Basta Pasta? NEVER!

I love to cook. I actually have aspirations of being a great cook, and have been creating my own recipes since my early 20s. In fact, cooking is what helped me learn to enjoy winter. Once the cooler weather hit, I'd start buying magazines like Gourmet and Bon Appétit, and then proceed to make nearly every dish in each issue. Some were really good while others...well, not so much. But cooking away at the stove was, and still is, one of my favorite ways to spend a cold, snowy Sunday.



Last Friday night, I took a cooking class in handmade pasta at the International Culinary Center in NYC. As many of my friends know, I loooove pasta (I'm guessin' 'cause it's in my DNA). Anyway, I thought that since I’ve had this major love affair going on with the stuff, why not learn how to make it fresh? Turns out that, with the exception of ravioli, miza no likey fresh pasta! How the heck did that happen? At first I thought that it was just MY fresh pasta that was a bust…that perhaps I didn't make it correctly since it turned out heavier than a wet wool sweater. So I asked our teacher/chef if I could sample hers. It tasted the same as mine! It was way too dense, and felt like mortar sitting in my tummy.



On the plus side, the sauces were bellissime. We made a tagliatelle with funghi (which was my favorite), orecchiette with sausage and broccoli rabe (love simple peasant dishes, and this is certainly one of the best), and squash-filled tortelli (ravioli) with a butter and sage sauce. (As you can imagine, the tortelli is a very rich dish, and would be great for a fall dinner party as a starter since only three per serving would suffice.)

I thought it would be fun to have some vino after our five hours of hard labor. Wanting to reaffirm my fondness for Fontodi, and especially for Flaccianello , I brought along a 1998 magnum to share with my fellow classmates and chefs. Here is a wine that maintains all of its Italian charm: earthy and rustic, but still quite dignified.
That got me thinking; if Flaccianello were a man, what would he be like? Picture this: a sexy, 6’ 1” Italian (yes, there are tall Italians) just finished working the vineyard. As he dismounts his steed, he runs his masculine hands through his jet black hair, and struts into his villa to shower off the terroir. After drying off, he puts on his size 42 long Armani suit, and then drives his shiny black – not red! – Ferrari into town to rendezvous with his lover.

That's Flaccianello: always elegant and totally masculine.

Tanti baci a tutti!