Easter Egg Pasta

The most recent issue of Bon Appétit is pretty brilliant; while I read it every month upon arrival in my mailbox, this month’s copy has myriad recipes that I truly want to make, flagged with hot pink Post It notes.  On the list of intriguing items, there was a short article on various uses for leftover Easter Eggs.  Though I don’t celebrate Easter, but I do enjoy eggs.  One of the recipes was for a garlic-olive oil-anchovy-based pasta that was finished with grated hardboiled eggs and parsley.  I would never in a million years imagined adding hardboiled eggs to my pasta, but the rest of the ingredients are some of my all time favorites, and the addition of the eggs was intriguing enough for me.

I have been a long time fan of pasta dressed in garlic-lemon oil, and finished with a ton of parsley and Parmesan.  There are many variations to this theme:  a little anchovy paste sautéed with the garlic; a few capers; olives; a splash of white wine.  Nonetheless, the result is always some version of lemony, bright, garlicky pasta, with a healthy dose of freshness from plenty of chopped parsley and salty Parmesan.  It’s a recipe for success. 

This Easter-inspired version is exactly that with the addition of hardboiled egg.  It’s certainly a strange idea, but I enjoyed it at every turn.  For starters, I’ve never grated an egg before, which turned out to be a satisfying experience.  Using the large holes of a box grater, the soft egg all but disappeared with a few stokes, resulting in stands of egg white and crumbles of egg yolk, ready to absorb the salty, rich dressing on the pasta.  The richness of the egg juxtaposes nicely against the coarsely chopped parsley leaves, which render this dish almost to a salad like state. 

This dish is rich, but well balanced.  I did not skimp on the anchovy paste, which was evident in the toasted brown color that the pasta took on when it was tossed with the spicy, anchovy-infused oil.  This richness is then tempered by multiple elements.  The first and most obvious is the parsley leaves; peppery, a little lemony, and decidedly green in flavor, they impart lightness with both their flavor and texture.  Ironically, the egg also lends levity that is unexpected.  The yolks and whites act in very different ways.  The yolk coats the pasta and absorbs the olive oil-based sauce, softening the flavors from preserved fish and red chile flakes.  On the other hand, the egg whites provide lightness with tenderness and little volume.  Basically, they prevent the pasta from being construed as a big, dense heap of carbs, a noble and necessary task.  I’m sure the entire idea sounds bizarre (hardboiled eggs in pasta?), but it was quite delightful.  And a senior food editor at Bon Appétit created this concoction, not me, so hopefully that indicates that this is a legitimate recipe, as opposed to me losing my mind with my pasta-loving ways. 

Easter Egg Pasta (adapted from Bon Appétit)

Makes 2 servings

1/4 pound short cut pasta, like campanelle or fusilli

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 teaspoon red chile flakes

1 teaspoon lemon zest

2 teaspoons anchovy paste

3 tablespoons finely grated Parmesan

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 1/2 tablespoons capers

2 hard boiled eggs, coarsely grated

1/2 cup coarsely chopped Italian parsley leaves

-       In salted boiling water, cook pasta until it is al dente per package directions.  Reserve 1/2 cup of the cooking water, and drain the pasta.  Set aside.

-       In a sauté pan, cook garlic, red chile flakes, lemon zest, and anchovy paste in the olive oil for about 3 minutes.

-       Add pasta to the pan, and toss to coat.  Season with freshly ground black pepper.

-       Add lemon juice, capers, and Parmesan.  Add a few tablespoons of the reserved pasta cooking water if the mixture seems dry. 

-       Add the parsley and hard-boiled eggs.  Garnish with more cheese and parsley if desired.

Sick Day

It finally happened: I got sick.  After over a month of visitors and traveling, I suppose it was inevitable.  Although I would have preferred to not be sick, the timing worked out relatively well.  We have officially entered the schizophrenia season in Colorado, where the weather hovers in the 55-75 degree range, with sunny skies, punctuated the occasional snowstorm.  My sick day coincided with a well-timed gray, snowy day; I hunkered down, clad in sweat pants and wool socks, and had a long, leisurely day on the coach watching the entire second season of HBO’s “Girls.”  After the first few episodes and some dozing, I became hungry.  So I took some Advil and bundled up, in order to venture to Trader Joe’s for some easy to prepare, yet tasty, sick day foods.

My first sick day food endeavor supplied a late lunch and plenty of leftovers.  I was still feeling achy and chilled at this point, so I made the lowest maintenance soup I could imagine; I’m ever so eloquently dubbing it “Dump and Stew Tortellini Soup.”  It requires absolutely no chopping, but rather, it is a series of store-bought ingredients that need only to be opened, and dumped into a soup pot.  I started with 6 cups organic, reduced sodium chicken stock, a small can of diced tomatoes, 2 bay leaves, a quarter teaspoon cayenne pepper, and 6 whole garlic cloves (lightly smashed in order to remove the peel).  I allowed all of this to simmer over medium heat for about 45 minutes, and then I added a package of cheese tortellini from the refrigerator case, and allowed them to simmer for about 8 minutes, per package directions.  I then ladled the soup over a few handfuls of raw baby spinach, and allowed the heat of the soup to wilt the greens.  You could add it directly to the soup pot, but I prefer to add it to each individual serving so it doesn’t get overcooked.  I then added a sprinkle of Parmesan and a dollop of store bought pesto.  It couldn’t have been easier, and it certainly soothed my achy bones.  The garlic and the cayenne are key for curative properties, and to ensure that you actually taste some something in a congested state.  I recommend eating the garlic cloves; they mellow out a lot while cooking, and practically dissolve in your mouth after all of that cooking.  I would also like to note that Trader Joe’s Organic Low-Sodium Chicken Stock is my new favorite, regarding this genre.  At $1.99 a quart, the price is nothing to sneer at, and it actually tastes like chicken (roast chicken, to be exact), with a rich, brown color.

After about 6 more episodes of “Girls,” I was getting hungry again, and I whipped up a naan pizza in the toaster oven.  Again, most ingredients were courtesy of Trader Joe’s, along with some lingering morsels I had in my refrigerator.  The naan comes frozen, so while I let a piece defrost, I browned a pre-cooked garlic-herb chicken sausage link in a small sauté pan, to allow the casing to blister and the meat to heat through before slicing it into rounds.  I smeared the naan with pizza sauce, augmented with a few teaspoons of sriracha, again for decongestive purposes.  Then I added some Parmesan, a few sliced kalamata olives, and some toasted pine nuts.  I seasoned the pizza with dried oregano, ground pepper, and garlic salt before finishing it off with chicken sausage and shredded mozzarella.  I then put my gorgeous pizza in my toaster oven at about 375 for about 10 minutes, until the cheese was melted and bubbly (oven for the first 7-8 minutes, and broil for the last two).  Put it directly on the rack (no pan or foil necessary), so that the bottom crisps.  It was delicious, hearty, satisfying, and delightfully easy.  The most challenging part of the preparation was slicing the browned up chicken sausage, which wasn’t exactly an insurmountable feat. 

Psycho on the Road: Eureka, CA

Last stop in California: Eureka.  I can’t explain articulately why I wanted to go to Eureka so badly.  The decision was partially impacted by the mystique of Humboldt Bay.  If you’ve never studied it on a map, I think it’s worth looking up.  It’s a big bay with a tiny inlet.  Also, it’s the namesake for Humboldt Fog goat cheese, and we all know I’m a cheese fiend.  Additionally, I wanted to see the greatest giants of the Redwoods, and I figured it would be a good idea to aim for the Northern end of the state, and Eureka is definitely that. 

It turns out that Eureka is pretty weird.  Weird suits me, so it worked out well, but it also left me scratching my head as I drove out of town.  Our first stop in town was at bizarre second hand shop/fire hazard, packed with decades worth of used clothing and accessories.  It was run by a woman who most likely also lived upstairs, and she had everything in stock from plaid pants to a wide variety of furs to a few mean cats, whose danger was warned against in poorly located, hand written signs.  We then stopped at a chain liquor store called BevMo, that was anything but what you expect from a chain.  The staff was friendly, informative, and engaging; they had a great variety of all types of alcohol, and they even had a compelling selection of meats and cheeses.  From the delightful staff at BevMo, we received a recommendation for a bayside sushi spot called the Bayfront Restaurant. 

At the Bayfront, we enjoyed hot sake, miso soup, sushi, and a spectacularly entertaining view of a vagrant gentleman furiously changing a damaged bike tube, spilling and collecting crayons on the sidewalk, and washing his hands with malt liquor.  No, you didn’t miss anything: that is literally what we observed while we dined on fish wrapped in rice.  We even went outside afterwards to verify that they were indeed crayons, as one was left behind.  I was personally hoping that they were pastels, but alas, what we found was an orange crayon nub, with a yellow, Denny’s-clad, paper wrapper.  Either way, the experience was fascinating.

I had a roll called “The Pink Lady,” which included a central channel of shrimp tempura and yellow tail tuna, wrapped in something called “soy wrap,” then coated in rice and roe.  The soy wrap was pink, stretchy, and mildly sweet in flavor.  Our server told us they have it on the menu as a strictly vegetarian alternative to seaweed; it’s in the tofu family.  This didn’t quite explain why it was on my fish/shrimp-laden roll, but I liked the aesthetic, and the mild flavor, which allowed me to really taste the mild yellow tail, which was tender, and tasting like the sea.  It was also garnished with a drizzle of sweet eel sauce, and crunchy, little tempura fried bits; I know this is the farthest thing from authentic sushi, but it was oh so delish.

We also had “The Bayfront Roll,” which was simply tuna, avocado, cucumber, and roe.  It was simple, tasty, and fresh; however, the true pleasure of the Bayfront restaurant was the opportunity to observe the locals.  Jean noted that everyone in Eureka seemed to be clad in work boots.  Even on Saturday afternoon at a quiet and relatively sophisticated sushi restaurant, everyone seemed to be fresh off of a manual labor job.  All of the customers from the Bayfront then filed out the front door upon completion of their meals, and headed next door to a gelato shop.  Alas, it was an interesting culture that appeared to have blue-collar roots, yet with a clear taste for the finer things, like sushi and gelato.

Overall, it would have been downright sinful to vacate California without indulging in sushi, and this feat was achieved in the company of the surprising and compelling Eureka crowd.  After dinner, we checked into a motel, and the irony continued; we settled into our room, cracking open drinks, cheese, and peppered salami purchased at BevMo, to be greeted by a view of the Humboldt Country Correctional Facility.  I know this slogan is borrowed from Austin, but please, keep Eureka weird.   

Psycho on the Road: Fort Bragg, CA

Our time in Bodega Bay yielded itself to a winding drive up the coast, and a brief stop in Mendocino.  It felt a little too much like Boulder, which I more than get my fill of, so we kept moving north to Fort Bragg.  We were seeking inexpensive shelter, and the Internet lead us to a place called the Pine Beach Inn.  I immediately called for availability, and spoke to the “concierge,” who informed me that they did indeed have space, but she was very busy, and I would need to call back or she could call me  back in ten minutes.  While it sounds rude, it was in fact hilarious, and turned out to be an effective, if inadvertent, sales’ ploy.  We were greeted by a boisterous bleached blond (the one whom I had the charming conversation with), and she hooked us up with an ocean view room, and a recommendation for lunch at Silver’s on the Wharf.  It was approximately 3 miles away in central Fort Bragg, right off the wharf.

Shelley was our bartender.  I immediately asked twelve questions about the fish, the specials, and her recommendations.  It turns out that Shelley does not eat fish, but she was effectively able to point me towards the cod tacos.  When it comes to fish tacos, the easy and delicious choice is always to fry the fish; it is a crowd pleaser.  A Silver’s, they sang for their supper by perfectly sautéing the cod, topping it with house made guacamole, pico de gallo, and a crunchy slaw, seasoned with chipotle and cilantro.  It was served with simple beans and rice, but perfectly presented.  Each grain of rice in tact, al dente, and flavorful, I scooped up mouthfuls with my tacos.  When I placed my order, my friend, Shelley, warned me that they were big tacos, usually eaten open faced.   Indeed, they were overflowing with large shards of cod, which was fresh, and tasted like the sea, not fish, just as fish should taste. 

Nonetheless, the true surprise and delight of the meal is something that is probably overlooked by most; it’s the unsung hero on a great plate of fish tacos: the tortillas.  Shelley actually told me that most people actually don’t even eat the tortillas, and let me tell you, that is an egregious mistake.  The delightful rounds were chewy, lightly browned in the right places, and had a noteworthy corn flavor.  I suddenly knew what was going on, and I immediately consulted with Shelley in order verify what I knew to be true.  “Shelley,” I said with utter disbelief, “are these tortillas home made?”  She nodded with knowing smile.  I think this is a remarkable detail: a seafood restaurant, perched on a local wharf, whose menu is overflowing with fried oysters, prawns, cod, and halibut, has someone in the kitchen taking the time to make fresh corn tortillas for the fish tacos.  Ironically, this detail isn’t even noted on the menu description.  Exasperated, I told Shelley repeatedly that this must be amended; theses tortilla deserved their day in the sun.  She was surprised that this had been overlooked, and she assured me that she would tell Silver.

Honestly, Silver’s was paying attention to all sorts of details: all their draft beers were craft, and mostly local; their breadbasket was loaded with carefully sliced pieces of warm bread, which also came from the local Fort Bragg Bakery.  The bread was chewy and stretchy on the inside, with a slight sourdough flavor, and a perfectly crusty exterior.  Overall, I loved Silver’s on the Wharf; I loved Shelley; I loved the food; I loved the mild but delicious Pilsner she recommended; I didn’t get to meet Silver, but I think I love him, too.  If you’re ever passing through Fort Bragg, Silver’s is definitively worth a stop for some thoughtful and fresh fish tacos.  If you’re really lucky, Shelley will be there, too. 

Psycho on the Road: Bodega Bay, CA

The only way I can justify the point to which I am overeating is by blogging about it.  That gives the illusion of there being a higher purpose to all this excessive intake of food and drink.  Last night, we stayed in Bodega Bay, which was a quiet little bayside town, where Hitchcock filmed “The Birds.”  It rained all night, which allowed for the best night’s sleep that I’ve had since being on the road.  In the morning, I had lots of blogging to catch up on, and I wandered down the street into a little coffee shop, providing me with interesting local chitchat to eavesdrop upon as I posted about Nepenthe in Big Sur.  It was clear that everyone in that coffee shop knew each other and the minute ins and outs of their individual lives.  In fact, I shared a table with one woman, named Tommi.  She was so excited to have some fresh blood to sink her teeth into that she opened our conversation with, “oh, look we have the same phone!”  We both happened to have iPhones, along with half of America, but apparently in Bodega Bay this is a conversation starter.  She was a kind woman, who then proceeded to ask my all about my computer, as she is currently in the market, and took notes about what I told her as if I was some sort of a tech expert.

After we checked out of our little inn, we drove down the street, and sat facing the water, in the Sand Piper Café, where we had a shockingly good breakfast.  I was a little nervous about our the restaurant at first; I ordered a cappuccino with skim milk, and Morgan, our server, responded, “Is nonfat milk okay?”  Despite this shaky start, I was thrilled to receive a multi-layered cappuccino, that was not only beautiful, but delicious.  The milk was perfectly frothed, and the organic espresso didn’t harbor even the slightest bitter bite, which is so common in espresso drinks. 

Jean and I were both thrilled by our breakfasts, Huevos Rancheros.  In oversized bowls, we received layers of corn tortillas, mozzarella cheese, and pinto beans.  This was then topped with two perfectly poached eggs, salsa, a small dollop of sour cream, and a touch more shredded cheese.  The mildness of the mozzarella complimented the dish well, and the aesthetic of the white cheese also had a nice effect.  The beans were perfectly creamy, and the whole thing was even garnished with a couple of scallions for color.  Lovely breakfast, lovely scenery.