Noodle Noir, Part 2

(Continued from Part 1)
After many turns of The Roller’s crank, lots of sweat, and a few choice words (but no tears, not this time), I finally had fresh pasta that I could fill, cook and sauce (see Noodle Noir, Part 1). I also had a suitable filling (also see Noodle Noir Part 1), but sauce?…I needed a sauce.

After all the labor of the noodles, I needed to use my head. The sauce had to be simple. I would have loved fresh herbs in this sauce, but it was only April, and I was still in Minnesota. I needed to use what was in the cupboard. I also only needed enough for two, so I made half the recipe.



Simple Tomato-Garlic Sauce

1 tablespoon olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
¼ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
16 ounces tomato sauce
2 teaspoons dried basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste

I sautéed the garlic in the hot oil, until it started to brown a little, being careful, oh so careful, not to burn it. I then added the pepper flakes, then the tomato sauce and the seasonings. Satisfied that it would behave itself, I set the sauce to simmer on a back burner while I dealt with the ravs.

I had to work quickly, before the raw noodles dried out. I spooned out the filling by heaping teaspoons (any more and it would bust out of the ravs and make an ugly mess) onto the lower third of the long side of the noodle strips. I left a couple inches breathing room between each blob. It would be best if they didn’t contact each other. I think you understand why. I brushed some water on three sides of the filling, to help the noodle pocket stick together, then tucked the blobs in for a nap by folding the top part of the noodle over the filling. I pressed the noodle together around the filling, keeping as much air out of the pocket as possible. I then cut the ravs apart from each other and pressed the edges together pretty hard, satisfied that the spinach and ricotta would not see daylight until dinner time.








When all the ravs were made, it was time to really put the heat to some, and put the rest on ice. Remember, I was only cooking for two, and would save the rest of the ravs for another, busier day. I brought pot of salted water to a boil for the hotties and froze the rest in a single layer on wax paper-covered pans. I was careful, having learned from experience that if these babies are stored too close to each other, they’ll stick together better than even the toughest crime families. Once they were frozen, I locked them up in freezer bags in their new, icy home.

Once the water was at a simmer, I put in some ravs, giving them elbow room, not too many at a time. I also didn’t want them to completely fall apart under the pressure, so I didn’t boil them hard. Just a simmer. There are some who would say these babies will float like corks when they are done cooking. I don’t believe them. The last piece of detective work I needed to do was to investigate my cooked ravs. I didn’t want to go through this much work only to eat raw dough. I checked a representative sample by cutting into a piece of pasta to see if it was done. 3 to 4 minutes of gentle simmering and they were cooked. I removed them from the pot. I repeated this process with the rest of the ravs, keeping the cooked ones warm in the oven.

When they were all done, I poured some hot sauce over each serving and topped it with grated cheese-Parmigiano Reggiano for me, please. Tasting it all was the real test of my day’s work, and I passed that test. Passed it with flying colors. The nuttiness and firm texture of the whole wheat pasta were a welcome change, and the increased WFQ* was just a bonus. The filling and the sauce were equal supporting partners. This was good. This was really good. I was in my happy place.



With a warm fuzzy feeling, I watched the April rain and thought of those spring foods that were still to come to Minnesota. I would wait. Perhaps not patiently, but I would have to wait. And a sexy vegetarian ravioli in a spicy red sauce would go a long way toward making me feel better that they weren’t here yet.

The End.

* Whole Food Quotient




Epilogue:

I checked back, perhaps a little over a week later, on the ravs in the chiller. They had served enough time, though I suppose they could have lasted in there a month or more. I sprung them from their confinement, simmered them (a little longer since they were frozen) and sauced them. It was the right thing to do, and it confirmed my earlier suspicion: their only crime was being delicious.



(Photo at top by Harry Leckenby)

Noodle Noir, Part 1

It was a dark and stormy April Sunday. The newspapers and food magazines had declared asparagus the shining star of the moment. The Food Network website exclaimed that peas were at their peak of the season. This was all news to me. I live in Minnesota.

It could be another month before the lusty spring greens and other flirtatious fruits of the newly-awakened earth would dare to show their pretty faces around these parts. I couldn’t wait that long. I would be hungry by evening.

I had pretty good leads on this case: a hankering for fresh ravioli, a desire to bump up its WFQ*, and a pretty good idea of where I could find some homemade ricotta and maybe even a box of frozen spinach. It took some digging, but the spinach was there in the deepest, darkest, coldest corner of the freezer. Whether it knew it or not, I was rescuing it even as I was apprehending it.

Now that I had what I needed, I could do this. It would take time, but I had time. I had all the rainy Sunday I needed. And I had to eat something.

First, I tackled the dough for the noodle blanket for my savory filling. I adapted it from my most reliable source on the subject, The Ultimate Cookbook by Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough.

Whole Wheat Pasta Dough

1 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting and stickiness

prevention
1 cup whole wheat flour
½ teaspoon salt
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Some would use a spoon, some a machine to do the work of mixing the dough. Maybe they’re smarter than me, but I had my own way. I got in up to my elbows and got my apron dirty. I made a crater in the middle of the mixed flours and salt right on my kitchen counter, in plain sight. Then, I beat the eggs well with the olive oil and poured that into the crater.

I mixed the whole mess together with my hands, coaxing a little flour at a time into the liquids until I had a rough dough that needed a bit of schooling. I showed it who’s boss by kneading it several times, forming it into a nice, disciplined disk and cutting it into four pieces. Divide and conquer. That dough would give me less trouble when separated, and I rolled each piece into a ball and covered them with a cloth. I let them sit that way, stewing in their own juices and thinking about their offenses for about 15 minutes.

I was getting tired, but I had to press on. I had just enough time while the dough rested to mix up the filling for the ravs. Luckily, this part proved as easy as I hoped. I just mixed these things together:

Spinach-Ricotta Pasta Filling

about 10 ounces ricotta cheese
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ of a 10-ounce package frozen spinach, thawed

and squeezed as dry as possible
1 teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
(and an optional spicy little number

– about 1/8 teaspoon freshly-grated nutmeg)

Now the hard part would begin: the grueling task of sending that dough through the wringer and getting something, anything I could use from it. I’d done this before, though. I knew I couldn’t be squeamish. I had to be tough, use rough language if necessary. I had to use The Roller Machine. It turned out to be a tougher noodle to grind than I had expected. Usually just 10 times through the ol’ #1 setting on The Roller and I had a smooth, pliable candidate for noodlensss. But this one was of wholer grain. It took more like twenty times, but I eventually managed to make a well-kneaded strip of dough ready for the next phase.

I then put on the real squeeze, rolling the noodle strip through thinner and thinner settings on The Machine until I reached the last one, #6 and had thin, raw noodles. Things were looking up, but I had to do this for all four balls of dough. It was hot and sweaty work.

At about this time, as I cranked and cranked the handle on The Roller, I began to hear “Pop! Goes the Weasel” and expected to see a clown head on a spring pop out of somewhere. I was losing it. I had to focus….

…to be continued in Part 2

* Whole Food Quotient

Final photo on this page by Harry Leckenby