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what’s cooking wednesday: spaghetti alla carbonara

21 CommentsWednesday • February 21, 2007 • by michelle

Today’s What’s Cooking Wednesday recipe is a fast (ready in a half hour) pasta dish made to stick to your ribs. It’s great for a last minute meal as you probably have all the ingredients at home right now.

What? No spaghetti? Some people sure are strange.

The origins of Spaghetti all carbonara are unclear, although it’s usually attributed to Rome. All we know for sure is that “carbonara” comes from the Italian word for coal, “carbone.” Beyond that, some suspect this tasty plate came about because:

(1) it was prepared for coalminers;
(2) it was originally made over charcoal grills;
(3) it was invented by the Carbonari, an Italian secret society (not to be confused with the carabinieri); or
(4) the pancetta and black pepper in the dish look like little bits of coal.

That last one kinda grosses me out, and you know I’m fond of conspiracy theories and whatnot, so let’s opt for the secret society explanation for the sake of this post, umkay?

However it came about, Spaghetti alla carbonara gained popularity around World War II when Italians began to eat bacon and eggs shipped over for American troops; thereafter, soldiers returning from the war took home a delicious pasta dish along with a victory.

There are many, many different recipes out there for Spaghetti alla carbonara, but I’m giving you the one we eat in our house–no cream, no bells and whistles, a real just the facts ma’am kind of plate.

And it’s wonderful if I do say so myself.

By the way, you can certainly substitute bacon here, but if you can find some Italian-style bacon, aka, pancetta, do splurge.

It’s worth it.

Spaghetti alla carbonara

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 thick slices pancetta, diced
1 tbsp chopped parsley

3 eggs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
salt and black pepper
1 package (500 g) spaghetti

First, put on the water to boil for the pasta.

Now put the olive oil in a medium skillet on medium heat, and then add the onions, garlic, pancetta, and almost all of the parsley, leaving some for garnishing if you like. Let this cook for about 2 to 3 minutes–just don’t let the pancetta dry out. When it’s done, stick a lid on it to keep it warm.

In a separate bowl, beat together eggs, cheese, salt, and black pepper.

Tip: to regulate salt, taste a piece of the cooked pancetta and also pay attention to how salty your cheese is. Remember you’ll be cooking your pasta in salted water, so you shouldn’t need much salt added to the egg mixture. A dash of black pepper should be plenty.

Once the water is boiling, add salt and cook the pasta until al dente and drain.

Now return the pasta to the empty but still warm pot and stir in the egg mixture, letting the heat cook the eggs. You can turn the burner on low here, but just be sure the eggs aren’t sticking. If I happen to be using an undesirable egg-cooking kind of pot, I drizzle a little olive oil on the bottom before adding the pasta and egg mixture to prevent a sticky mess.

Once the eggs are cooked, transfer the mixture into the pan with the pancetta and mix together well. If the pancetta isn’t hot enough for your liking, turn the burner on low until you’re finished combining.

Sprinkle on a little fresh parsley and serve immediately.

Note that this recipe is meant for one package of spaghetti, so if you’ll be making more pasta, adjust everything else accordingly.

Buon appetito!

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[tags] spaghetti alla carbonara, carbonara, pasta recipes, pancetta, eggs, cooking, what’s cooking wednesday[/tags]

back and to the left

3 CommentsTuesday • February 20, 2007 • by michelle

I’m a conspiracy theorist.

I love conspiracies of any sort about any topic. Not saying I believe in all of them, but they sure make for interesting reading and lively discussions.

Living in southern Italy has only amplified this fascination as I’m constantly being told to never trust anyone–above all “lo Stato.” I’ve always been an annoying, questioning type, so at least in this regard, the transition hasn’t been a tough one. Whether the attitude of non-trust is Italian, southern Italian, both, or neither is worthy of an entire other post, but for now, I’m just going to share the latest in a 44-year-old murder investigation at the center of my favorite conspiracy theory.

There’s a new video showing JFK moments before the assassination. Apparently the big development is that President Kennedy’s jacket was bunched up in a way that could further call into question the Warren Commission‘s assertion that only three shots were fired.

Quick show of hands: Does anyone *really* still believe the Warren Commission’s report? OK, Senator Specter. You can put your hand down. Now please put your Magic Bullet to rest and redeem yourself by getting habeas corpus rights back for detainees.

Despite not being born until 13 years after JFK’s assassination, I’ve always been fascinated by this particular conspiracy. In fact, back in the States, I have a rather respectable collection of books and articles written on JFK’s life and death, his presidency, and his brother Bobby’s 1968 murder, which I really hope will make it here one day. Ah, the joys of an international move.

Maybe some of you are thinking “Hey, this dude’s been dead for almost half a century. Can’t we just move on?”

Quite simply, no.

Ever hear the saying about those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it? How is it possible that our government has been able to cover up the truth about what happened on and around November 22, 1963 for so long–all while under extreme scrutiny regarding the case?

The President of the United States, in a car with his wife, was murdered in broad daylight in the middle of an American city while surrounded by Secret Service agents.

Can you imagine what they do when we’re not looking?

Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.

-President John F. Kennnedy, Speech to United Nations Assembly

September 25, 1961

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[tags]president kennedy, jfk, john f kennedy, president john f kennedy, conspiracy theories, magic bullet theory, warren commission, warren commission report, senator arlen spector, habeas corpus[/tags]

Sunday Scribblings: Crush

18 CommentsSunday • February 18, 2007 • by michelle

Prompt #47: Crush

I read this prompt on Friday, and I had so wanted to go the fiction route…a fast-moving piece about the planning and scheming to make a meeting with a crush seem so natural, the mix of nervousness and excitement that bubbles inside as the crush approaches. It likely would’ve been heavily based on reality being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Crush that I am. Or at least was for the major part of my life.

But I kept coming back to the same idea, or the same idea kept taunting me I should say. And every writer knows that when something nags at you, you get your fingers to the keyboard and stop asking questions.

“Because your kiss, your kiss is on my list…” he sang into the mirror of the sun visor pressed against the windshield. His big brown eyes focused on me, the four-year-old in the back seat. I probably rolled my eyes, because I always rolled that way, but inside I was smiling. I’m sure of it.

Our families were good friends, but theirs didn’t have a little girl. On top of that, I was the youngest of anyone, so I was rather spoiled with attention. His mom treated me like a daughter, and I ended up with two big brothers in addition to the one I already had; the oldest of the bunch became, as I can understand now with adult eyes, My First Crush.

Even at an early age, I remember feeling safe with him while my own brother, his brother, and even his father tormented me. And so I ran to MFC when I couldn’t take any more teasing, and he was always there to hold me, play with me, and generally calm me down.

He was only a teenager at the time, so you can imagine that he was mature beyond his years (at least as it concerned me). All I knew, though, is that I liked being around him more than anyone for the first five or so years of my life. And for a kid, that says a lot. One might even say that it says everything.

And then about that time, our families had a falling out of some sort that didn’t involve any of the kids, but oh, did it affect us; MFC went away to college and then moved away, and well, all of us lost touch.

I don’t remember the details of that period very well, but there were surely times that I missed seeing him, laughing with (at!) him, and generally being fawned over. Who wouldn’t love that kind of devotion? But it passed, obviously, because many more crushes followed.

I’m a long-term crusher, so I basically kept the same boy in mind through elementary school, then switched to a new one in high school, a different one in college. Law school, as any law school survivor won’t find surprising, lacked a real crush opportunity–a sad three years without looking forward to accidentally running into a special someone on purpose.

Isn’t that the best thing about a crush? Unrequited love is never fun, but, oh, that rush of emotion when you see your crush unexpectedly (or expectedly, as the case may be), when you’re suddenly thrown into a conversation, when you’re daydreaming about those fateful meetings, when you’re recounting them later to the chosen few who know of your infatuation.

*Sigh*

Sure over time, thoughts and imaginings become more mature, but at the base of it, a crush is so innocent and young–a raw, guttural, overwhelming like for someone and his/her presence. If we’re lucky, our crushes always hold special places in our hearts.

And if I’m anything, I’m lucky.

Over the past year, I’ve been able to return to that oft-forgotten corner of my childhood. Why? Because MFC came across my name on our high school’s alumni list (I graduated 12 years after he did) and sent me an email.

He started with the suggestion that maybe I didn’t remember who he was. Hah! He wrote of memories of my grandmother and times spent with my family when he was younger–priceless stuff especially since my grandmother had passed away a few years before.

I was ecstatic to hear from him, that he’s doing well, is happily married, successful, and just as funny and generally wonderful as ever. Now we’ve gotten to know each other as adults after sharing just a few years of childhood, which is quite a surreal experience. For him, I imagine that my life took a hiatus right around the phase of the froofy pink dress (wanna make somethin’ of it?), and his, as far as I could tell, never progressed past Hall & Oates.

Good thing for both of us that we’ve moved on.

In fact, in one of those Internet-inspired twists of fate, we’ll be moving closer together for at least one day soon–he and his wife are on their way to southern Italy in April, and we’ll see each other for the first time in, oh, 25 years.

I’m only 30 years old, peeps, so this is some amazing stuff.

Through our emails, I’ve learned even more about my early years from his memories. Recently he wrote that when the house was full of company and I didn’t want to go to bed thereby missing any of the fun, he was the go-to guy to get me to sleep. He (correctly) joked that putting girls to sleep was certainly no skill to brag about later in life, so he didn’t talk about it much, but there you have it.

I don’t remember any of that, but the fact that he does? Wow.

Such a warm fuzzy feeling to know that I, too, hold a place in my first crush’s heart.

most popular dog in town

16 CommentsSaturday • February 17, 2007 • by michelle

In a recent photo meme about what’s me/not me, I included a picture of a dog wearing a pink, ruffled hoodie. For those who weren’t paying attention or have never met me, that’s really not me.

I also wrote that my doggie Luna thanks me everyday for this. Well this was no truer than the past few weeks because our little princess was in heat. And she didn’t need any help attracting more perverse pooches.

Probably going to get some interesting search engine hits on that one, but let’s move on.

For those of you who don’t know the secrets behind dog mating rituals (and may I ask what you’ve been doing with your life?), a girl dog goes through menstruation just like girl, uh, humans, even shedding a small amount of blood. Since bitches (I can totally say that as that’s what they are) only go into heat about once every six months, their window is somewhat wider than ours. Stop chuckling–this is serious. The entire thing can last up to three weeks, although a female dog will only be fertile for a few days in the middle of that.

You’re welcome, by the way, for the lesson on dog periods. Feel free to send donations to keep this information, uh, flowing.

So, as Luna is not spayed (keeping our options open), for us, this means a good three weeks of fighting off all of the male dogs courting one of only three bitches in the town–three females and at least 10 males, all of which run free although technically “owned” by someone or another.

P joked that this is very similar to the ratio of women to men around here, and he’s not wrong. No comment on the parallels of running free and courting though.

What does the doggie love dance entail? Mostly leaving their marks (yes, *those* marks) on our doors, steps, general living area. Lovely. I go through a lot of disinfectant in those weeks if you’re wondering, although I still refuse to use the big pink jugs of alcohol. Fellow Italy expats, I know you know what I’m talking about. That stuff smells too nasty even in the open air. Even bleach is better, and we all know that bleach can kill you.

But that’s not the true trouble with Luna’s time of the year. The real issue is that all the male dogs sit and wait outside the house for anyone, Luna or not, to exit. Occasionally there’s a fight amongst them, but for the most part, they just take a vacation from their normal, stressful lives, and camp out here, transforming a charming medieval house into the Hotel Horny Hound.

If we haven’t run into them in the village, the other owners call us to make sure their pets are still alive. Why they can’t come here, retrieve them, and keep them at home is beyond me. Oh, it’d be because no one lets dogs in their houses here. I know. It infuriates me too. Most of them do have little doghouses outside at least, but still….

And what do the dogs do when we leave the house? Well, if Luna is with us, they’re literally up her butt, all sniffy and stuff–but of course we don’t let them get too close. I like to keep her in front of me, so I can prevent any attacks from the rear. And truth be told, she doesn’t show much interest in most of them, although there are two that she’d probably get with if given half the chance. Which doesn’t happen. And won’t.

If Luna isn’t with us, or, more specifically, me? Easy! I become the doggie pied piper of the village with a bunch of male dogs following me wherever I go.

Grocery store? Right behind you!

Post office? Can I hold your bag while you wait?

Cappuccino? One sugar or two?

It gets old after about a minute and a half of the first day, and yet there’s so much more adventure to be had after that.

Here are three of the more determined suitors:

Meet Romano Prodi.

Not to be confused with the current Italian Prime Minister; this dog rolled into town right around election time, thus the name. Although quite loveable, he’s *far* too big for Luna, so he has no chance. Plus he’s tried to violate me many times over the past few weeks, and (n.b.) that’s never going to score you points with Mamma.

This dog’s name is Zuzù.

That right there rules him out in my opinion. He’s also needy, and that’s just annoying in a partner, canine or otherwise. Sorry Zuzù.

And here’s Bobby.

He and Zuzu are brothers, but Bobby’s got a temperament that just shouldn’t be replicated. Or, as my mom would so eloquently say, he’s nasty as cat shit.

He snaps at everyone, including children, but he loves me. If you think maybe Luna has something to do with that, you’re sniffing in the right neighborhood. Anyway, another one with no chance at the Balloopers, although he sure does give it the old college try.

Then there’s Scooby, Whiskey, Lucky (who won’t live up to his name as far as Luna is concerned), Tobacco, Tommy (just visiting), and two others that don’t really have names. Go ahead. Comment on Italian dog names–it’s worthy of a whole other post.

If I had my druthers, I’d go with Scooby, and I think Luna agrees. When Scooby lived closer to us, he used to come up to play with Luna. He’d cry outside and I’d let her out, prepare them some snacks, and beam with motherly love. Now that he’s further away, though, we have to go to the piazza for play dates.

Being a doggie mama is tough sometimes, I tell you. Especially when every boy dog around wants a piece of this:

And can you blame them really?