.

  • the quotidian (8.11.14)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Summer colors.

    Peaches: roasted and sun-kissed.

    Earning their keep.

    Garden jewels.

    Corn!
    Why, yes. I do let my children use knives. What makes you ask?

    Slay me.

    More fencing. Always more fencing.
    Back from wilderness camp.

    A couple weeks ago, helping me run lines. 
     The best part: letting her sound out the swear words and then laughing at her shock.
    Cat and mole.

    A Sunday nap.

    Saying goodbye. 

    This same time, years previous: getting my halo on, there’s that, a bout of snarky, sanitation and me, how to can peaches, dried fruit, and orange-mint tea.

  • a new friend

    This last week we hosted our Fresh Air boy. We were supposed to get a girl, too, but last minute she decided not to come and there wasn’t time to get a substitute, so one child it was. My younger daughter shed some fiery tears of disappointment, but then she adjusted and adapted as children are wont to do.

    This was, by far, our best hosting experience ever. Miguel (not his real name) was a non-fusser, super polite, easy going, a peace maker (between my squabbling offspring), and eager to try new things (except for food, but we’ll let that go). He’s also trilingual: English, Spanish, and ASL, since both his parents are deaf. (This is how I communicated with his mother.)

    I tried to get in as much swimming as possible. This was actually kind of hard, not because of our schedule, but because it’s been so cold this summer. (Seriously, the highs in the 70s? In August?!) We did make it to the river, twice. I was prepared for Miguel to be the typical Fresh Air child: hesitant and grossed out over slimy rocks and water bugs. But no. The child was fearless. In fact, he plunged into the frigid water with nary a whimper, and then proceeded to far surpass the country kids in bravery, endurance, and joyful absorption. It was a sight to behold.

    The week flew by. When it came time for him to leave, I was actually a little sad. I was ready for him to go back, yes, but that was more because of other stresses (wash basket loads of beans, bushels of peaches, the play, etc) and less because of the extra child.

    In fact, for the first time I could see how hosts might want to have the city child stay for the whole summer. It was that good.

    This same time, years previous: best banana bread, crunchy dill pickles, elf biscuits, nectarine-red raspberry freezer jam, and granola bars.