Adam D. Roberts's Blog, page 10

Cavatappi with Anchovies, Garlic, and Red Peppers

Following a recipe can sometimes feel like you’re on a mad voyage with a crazed captain determined to set your kitchen ablaze in a quest to capture that ephemeral, culinary white whale.

“Are you out of your mind?” I wanted to yell at Melissa Clark, whose Pasta with Caramelized Peppers and Anchovies inspired this particular dinner. “Put the anchovies in the hot oil first? Before the peppers?! And use a whole jar?” The spatter coated not just the whole pan, but the tea kettle next to it and my entire stove top. I was ready to jump overboard. But the resulting dinner had Craig aflutter, moaning “Oh my God” upon taking the first bite. As a person who makes pasta on a biweekly basis (in the two-times-a-week sense), this may be the most potently flavorful pasta I’ve ever drummed up in my kitchen.

What makes it so potent and flavorful?

As mentioned: you start by adding 8 to 10 anchovies to a pan of hot oil. No, that picture above wasn’t painted by Georges Seurat; that’s the spatter I was talking about. I suppose I could’ve had the heat lower and then this would’ve been a calmer experience, but I like to be bold when following a bold recipe.

Once the anchovies melt, you add whole cloves of garlic and then sliced red peppers. You sauté the peppers until golden and the fond at the bottom of the pan gets darker; Melissa Clark (who, I should mention here, was on my podcast Lunch Therapy last year!) also involves sprigs of rosemary, but my poor heart can only take so much.

When the pan gets so dark it’s almost on the edge of burning, you deglaze with white wine (I used a Gruner). Then you add butter because, why not?

Here’s where Melissa and I part ways. She goes in a direction that involves ricotta, scallions, and mint; rendering an almost summery concoction. I decided to double down on the umami and, after stirring in the pasta, I added about 1/2 a cup of Parmesan, plus some parsley for color.

The sea was angry that day, my friends, and that angry sea made its way into our dinner.

The anchovies gave this whole thing such a briny, funky undercurrent (heh) and then the garlic and the red chili flakes (did I mention those?) and the sweet peppers and the wine and the butter… can you even imagine? I adjusted at the very end with white Balsamic, because I didn’t have lemon juice, and that rounded everything out nicely.

I’m a jaded old soul when it comes to pasta — it’s hard to find something truly new and exciting, especially when using pantry ingredients (which is why I make this all the time) — but putting myself into Melissa Clark’s hands, I feel like I’ve been on a grand adventure and have the treasure to prove it.

Oh captain, my captain, I’ll never doubt you again.

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Cavatappi with Anchovies, Garlic, and Red Peppers


A bold, intense pasta inspired by a Melissa Clark recipe from The New York Times.





Servings 4 people or 2 very hungry people




IngredientsKosher salt1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling8 to 10 anchovies in oil5 to 6 cloves of smashed garlicPinch red chili flakes2 red peppers, sliced1 cup dry white wine1 Tbs butter1 pound cavatappi (or any other small pasta that you like) 1 Tbs Freshly squeezed lemon juice (to taste) or white Balsamic1/2 cup grated Parmesan (plus more for sprinkling)1/2 cup chopped parsley
InstructionsBring a large pot of water to a boil and season it well with salt (it should taste like a flavorful broth).In a large skillet, heat the olive oil until shimmering. Add the anchovies and step back: they'll splatter! Cautiously stir around with a wooden spoon and then add the garlic, allowing the garlic to color a bit, and finally the red peppers with a pinch of salt. Cook all together, allowing the peppers to color, but monitoring the color at the bottom of the pan. Lower the heat a bit if necessary. When the bottom of the pan is a dark color, and the peppers have taken on color themselves, add the white wine and use a wooden spoon to scrape up the brown bits. Add the butter and allow the sauce to thicken.Drop your pasta in the pasta water and cook one minute less than the package directions say. Lift into the pan with the anchovies, garlic, and peppers and add a ladleful of pasta water. Stir all around on high heat until all of the liquid is absorbed. Turn off the heat and stir the lemon juice or white Balsamic (taste to see if it needs more), then stir in the Parmesan and parsley. Serve with more Parmesan and parsley sprinkled on top.

Related Posts:

Heaven and Hell Cauliflower Pasta with Garlic and Anchovies (Amateur Gourmet)

Midnight Pasta with Garlic, Anchovy, Capers, and Red Pepper (New York Times)

Anchovy Pasta with Garlic Breadcrumbs (Bon Appetit)

Spaghetti Pangrattato with Crispy Eggs (Smitten Kitchen)

Ottolenghi’s Spaghetti with (Plenty Of) Lemon, Garlic, and Anchovies (The Guardian)

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The Last Word Cocktail

Mixing drinks at home has never been a priority. We’ve been known to stir up a Negroni now and again — it’s such an easy drink, I basically eyeball it — but the days of Craig shaking up Sidecars at dinner parties has been in steep decline ever since I noticed how much more clean-up is involved (the shaker, the extra glassware, the jigger, etc). Plus Craig always leaves the bottles with the caps off on my cutting board as I’m trying to get dinner together and it drives me crazy.

All of that changed under our current circumstances. We’ve been mixing up cocktails on the regular, with Craig reclaiming the mantle as our resident mixologist. His favorite drink to make is a Paper Plane, which is a surprising combination of Aperol, Amaro, Bourbon, and lemon juice: producing a bright, summery drink despite the presence of a wintery spirit. He also makes a mean gin martini, a fizzy gin and tonic (the day he told me to buy “bespoke tonic water,” I knew we’d become monsters), and an excellent classic daiquiri. And now we’re making even more sophisticated cocktails with the arrival of David Lebovitz’s Drinking French.

David’s book is a tonic for the weary drinker’s soul. It opens you up to a world of spirits you may have never heard of, especially if the bars you frequent are more known for their loudly belted show tunes than their potent potables. Before Drinking French, I knew very little about Chartreuse, the almost neon green liquor that Carthusian monks made after a French army officer in 1605 gifted them with the recipe. As David writes, “The recipe still remains a secret today, and only two of the monks know the ingredients. For security reasons, they don’t travel together.”

David’s voice is as charming as ever and the book is full of terrific stories, anecdotes, as well as recipes, not just for cocktails but also snacks (like gougères and chicken rillettes), infusions — like vin de noix, walnut wine that you make with red wine, vodka, cinnamon, orange, cloves, and a vanilla bean, plus 24 green walnuts (which apparently I have in my backyard, if you listened to my Nicole Rucker podcast!) — terrific projects for those with lots of time on their hands (ahem).

I chose The Last Word as the first official cocktail that we made from the book because it was a chance to try out two new spirits: the previously mentioned Chartreuse (which we received as a gift at one of our famous latke parties) and maraschino liqueur, which comes up frequently in the book (it’s also in the Aviation and the Hemingway Daiquiri, two drinks I’d love to try next.)

The resulting cocktail is light and refreshing, but also intensely flavored with the botanicals from the Chartreuse (there’s an anisey vibe) and the fruitiness of the maraschino liqueur, which has a more nuanced flavor than the fluorescent red cherries you’re used to from the jar. All in all, like David’s book itself, this cocktail lifts you away to a tiny bar in France and makes you feel like you’re on vacation without having to leave the pleasant prison that’s become your home.

It’s a great excuse to start making drinks at home again and when this is all over, maybe we’ll open a bar with craft cocktails AND show tunes. I’ve got the piano, and now, thanks to David’s book, we’ve got the Chartreuse and the maraschino liqueur.

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The Last Word


A sharp, complex cocktail from David Lebovitz's new book, Drinking French.





Servings 1 cocktail




Ingredients3/4 ounce London dry gin3/4 ounce green Chartreuse3/4 ounce maraschino liqueur3/4 ounce freshly squeezed lime juiceLime twist, for garnish
InstructionsAdd the gin, Chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, and lime juice to a cocktail shaker. Fill with ice and shake until well chilled. Strain into a chilled coupe glass. Hold the lime twist over the top of the drink and twist it to release the oils from the peel into the drink. Garnish with the lime twist.

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Nectarine Plum Pie with a Brown Sugar Crust

So I’ve been organizing all of my old posts into categories. It’s a huge process — over 3,500 posts covering a 15 year span — but it’s also oddly satisfying; like cleaning up a hoarder house. My goal is for you to be able to click “cakes” and to see every cake recipe I’ve ever posted.

On a personal level, reading through my archives is like watching myself grow up. My early posts were so dopey (remember when I wrote a song about frozen yogurt?) but also so innocent. Now I’m a jaded old man in my 40s! I started this blog when I was *gulp* 25. At least there’s the wisdom that comes with age. And nothing embodies how much I’ve grown than my relationship to pie dough.

Pie has always been my white whale. Even though my pie archives tell a different story, I’ve always been a neurotic mess when it comes to making and rolling out pie dough. Craig’s dad Steve has been my pie guru (see his legendary apple pie here) and I’ve long admired the casualness with which he makes it.

Now I have my own pie philosophy: for starters, the food processor is your friend. True you’ll get a flakier pie if you use your hands, but with a food processor, you can work fast and never let the butter get too warm. I have my standard pie recipe (it’s written in magic marker and hanging on my fridge), but this weekend a new sheriff came to town and her name is Nicole Rucker.

Nicole, who I talked up in my BLT post, is a pie guru. Food & Wine calls her “The L.A. Pie Queen”; she destroyed the competition at KCRW’s Good Food pie contest, and then won a blue ribbon at the National Pie Championships in Orlando. Her pies are legendary and she currently sells them at her Grand Central Market bakery, Fat & Flour.

Her cookbook, Dappled, which you should go ahead and buy now (it’s okay, I’ll wait) has her detailed pie-making instructions which, of course, have you make the dough by hand. I love her descriptions of how it feels to make the dough: “Once all the butter chunks have been pinched, grab small handfuls of flour and butter and rub the two together between the palms of your hands until the mixture resembles uneven pebbles on a sandy beach.”

My kitchen was ultra hot on Saturday and so, as much as I wanted to follow Nicole’s detailed instructions for making it by hand, I figured the food processor was a safer bet. Her pie dough recipe has three sticks of butter and brown sugar dissolved in apple cider vinegar. It’s a peculiar combination but it yielded the dreamiest pie dough I’ve ever worked with. It rolled out like a red carpet for the premiere of the best pie you’ve ever made.

As for the filling, my fruit strategy in the summer is to buy as much stone fruit as I possibly can, to eat as much of it as possible during the week and whatever’s leftover, I bake into dessert. So I had leftover nectarines and plums and that’s what I threw into the pie. The result?

A mature, sophisticated pie from a mature, sophisticated Amateur Gourmet. It only took sixteen years, lots of therapy, and a food processor, but I’ve come a long way from my days of recreating great moments in musical theater with eggs. Ah, those were the days.

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Nectarine Plum Pie with a Brown Sugar Crust


A bright, summery pie using Nicole Rucker's award-winning pie crust recipe.










IngredientsFor the pie dough:1/4 cup dark brown sugar1 Tbs unfiltered apple cider vinegar3/4 cup hot water1 1/2 tsps fine sea salt4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for the surface3 sticks unsalted butter, cold and cut into 1/2-inch cubesFor the pie:3 Tbs all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling3 pounds nectarines and plums Peaches or apricots would work well here; Nicole has you peel them, but I skipped that step!3/4 cup granulated sugar1 1/2 Tbs fresh lemon juice1 tsp vanilla bean paste or extract1/4 tsp ground mace I used freshly grated nutmeg2 Tbs unsalted butter, at room temperature3 Tbs heavy cream1 Tbs raw Turbinado sugar
InstructionsFor the pie dough:In a measuring cup, combine the brown sugar, vinegar, salt, and hot water. Stir until the sugar has dissolved. Chill the liquid in the freezer until it is very cold (this should take about 20 minutes) and leave in the fridge until you are ready to start the rest of the dough.Combine the flour and butter in the bowl of a food processor. (Note: this is where I depart from Nicole Rucker's recipe; for her instructions on how to do it by hand, buy Dappled!) Pulse until the butter is incorporated and you have pea-sized pieces, about 8 or 9 zaps.Pour the brown sugar mixture through the feeding tube and pulse just until the dough is moist. You don't want to overwork it here. Dump the dough on to a well-floured board.Using a bench scraper, bring the dough together into a solid mass. If it's still too crumbly, you can knead it quickly with the palm of your hand; just don't warm things up too much. When you have a solid mound, cut it in half with the bench scraper and form each half into a disc. Wrap with plastic and refrigerate for 2 hours before using.For the pie:Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment. Cut the fruit into 3/4-inch slices. In a large bowl, combine with the flour, granulated sugar, lemon juice, vanilla, and mace and toss to coat all of the fruit in the seasoning.Remove the pie dough from the fridge and remove the plastic from each disc. Dust your work surface with flour and lay your first disc on it. Dust the top with more flour and also your rolling pin. Pound the dough to flatten it and then begin rolling it out, from the center outwards, rotating as you go and adding more flour to keep it from sticking. You want to work fast to keep the dough from warming up. If your dough sticks at all, dust with more flour (I find it helps to flip it upside down so you can keep dusting). When you've rolled it out to a 12-inch round, transfer to a 9 1/2-inch pie dish and use your fingertips to press the dough into the shape of the pie dish, leaving a 2-inch overhang. Roll out the top dough using the same method, then transfer the fruit to the bottom crust. Dot with the butter and drape the top crust over the fruit.Press the edges of the pie shell together to seal. (If you have too much dough, use a pair of scissors to trim.) Fold the edge of the pie dough under itself and crimp the edge of the crust with your thumb and forefinger, pressing gently into the pie dish as you crimp. Brush the top with heavy cream and sprinkle with Turbinado sugar. Place the whole pie in the freezer for 15 minutes (I skipped this step!). Place the pie on the parchment-lined baking sheet, cut a few slits into the top crust, and bake the pie for 30 minutes. Then lower the temperature to 375 and continue baking until the filling is bubbling and the crust is deeply golden brown, about 30 minutes more. (Really check the color here; if it's still pale, don't be afraid to keep going.)Cool the pie on a wire rack for 2 hours before cutting (that's the hardest part). Store at room temperature for 1 day or in the fridge for up to 1 week.

Related Posts:

Summer Fruit Pie (Eat The Love)

Summer Fruit Tart with Almond Cream (David Lebovitz)

Nectarine Hand Pies (Serious Eats)

Nectarine Plum and Raspberry Pie (Epicurious)

Nicole Rucker’s Key Lime Pie (LA Times)

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Stuffed Onions, Peppers, and Tomatoes with Sausage and Rice

Drinking before you cook has its benefits. For starters, it loosens you up; makes you less anxious about whether the salmon will sear perfectly or the Étouffée will be an Étoufail. On the flip side, drunk cooking might lead to cooking accidents and/or a viral web series.

On weekends, I like to enjoy a good cocktail before heading into the kitchen. My favorite, these days, is a White Negroni: equal parts Gin, Cocchi Americano, and this orange-flavored Amaro we get here in L.A. called Amaro Angeleno. It was after imbibing an especially potent version of this favorite drink that I decided to do something truly wild: I decided to stuff vegetables with random things that I had in my fridge and then to bake them in tomato sauce.

Here’s what I had in my fridge: a pound of ground pork, leftover rice from the previous night’s dinner, green peppers that I bought for no apparent reason (I thought they were part of this red beans and rice recipe, but they weren’t), celery, Parmesan, and an heirloom tomato which wasn’t in my fridge because you shouldn’t keep tomatoes in your fridge.

I had some previous experience stuffing vegetables with rice — see my Greek Stuffed Peppers — but the pork was new to me. I read a few recipes online (including one by Nigel Slater) and learned that you basically sauté your aromatics in olive oil, add some tomato paste, add some tomatoes and then, off the heat, stir in the pork and the rice.

That all went very well (I also added pistachios and raisins), but then I had a problem: I had WAY too much filling for the two green peppers I had planned on stuffing. Enter the onions and the tomato.

I hollowed everything out — the onions were the trickiest, I used a paring knife – and stuffed until I could stuff no more. Then I used the same skillet that I sautéed the aromatics in and poured in a can of tomatoes that I crushed by hand. I placed the stuffed vegetables back in (kind of looks like a vegetable jacuzzi), drizzled everything with olive oil, and baked at 350 until the pork was cooked through, the filling was set, and the sauce had thickened.

What can I say? Drunk cooking has its benefits. Had I not had a White Negroni, would I have had the courage to core out an onion and stuff it with pork? Probably not. We probably would’ve ordered pizza for dinner.

So make yourself a stiff one, this weekend, and get cooking.

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Stuffed Onions, Peppers, and Tomatoes with Sausage and Rice


A great way to use up leftover vegetables and rice with a dramatic presentation and a self-making sauce to boot.










Ingredients6 – 8 Assorted whole vegetables: peppers, onions, large tomatoes Be sure to have at least one tomato for the tomato pulp (see remaining ingredients)Olive oil1 chopped onion1/2 cup chopped celerySalt and pepper4 cloves garlic, chopped1 Tbs tomato paste1 tsp smoked paprika1 cup fresh tomato pulp (scooped out from one of the large tomatoes and chopped)1 pound ground pork1 cup leftover cooked rice1/2 cup green pistachios (optional)1/2 cup raisins (optional) I know you might hate raisins, but it lends a nice sweetness.1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for sprinkling1 can whole San Marzano tomatoes, crushed by handChopped parsley
InstructionsHeat the oven to 350 degrees.First, prep your vegetables. Slice the tops off the peppers, onions, or tomatoes, creating a little hat. Scoop out the insides: with the peppers, just pull out the seeds and membranes (they're the easiest). With the tomatoes and onions, use a paring knife to create a cavity large enough to hold at least 1/2 cup of filling. Be careful not to carve out too much, though, or the filling might leak through. Be sure everything can stand up neatly in a pan.Heat a large skillet, pour in 1/4 cup of olive oil, and add your chopped onions and celery with a pinch of salt. Sauté until soft; then add the garlic, tomato paste, and the smoked paprika. Cook until fragrant, then add the tomato pulp. Stir around with a pinch of salt and take off the heat. Once cool, mix in the ground pork, leftover rice, pistachios, raisins, and Parmesan (best to do this by hand). The mixture should be very moist. If not, add more tomato or, if you're out of tomato, a splash of white wine would do too. Season again with salt and pepper (at least a teaspoon of each).In the skillet, pour in the can of crushed tomatoes and season that with salt. Now's the fun part: stuff your vegetables! Use your hands to stuff as much in as possible and place the little hat back on as you put it into the skillet. When finished, drizzle all of the vegetables with more olive oil and sprinkle with more salt and pepper.Bake for 45 minutes, or until the pork reaches a temperature of 160 degrees on a digital thermometer. You'll know it's done when the filling is completely set, the vegetables are softened and maybe a bit charred, and the sauce in the pan has thickened.Serve right away with the sauce on the plate, the vegetable on top, and a sprinkling of Parmesan and parsley to garnish.

Related Posts:

Stuffed Eggplant with Lamb and Pine Nuts (Amateur Gourmet)

Couscous and Feta Stuffed Peppers (Smitten Kitchen)

Sausage and Rice Stuffed Peppers (Pioneer Woman)

Stuffed Bell Peppers (A Brown Table)

Quinoa Stuffed Bell Peppers (LA Times)

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Anytime Pasta with Scallions, Peas, and Parmesan

Pour one out, if you will, for the imported Italian bowl that you see above: I bought it on eBay a few years ago, it was my pride and joy, and yesterday — after doing the dishes — I was putting ramekins away high up in a cabinet and one of them fell and broke my most treasured kitchen possession. There are now two broken off pieces and my friend Rebecca gave me a Kintsugi kit, but it’ll never be the same.

Thankfully, its last night on this earth was a happy one (and, for the record, it has a twin in case you see the bowl again!). Happy because of this pasta which I made using frozen peas, a little butter, scallions, and lots of Parmesan. These are all things you should have in your fridge and freezer anyway: frozen peas (they’re better than fresh peas!), Parmesan cheese (guilty secret: I buy the good stuff, but already grated… don’t @ me), butter (I’m going through a Kerrygold phase), and scallions, which are excellent on eggs, in salads, and, as you’re about to see, pasta.

This pasta is so easy, it basically makes itself. And it tastes good in summer, even though none of the ingredients are particularly summery (peas are springy, if anything) and also in winter when you want something fresh.

To make it, you sauté the white and light green parts of scallions (a whole bunch) in a tablespoon or two of butter. You add the frozen peas directly from the package and then, after dropping your pasta into boiling salted water, you add a ladleful of it to the skillet with the peas. You let that all cook together, adding more water as necessary to keep it saucy.

The real magic happens at the end: you lift the pasta directly into the skillet with the peas and then add all of the things that make it taste great… lots of lemon zest, lots of pepper, a bit more butter (it helps it set up), and then a ton of Parmesan.

These final moments are where you constantly taste and tell yourself “that’s what chefs do” but really you’re tasting because it tastes so good. If it doesn’t, that’s an easy fix: throw in more Parmesan, lemon zest, lemon juice (if you think it needs it), and black pepper. Here’s a little secret I’ll tell you: shoe leather would taste good if you doused it in Parmesan, lemon zest, lemon juice, butter, and black pepper. Knowing that, you really can’t fail.

So make this Anytime Pasta in honor of a bowl that served its kitchen well. It was an honor to know you.

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Anytime Pasta with Scallions, Peas, and Parmesan


A quick, weeknight dinner that uses things you should already have in your fridge and freezer.





Servings 4 people (or 2 very hungry people)




IngredientsSalt and freshly ground black pepper4 Tbs butter, divided in half1 bunch scallions, chopped, whites and green parts separated1 package frozen peas Organic, if possible1 pound Penne or Orecchiette or Cavatappi Lots of pasta would work here; just don't use spaghetti. It won't catch the peas.1 lemon1/2 – 1 cup freshly grated Parmesan Important to use the good stuff here; look for "aged" Parmesan
InstructionsBring a large pot of water to a boil. Season well with salt (it should taste like well-seasoned broth).In a large skillet, melt two tablespoons of the butter and, when foamy, add the white parts of the scallion, plus a pinch of salt. When soft, add the package of frozen peas and, at the same time, drop the pasta into the boiling water.Using a ladle, lift about a cup of the pasta water into the skillet with the peas and scallions. Lower to a simmer and let that cook for a bit. If the skillet gets dry, add more pasta water. You don't want the temperature so hot that the peas break apart, so be gentle here.When the pasta is cooked al dente (one minute less than the package directions; best to taste here), lift it with a spider tool into the skillet with the peas. Add another ladleful of pasta water, turn up the heat, and stir all around, until the pasta is coated in the buttery scallion pea mixture and there's no more liquid at the bottom of the skillet.Turn the heat off, add the remaining butter, lots of black pepper, the zest of the lemon (zest it directly over the pasta to catch the oils), a little lemon juice (to taste), and at least 1/2 cup of the Parmesan. Stir it all around and taste to adjust with more lemon, black pepper, and Parmesan.Serve in pasta bowls and top with more Paremsan and pepper.

Related Posts:

Penne with Ramp Pesto, Asparagus, and Peas (Amateur Gourmet)

Penne with Peas, Pea Greens, and Parmesan (New York Times)

Creamy One-Post Pasta with Peas and Mint (Bon Appetit)

Meyer Lemon, Peas, and Parmesan Pasta (Food52)

Pasta with Ham and Peas (Simply Recipes)

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Louisiana Red Beans and Rice

Calling a cookbook “essential” is a bit cliché, but that’s not the case with Toni Tipton-Martin’s Jubilee, this year’s James Beard Award winner for Best American cookbook. We’re in a state of reckoning right now in America, a necessary reckoning that’s had reverberations in the food world (see: Bon Appetit) and has forced many of us to question our own blindness when it comes to racial inequality.

For me, that blindness is made manifest on my cookbook shelf. I have hundreds of cookbooks — five Inas, for crying out loud — and yet so few of my cookbooks are by people of color. It’s an embarrassing state of affairs, one that I’m in the process of remedying; after interviewing Samin Nosrat on Instagram Live, I immediately bought some of her new favorite cookbooks, including Maangi’s Big Book of Korean Cooking and Dishoom by Shamil Thakrar.

But no book as felt more important to me right now than Toni Tipton-Martin’s Jubilee.

This book is both an education and a celebration. Tipton-Martin seeks to explore the history of Black cooking in America, resurrecting recipes from over 400 cookbooks “dating to 1827, with themes that reflect not just Southern cooking or the soul food African Americans are known for and pigeonholed in, but immensely broad culinary interests and recipes.”

Case in point: the Louisiana Red Beans and Rice that I made last week inspired by Louis Armstrong’s favorite dish. Apparently, Louis Armstrong loved the dish so much he was known for the following salutation: “Red beans and ricely yours.”

Traditionally made on Monday, using leftover ham bones from Sunday night’s dinner, I was lucky enough to have a smoked ham hock in my freezer from McCall’s Meat & Fish. Truthfully, I never quite knew what to do with the smoked ham hocks I’d been buying from there; I usually just threw them into a pot of beans and then discarded them. Foolish me! They’re wonderful, once cooked with the beans, chopped up and stirred back in.

Otherwise, the rest of the ingredients are all grocery store staples (including the holy trinity of New Orleans cooking): celery, pepper, onion, plus red kidney beans, garlic, bay leaf, parsley, and green onions.

The resulting dish was both luxurious and clean-tasting. I’ve been making beans all Covid long, and usually I just throw in a whole onion and a head of garlic sliced in half and some other aromatics and let it simmer away; but here, you sauté the vegetables first and then stir them into water with the soaked beans. The result was a revelation, the same way that Jubilee is a revelation.

Make way, Ina. This cookbook shelf has a new star.

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Louisiana Red Beans and Rice


From Toni Tipton-Martin's Jubilee, a comforting stew of kidney beans, vegetables, and — the key ingredient — a smoked ham hock.





Servings 6 people




Ingredients2 Tbs bacon drippings or vegetable or olive oil 1 small fresh red chile pepper, minced I used a Fresno chile, but I bet a jalapeño would work too1 cup diced onion1/2 cup diced red bell pepper1/2 cup diced celery1 1/2 Tbs minced garlic (5 to 6 cloves)1 pound dried small red or kidney beans, picked over for stones, rinsed, soaked in water overnight, and drained1 bay leaf1 pound smoked ham hocks or 1 baked ham bone1 tsp salt, or to taste I used more, a few Tbs1/2 tsp black pepper1/2 cup minced parsley1/2 cup minced green onionsFreshly cooked rice, for serving
InstructionsIn a skillet, heat the bacon fat over medium-high heat. Add the chile pepper, onion, bell pepper, celery, and garlic and sauté, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 6 minutes.In a medium pot, combine 8 cups water, the sautéed vegetables, drained beans, bay leaf, and ham hocks. Stir to mix well. (I add a Tbs salt at this point, which is controversial, but I think it helps the beans have more flavor.) Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 2 hours. Season with more salt and pepper and continue to cook until the beans are tender, about 1 hour longer. Remove and discard the bay leaf.Remove the ham hocks or ham bone from the beans to a cutting board. When cool enough to handle, use a sharp knife to remove the meat from the bone and coarsely chop the meat (discard any skin, fat, and bones). Stir the meat, parsley, and green onions into the beans, taste and adjust seasonings with salt and pepper. Serve the beans and ham over hot cooked rice.

Related Recipes:

Brians’ Red Beans & Rice (Amateur Gourmet)

Red Beans and Rice (Simply Recipes)

New Orleans-Style Red Beans and Rice (Serious Eats)

New Orleans Red Beans and Rice (Joy The Baker)

Red Beans and Rice (NYT)

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A Most Excellent BLT

You never know where you’ll learn a life-altering cooking technique. Longtime readers will know that I glean most of my food knowledge from Saturday afternoon PBS cooking shows (hat-tips to Lidia, Bridget & Julia, and Mary Ann Esposito), but today’s post is a result of following pastry chef extraordinaire Nicole Rucker on Instagram.

Nicole wears many hats: proprietor of Fat & Flour in the Grand Central Market, author of the delightful cookbook Dappled (you’ll be seeing some recipes here from it soon), and inaugural guest on my podcast, Lunch Therapy. She’s also, it turns out, a bacon whisperer.

A few weeks ago on her Instagram stories, she wrote a screed — well maybe not a screed, it wasn’t angry — a rant about bacon basically asking why anyone would cook it in a skillet when you can cook it in the oven? I’m going off my memory here (Person Woman Man Camera TV) but her point was that in a skillet the bacon splatters grease everywhere; in the oven, cooked on foil, it crisps up perfectly and then you throw the foil away and you’re done.

Ever since reading Nicole’s bacon treatise, I’ve cooked my bacon this way exclusively. It truly is a game changer; less for the no-mess and more for how perfectly the bacon comes out: it’s deep, dark brown and dream crispy. This is how restaurants do it, Nicole explained, and now I see why. It’s fool-proof.

Once you have bacon like that, it’s easy to make a most excellent BLT. My strategy is to cook the bacon first, to slice the juiciest, reddest tomato in my larder (larder?!), and then to mix some mayo and Dijon mustard, and toss some arugula with olive oil and white Balsamic (my new favorite ingredient) with salt and pepper. The bread (store-bought seven grain) wasn’t ideal — it’s what I had in my freezer — but with everything else so excellent, it didn’t really matter. And there are those who swear by ordinary bread in a summer tomato sandwich, so maybe that’s not a big deal. Toasting it helps.

Spread on the mayo-mustard, layer in the tomato, pile on the arugula, and then deploy your bacon. A most excellent BLT indeed.

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A Most Excellent BLT


The juiciest summer tomato and the crispiest bacon yields a dream sandwich.





Servings 2 BLTS




Ingredients4 – 6 pieces bacon (uncooked) I love Nueske's Applewood smoked1/4 cup mayonnaise2 Tbs Dijon mustard2 big handfuls arugula 2 Tbs olive oil1 splash white Balsamic vinegar lemon juice or white wine vinegar works just as wellSalt and pepper1 large red heirloom tomato4 pieces sandwich bread Use your favorite.
InstructionsPlace the bacon on a foil-lined cookie sheet and insert into the oven. Set the temperature to 375 and cook for 20 minutes or so until the bacon is deep, dark brown and incredibly crisp. Pour off the fat (save for another use!) and remove the bacon to a paper towel-lined plate.Mix the mayo and mustard together and set aside.In a large bowl, toss the arugula with the olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper and taste as you go. It should be bright and sharp.Using a serrated knife, slice your tomato into thick slices.Place your sandwich bread in the toaster and toast until golden brown.To assemble: slather the mustard-mayo on to both sides of the bread; add the tomato (season with salt and pepper), the arugula (if it's too much, put some on the side and call it a salad), and the bacon. Slice in half and eat right away.

Related Posts:

Bacon for a Crowd (Amateur Gourmet; guess I already knew this!)

Grilled Cheese BLT (Simply Recipes)

The Ultimate BLT Sandwich Recipe (Serious Eats)

Juicy BLT Recipe (NYT)

Grilled Bacon BLTs (Bon Appetit)

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Skillet Chicken Breasts with Corn, Peppers, and Scallions

Processed with VSCO with al2 preset

Here’s the thing: now that I’m making recipes printable, I feel a new responsibility. I used to just write little essays about how I added a pinch of this and a drop of that and I’m realizing now how useless that was: the people want printable recipes! And I get that because when I first started cooking, I followed recipes to the letter. You want to replicate the image you see in the picture and you want to know exactly how it’s done.

So let me explain the dinner you see before you: I had chicken breasts. I had corn, peppers, onions, scallions, and lots of other vegetables from a recent (terrifying) trip to the grocery store. A few weeks ago, I made an incredible corn dish involving bacon and all of the same vegetables (see here on Instagram). Knowing I had skin-on chicken breasts, I thought: what if I sear the chicken breasts and then cook the corn in the same skillet, working up the brown bits for that same meaty effect?

The result was a one-pan dinner that screams summer and also cozy, weeknight comfort.

First things first: how to cut fresh corn off the cob. See the picture above? That’s the best set up: put a little bowl upside down in a much larger bowl. Then hold the corn on top of it and cut straight down with a very sharp knife. The corn will stay inside the bigger bowl (this is a tip everyone says at some point, and now I’m saying it too.)

The other star of the show here is the chicken fat that renders out of the skin-on breasts when you sear them in the skillet. Here’s the thing about chicken breasts: they’re not sexy, but when they’re skin-on, bone-in, they’re at least making an effort. Like putting on makeup even though you didn’t take a shower.

Coating all of the vegetables in the chicken fat, plus working up those brown bits at the bottom of the pan (a little cider vinegar helps), not only helps cook the corn just enough without having to boil it first, it gives everything a magnificent chickeny flavor that marries your protein and side.

I threw in a tomato at the end which made things very juicy. If you don’t want juicy, leave out the tomato. But the juiciness made the corn almost like a sauce that helped keep the chicken moist. The other thing that keeps the chicken moist is a thermometer: use it to finish the chicken in the oven and take it out when it’s at 160 (it’ll keep cooking a little as it rests).

You’re probably confused because I never showed you a picture of me searing the chicken breasts first, but it’ll all make sense in the recipe below. Which brings this post full circle: now I don’t have to explain the whole cooking process in the essay that you’re scrolling past anyway. Printable recipes: they just make sense.

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Skillet Chicken Breasts with Corn, Peppers, and Scallions


A quick weeknight dinner featuring sweet summer corn and skin-on, bone-in chicken breasts.





Servings 2 hungry people




Ingredients1/4 cup olive oil2 skin-on, bone-in chicken breastsKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper1/2 red onion, chopped6 scallions chopped, whites and greens separated1 red pepper, chopped1 Fresno chili or jalapeño, minced4 cloves garlic, sliced thinly4 ears fresh corn, shucked and cut straight off the cob2 Tbs cider vinegar1 large tomato, chopped Optional: only if you want it saucy!1 Tbs butter Optional: I didn't add it, but if you do it'll make the dinner even better.
InstructionsPreheat the oven to 425.Add the olive oil to a large metal skillet and heat on medium-high heat. Season the chicken breasts all over with lots of salt and pepper and then place, skin-side down, in the skillet. You should hear an immediate sizzle. Cook for several minutes until the skin is deep, dark golden brown. Flip over with tongs and then place the skillet in the oven.Cook the chicken in the oven until a thermometer registers 160 – 165 when inserted into the breast. Takes about 20 – 30 minutes, depending on their size.Carefully remove the skillet from the oven and remove the chicken to a plate to rest.Place the pan back on medium-high heat and add the red onion, the white parts of the scallions, and the red pepper with a pinch of salt. Cook, working up the brown bits as you go, until softened.Add the Fresno chili and the garlic and cook a minute more, until the garlic is fragrant.Now add the corn, stir all around, and sprinkle with more salt. Cook until the corn is glossy, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add the cider vinegar, using it to work up any brown bits that remain at the bottom of the pan. If you're using the tomato, add it here too with another pinch of salt.Cook the vegetables until most of the liquid is gone. If you're using the butter, now's the time to add it: it'll help thicken the sauce and make everything even more shiny. This is also the time to taste the corn. Adjust for salt and acid.Sprinkle the green parts of the scallion over the corn, stir it in, then spoon on to plates and serve with the well-rested chicken breasts.

Related Posts:

Sweet Summer Corn with Bacon and Balsamic Onions (Amateur Gourmet)

Corn Chowder Salad (Smitten Kitchen)

Sautéed Chicken Breasts With Fresh Corn, Shallots and Cream (NYT)

Julia Moskin’s Caramelized Corn with Fresh Mint (The Wednesday Chef)

Vaghareli Makai, Spiced Indian Corn (David Lebovitz)

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Our Trip to Japan

Sometimes I scroll through the older images on my phone to remember what life used to be like before Covid and I suddenly remember that back in January (what feels like a lifetime ago) we took an epic trip to Japan.

The trip was both the result of a spontaneous impulse (“What if we go to Japan after Christmas?” Craig asked one day, last September) and then months of planning and replanning. Planning, because I researched all of the coolest restaurants and hotels and then replanning when I discovered that most of them were closed over New Year’s.

New Year’s, it turns out, is the most important holiday in Japan, when businesses shut down and people travel across the country to be with their families. There were moments, in planning this trip, that I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. Every single restaurant that people recommended in Tokyo — Den, Florilege, L’Effervesence, Narisawa, Sushi Sato (pretty much every one on Eater’s list) — was closed for the holiday; and every hotel that people recommended was also shut down for the week we’d be there.

There was a very real moment when I said to Craig: “We made a terrible mistake! Japan’s completely shut down when we’re going. Maybe we can get our money back?”

Craig pointed out that New Year’s was the only time we both knew for sure we’d be free to travel. (Who knew how right he’d be?) And since we already bought the tickets, why not just go ahead and go and let the trip unfold naturally, instead of trying to plan everything? Maybe it would be better to go at New Year’s; less crowded, more interesting.

Turns out, he was 100% correct. Going to Japan at New Year’s was not only totally fine, it was ideal. We barely encountered any tourists and in Kyoto, where tourists can overrun some of the more popular attractions, it felt like we had the whole place to ourselves.

We also had a real advantage when it came to our trip to Tokyo: Craig’s film school roommate, Genjiro, lives there and took us to some truly special restaurants; places I never would have encountered if I had planned the trip the way I originally intended. The first night we got there, Genjiro took us, with his friend Shiho, to a Yakitori restaurant called Daraku in the Shibuya district where we were staying.

Immediately upon sitting down, the chef — who’s in the previous picture and who grilled all of our food expertly and methodically over charcoal — asked us if we ate raw poultry. Coming from America, where I’m so squeamish about salmonella I marinate my chicken in Chlorox (Jk! don’t try that), we were nervous. But then he served us this ostrich tartare, which was beautiful to look at, as well as to eat.

Each course was better than the next…

…and then, Genjiro informed us, he had specially requested a dish called The Lantern. We watched the chef prepare what looked like golden orbs over the grill and then, when he held it up to us, it resembled a Japanese lantern.

Genjiro explained that they were chicken ovaries and possibly testicles (“boy parts and girl parts” was how he put it) and there was no denying how expertly these two elements had been fused together. It was the first time we’d ever eaten anything like it — almost like biting into a water balloon filled with egg yolks — and we’re not sure we’ll be rushing out to eat it again, but we’re so glad we tried it.

That night it was back to our hotel, The Hotel Koe, which I found after frantic, endless research. I knew I wanted to stay in Shibuya — a central, super lively area — but either the hotels I looked up were way too expensive (we’re talking over $1,000 a night) or kind of dismal seeming and sad.

The Hotel Koe, on the other hand, seemed bright and fun. There was a clothing store and a restaurant in the lobby and it seemed to be close to all the trains; plus the price was super reasonable (I want to say only $300 a night.) Only catch? Our room was going to be comically small. People left comments on the web about how small the room was. So I prepared Craig beforehand and this is what our room looked like:

It may look like a jail cell, but it was actually very comfortable and brilliantly designed. You can’t see, but to the right was an extremely modern bathroom with a Japanese toilet (we fell in love with Japanese toilets) and a spacious, almost luxurious, shower. The room was minimalist but had everything that we needed. Plus, breakfast was included and we enjoyed it every day in a little salon — a black, enclosed space — where we were doted over and every dish was a dreamy version of itself (see: the Eggs Benedict below).

That was the thing we quickly learned about Japan: nothing was taken for granted. Every dish, every cup of coffee, every cocktail (see my strawberry martini at Star Bar in Ginza below) was an opportunity for excellence and care. There was so much attention paid to even the minutest detail, it was hard not to fall in love with the place.

Even something like pizza — which we had at the legendary Seirinkan — gave Italy a run for its money, it was made with so much attention and care.

Of course, we had to have sushi. This is where I struggled the most: the majority of the “best” places were impossible to get into (one food writer told me that to go to her favorite sushi restaurant, you had to know the chef… which was kind of an obnoxious thing to say, but also true, I suppose) and so, after tons of research, I settled on Sushi Ginza Onodera — which, I later learned has outposts in New York and Beverly Hills (haha), but they fly the fish in from Japan so we were eating it at the source.

Turns out, this was a wonderful place to eat sushi in Tokyo. The room was bright and pristine and the chefs stood behind the counter, as you’d expect, but there was something especially theatrical here. The sushi was exemplary; there were the familiar bites — the fatty tuna, the mackerel — but then there were things like live shrimp that crawled right up to us to say hello before they were plunged into boiling water.

Other sushi moments:

As far as other Tokyo experiences, one absolute highlight was a bookstore called Tsutaya in Daikanyama which was an architectural marvel — like three bookstores in one — with a fascinating cookbook section (I loved seeing Kenji’s cookbook in Japanese) and a gorgeous bar/restaurant area where we stopped for some green tea and mochi.

I also became a loyal fan of a store in Shibuya called Loft, which is basically a department store but filled with all kinds of things you’ll actually want for your home: cooking utensils, posters, calendars (the calendar currently hanging in my kitchen is from there), and beautiful mugs, including these speckled mugs which I sadly broke in the sink when I got home; Craig reordered them online.

There was also the 365 Days Bakery, recommended to me by The Boy Who Bakes (Edd Kimber), which turned out to be the only place we could find open for lunch right around New Year’s. Eating perfect pastries in the middle of the day for sustenance is my kind of eating.

As much as we loved Tokyo, we loved Kyoto even more. We took the bullet train there (a whole ordeal involving prepaid tickets that ended up not being worthwhile because of something something, I don’t even remember) but upon arrival, we instantly fell in love. Our hotel, The Celestine Kyoto Gyon, was absolutely enchanting. Walking into the lobby, a dragon bit us on the head for good luck (a New Year’s custom).

Then we were escorted to the lobby, where we were presented with soothing green tea as our room was prepared.

The rooms here were spacious, simply adorned, and oh so comfortable (about 10X the size of our room in Tokyo). The hotel also had a public bath which we went to on the first night; you get completely naked, scrub yourself in a little stall, then sit in the very hot water. It was cleansing in every sense.

Our hotel also had the most wonderful Japanese breakfast buffet that had some of my favorite food of the trip.

Kyoto was positively humming with activity when we were there because of the New Year. There were all kinds of festivals going on around the temples with lots of food to sample. When we walked The Philosopher’s Path — an essential hike between two temples — we found a huge line of people waiting to say their prayers at the temple, and near it a woman serving cold soba noodles with smoked fish (it’s the lead picture in this post).

That Nishin Soba was truly extraordinarily — a bite I’ll never forget — the chewy noodles, the complex broth, the smokiness of the fish. It proved that all of the planning in the world couldn’t have generated this moment; it’s the kind of moment you have to open yourself up to without planning (how appropriate that it happened on The Philosopher’s Path).

Our first night there, we ate a traditional Kaiseki dinner at Gion Nanba. We sat in a little room and a woman, dressed in traditional Japanese garb, tended to us.

Every course was a mini masterpiece of elegance and precision. The first course came inside a ceramic swan (I believe it was soup).

But the prettiest course was this intricate array of small bites, each one more fascinating and delectable than the last.

The next day, we explored the Imperial Palace and the Nishiki Market where we had our next moment of culinary kismet. We stumbled upon a ramen shop, Gogyo, that serves burnt miso ramen. It was like regular ramen that spent a week at CBGBs in the 80s; this ramen was punk rock.

That night, we met up with our friends Jimmy and Raef — who were on a similar trip (we spent New Year’s with them in Tokyo) — at Tempura Endo Yasaka Gion.

This meal was a real mind-bender. Something as simple as a carrot was utterly transformed by tempura batter and a quick fry. Even the carrot greens became something special.

And this fried shrimp will probably be the best fried shrimp of my life.

The next day we took the bullet train back to Tokyo, I went back to Loft for some more knickknacks (bowls for eating oatmeal in the morning; two really cool spoons with a red handle) and then, on our last night, Genjiro took us to his favorite Izakaya, Iwao, in Shibuya with his friend Yucca.

We drank sake and ate casual sashimi…

…and gyozo pizza: like the inside of a dumpling on a crispy thin crust.

Plus these young sardines, called shirasu.

Before we knew it, we were at the airport the next day, flying back to L.A. and our beloved Winston. Who knew we’d also be flying back to a global pandemic and months and months of endless social distancing.

I share this with you now to remind you of how much world there still is out there and how exciting it’s going to be when we’re able to get back to it. I’m also sharing this as a reminder not to psych yourselves out of going on adventures; if I’d listened to that voice in my head that said “cancel the trip” none of this would’ve happened. That voice is an idiot.

Thanks to Genjiro for being such an exemplary host. We loved Japan and can’t wait to go back… on another New Year’s, clearly the best time to go.

TOKYO:

Hotel: Hotel Koe (Shibuya)

Restaurants: Reservations recommended (it’s easiest to book through your hotel).

Daraku in Shibuya (for Yakitori)Seirinkan (for pizza)Sushi Ginza Onodera  365 Days BakeryIwao (Izakaya in Shibuya)

Other Tokyo Destinations:

Tsutaya bookstore (Daikanyama T-site)Star Bar (in Ginza for cocktails)Loft Department Store (in Shibuya, for souvenirs)

KYOTO:

Hotel: The Celestine Kyoto Gion

Restaurants:

Gion NanbaGogyo Ramen (for the burnt miso)Tempura Endo Yasaka Gion

Helpful Japan Resources That I Used To Plan The Trip:

The 38 Essential Tokyo Restaurants (Eater)The Eater Guide To Tokyo (Eater)Time Out TokyoTokyo: Places I Love (101 Cookbooks)36 Hours in Kyoto (New York Times)Ed Droste’s Japan Travel Diary (Vogue)

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White Bean Soup with Parmesan and Kale

We’ve escaped to Santa Barbara for a week with our friends Ryan and Jonathan, forming a mini quarantine community as Covid cases blow up all over the country. It’s making me think a lot about the idea of a “chosen family,” since my biological family is 3,000 miles away in Florida, at the epicenter of the virus (don’t worry: they’re doing okay).

Usually, when I go on vacation with friends, I take a break from cooking (causing much controversy since many friends are like: “Hey, I look at your Instagram, why aren’t you making me dinner?”). But here in our Santa Barbara bubble, I’ve happily become the resident chef: slicing fruit for yogurt and granola in the morning, toasting bread for sandwiches at lunch, and then whipping up random dinners. I may be annoying as a person, but as a quarantine roommate, I’m a star.

When packing for this week-long escape, I decided to load up my car with all kinds of cooking equipment: my stock pot (great for cooking for a group; not just for making stock), my Le Creuset Dutch oven, my knives, and a few essential tools (a microplane grater, a handheld juicer, a digital thermometer). I also brought a bag of Rancho Gordo cassoulet beans (white beans) in case I felt like making soup.

As you can see by the picture, my soup vision became a reality on our first full night here. The night before, I soaked the white beans in a big bowl of cold water. The next day, I went shopping at Lazy Acres — a pretty charming grocery store here in Santa Barbara, though with my mask on tightly, I was more concerned with getting out of there alive — and came home with onions, carrots, celery, Tuscan kale, rosemary, garlic, and a pasta that seemed good for soup (I forget the name). I also found the most incredible raw milk Parmesan.

It’s a wonder I didn’t just eat the whole thing by itself. Instead, I cut the rind off and threw it into my Dutch oven along with the rinsed beans, lots of cold water, and all of the aromatics. Those perked away for about an hour and then I made a soup base with the rest of the vegetables, pouring the beans and their broth in (after picking out all the stuff) and supplementing with water. The pasta goes in, along with the kale, and then you cook just until the pasta’s al dente.

The resulting soup was so cozy and comforting and not at all wrong for summer, when soup usually comes in the cold variety. But it’s chilly here at night, and this soup is still light because of the white beans and a hit of lemon zest that I added at the end.

Plus I used celery leaves as a garnish because you should never throw away your celery leaves. All in all, it’s a soup that anyone can make and everyone should make, especially now. It’s healthy but feels like a hug. And don’t we all need a hug these days? Here’s my hug to you.

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White Bean Soup with Parmesan and Kale


A warming, light soup with lots of flavor from garlic, Parmesan rind, and lemon.





Servings 4 hungry people




IngredientsFor the beans:1 bag Rancho Gordo cassoulet beans (16 ounce bag) Any dry white beans will do here, but these are the best.1 whole carrot, peeled and broken in half1 large piece of celery, broken in half1 whole yellow onion, sliced in half1 head of garlic, sliced through the equator (exposing all the cloves)1 Parmesan rind (cut off a wedge of aged Parmesan)A few sprigs rosemary1 dried red chile 3 Tbs Kosher saltFor the soup:1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling1 onion, chopped4 carrots, peeled and chopped4 stalks celery, chopped (leaves reserved)6 cloves garlic, slicedPinch red chile flakes (plus more for serving)1 cup dry white wine1 pound small pasta (orecchiette, conchigliette, Orzo)1 head Tuscan kale, stemmed and slicedSalt and pepperFresh lemon zest (for serving)Grated Parmesan (for serving)
InstructionsThe night before you make the soup, rinse the beans and soak them in a large bowl of cold water. Change the water in the morning.In a large pot or Dutch oven, add the drained beans, the carrot, the celery, the onion, the garlic, Parmesan rind, rosemary, and dried red chili. Cover by at least an inch with cold water and season with the salt. Turn the heat to high, bring to a rapid boil for five minutes. Lower the heat to a simmer and cook, for at least an hour, until the beans are cooked through and creamy. (Note: make sure they're creamy, or you haven't cooked them long enough.) It's a good idea to taste the broth as it goes along; if it needs more salt, add it.When the beans are done cooking, turn off the heat and use tongs to remove the carrot, celery, onion, garlic, Parmesan rind, rosemary, and chili. It's okay if some stray rosemary needles are floating around or bits of garlic skin; this is a rustic soup. Set the beans aside.In your largest pot, add the olive oil and saute the onion, carrots, celery, garlic with a pinch of salt until everything is soft but not brown. Add the red chili flakes, cook a moment longer, then add the white wine and let it cook until it boils off.Add the entire pot of white beans and their liquid. Stir everything together and then add about two cups of water with another pinch of salt. Turn the heat to high and let everything perk away together for fifteen minutes.Taste the broth: it should be perfectly seasoned. If not, adjust with more salt. If it's too salty, add more water. Add the pasta and kale and cook together until the pasta is perfectly al dente.To plate, ladle the soup into bowls and drizzle with more olive oil, and sprinkle with the lemon zest, the Parmesan, more red chili flakes, and the celery leaves to garnish.

More White Bean Soups:

Soup of Cannellini Beans with Pasta and Rosemary (Amateur Gourmet)

White Bean Soup with Bacon and Herbs (Food & Wine)

Tuscan White Bean Soup (Barefoot Contessa)

Mediterranean White Bean Soup (The Kitchn)

Italian Wedding Soup (What’s Gaby Cooking)

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