Succulent Shrimp

March 30, 2008

Picture Courtesy of Stefan Scimone

Succulent Shrimp: a lovely quick luncheon for a rainy Sunday

3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
½ red onion, sliced
4 large garlic cloves, sliced
1 hot pepper
½ glass of whit wine

1 teaspoon of paprika
1 handful of cut up fresh cilantro
2 lbs. of large shrimp, cleaned and deveined (I used 2 lbs of large tiger shrimp, but you can use large white shrimp or any kind really).

In the bottom of a large fry pan I put in 3 tablespoons of butter and 3 tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil, 4 sliced garlic cloves, sliced onion and the hot pepper. Use high heat. When the garlic and onion wilt and start to turn golden, place shrimp around the bottom of the pan and flip them quickly as their transparent look begins to color. They cook fast so a few minutes only or they toughen. I would say total cooking time about 3 minutes. sprinkle in the paprika, stir and then fling in the vino and keep the gas on high for another ½ minute or so until the alcohol burns off and the good taste remains. Turn off heat. Salt to taste and add the cilantro. Cover immediately and bring to the table.

This may be served with bruschetta and makes a lovely antipasto or a second dish after rice or pasta, or it also can be tossed with spaghetti or linguini for a first dish. Severs 4-6 depending on appetites and what else you’re serving with it!

Hint: it takes more time to clean the shrimp than to actually prepare them! but I'd still rather do it myself.

Other than today, the last time I made this as a luncheon dish was when my cousin Stefan from Arizona visited us out in Utah at the end of February (only then I doubled the recipe and first served a humongous 5 lb. zuppa di cozze with brushetta first and then the succulent shrimp came with a big mixed green salad.

Tune in tomorrow for the zuppa di cozze (mussels soup) … and another picture courtesy of cousin Stefan!

Tiramisu (to die for!)

TIRAMISÚ
(to die for!) Serves 6
Lovely for a Sunday dessert or an after dinner delish surprise for guests.

Tiramisú: literally translates to “pick-me-up” (I should warn you, it’s a zillion and a half calories!)

Things needed:

1 yanga (as in big) package of Alessi (14 0z.) or Bellino (17 0z) Savoiardi (Ladyfingers)
or Gilda—a French brand name 2 X (7 0z.) packages

7 to 9 of the freshest eggs (check out the date, and don’t used cracked eggs)

16 oz. thingbee of Marscarpone Belgioioso (Publix sells the 8 oz size, you’ll need 2 of
them)


7 generous, never skimpy, tablespoons of sugar, or about a tablespoon for each egg.

6-7 cups of strong, sugared, cooled espresso (don't even think of using brown or American coffee--shame on you!)

Any and all of the following liquors: Cointreau. Grand Marnier, Triple Sec, Sambuca,
or whatever booze you like! (If you make this dish for recovering alcoholics use anice per acqua or anise for water--it has the taste of Sambuca but is non-alcoholic)


One large square or oblong Pyrex glass dish (sides should be high enough, maybe 3 in. to layer
the Ladyfingers) you may use Italian or Portuguese ceramic or porcelain dishes if you are lucky enough to possess them (Casafina Stone may be purchased online at plainjanescloset.com)

A large bar of Lindt, or some other dark chocolate bar that you like. Grate half, and nick off the rest into silvers, pieces, and chunks. Put aside.

A can of Ghirardelli (double chocolate) hot chocolate powder (you'll need about 3 tablespoons)


1 hand mixer (but if you are fed up with this electronic age, you can skip this, I know, because I made Tiramisú on a boat crossing from Sardegna to Corsica with a small hand beater.

Make sugared coffee, and put into a large bowl, and set aside

Marscarpone and eggs should be at room temp


Directions:
Separate the eggs and beat the yolks with the sugar till it is a delightful thick cream.


Beat whites till they are peaky little moguls and ready slopes for a downhill ski race.

Add marscarpone into the yolk cream, smoosh around for an even texture—be careful not to “beat” this mixture, and then fold in the whites and douse with liquor (up to individual how much—I like mine pretty soused and I mix the booze!

Dip each of the cookies into the caffé and layer the bottom of your glass dish, tightly, one
kissing the other.


Pour the blended mix over to cover and then dust generously with Ghirardelli powder and
sprinkle with the grated chocolate and fling in some of the bigger bits.


Repeat this process until the whole dish is filled. Top layer should be smothered with powdered chocolate and bits. Cover and pop it in the fridge for several hours to cool. My be served with fresh whipped cream for total hedonistic overkill.

One more note, and that is if you have a non-coffee lover in your family as I do—I make two glass dishes—one smaller one with the cookies dipped into cold chocolate instead of coffee. And that’s why when you find yourself with extra cookies from the delightfully large economy package of Ladyfingers from your local Italian deli, you'll be able to make this non-coffee extra!

Obviously you will need more of the above mentioned ingredients to make this second dish. Spend the money! you and your family and guests are worth it!

Polpetone and Baked Ziti

Okay, okay, okay! So if the poetry was too much to bear for you hungry hearts, here's a recipe for Polpetone (one large meatball or meatloaf Italian style) followed by Baked Ziti.
Great to eat after reading poetry!

Polpetone

2 lbs lean chopped beef (add more if not using other meat)
¼ - ½ lb chopped veal (optional)
¼ - ½ lb chopped pork (optional)
3 eggs
½ loaf of hard Italian bread loaf—soaked in water, but squeeze excess water out!
(some people use milk)
¾ cup parmigiano grated
¾ cup seasoned breadcrumbs
3 tablespoons red tomato sauce—home made or otherwise
3 cloves of minced garlic
½ large or 1 small minced onion
salt, pepper to taste
fresh parsley
1 teaspoon of oregano
3 hard cooked eggs, if desired

salt and pepper to taste

In a large baking pan place a little olive oil and then form the meatloaf, and if desired, distribute the hard cooked eggs in the middle—whole—so that when you slice the meat, you’ll see the egg in the center!

I like to place sliced potatoes and sliced onions around it and on top and then drench the meat with tomato sauce and drizzle some olive oil all over it and on the potatoes and onions—remember to season the vegetables also.

Place in a hot, preheated oven (450) to bake, and lightly cover with a tent of aluminum foil for 10 minutes. Remove the cover and reduce the heat to 350 for 35-45 minutes. If desired, you can toast it a little bit at the end of the cooking—last 5-10 minutes—put up the heat high to broil a few minutes longer. (Remember in high altitudes you need to cook for a longer period of time.)

What’s nice about this dish is–if there’s any meat leftover you can break it up and use it for a bastardized shepherd’s pie with other veggies and covered with mashed and smashed potatoes—or use the meat in a lasagna or baked pasta dish, sans pommes de terre! which is what I did precisely over the holidays. (See the Baked Ziti dish below )


Baked Ziti for a large crowd—we were 15 seated for Christmas! (but it's not the way my Grandma made it!)

Ingredients:

3 pounds of slightly undercooked Ziti (cool immediately)

6 pounds of sauce—I made a meat sauce into which I put lamb chops, beef fillet, or steak, and skinny Sicilian sausages—hot and sweet, country style pork ribs and pork fillet. No, I don't know how much I used, but it was a lot! Say a total of 7-8 lbs of meat. The meat is braised first (unless of course you have some already cooked meat or cooked and frozen to add to your sauce.

1 cup grated and/or 1 cup shaved parmigiano (if you have both, use both, if not add more grated!)

3 lbs of ricotta beaten with two eggs

½ quart of heavy cream

1 lb to 1 & ½ lbs of grated mozzarella or cut up fresh—do not use buffalo—too expensive if not eating it fresh and the taste will be masked by the other cheeses anyway, and it also kicks out too much liquid!

Steps involved:
1. In a huge baking pan, coat the bottom with sauce, but no meat. Place a fat layer of pasta and cover with mozzarella, parmigiano and sauce. Be generous—the more you put in, the more you will find to taste!

2. Another layer of pasta, cover with the ricotta mix and meat from the sauce and the leftover polpatone—which means, large meatball—or meatloaf—as discussed above. Cover with grated cheese and sauce and some cream.

3. ETC! all the way to the top--you can mix and combine any of the layers--you can't make a mistake if you use all good ingredients! and then cover with sauce and grated cheese and mozzarella.

Bake in a heated oven lightly covered with a tent for 35 minutes on high (400 degrees) and then uncovered under the broiler for 10 minutes or until the top is crispy crusty.

Remove and let stand to cool at least 10 minutes before cutting. Always serve with extra sauce and cheese for those who care to overdo it.

A snowy day in Utah: perfect for poetry

March 8, 2008 Happy Birthday to Law Professor ML Lantzy of Syracuse University!

A snowy Saturday here in Utah! A fine and dandy day to read some delightful poetry. I have three excellent poems lined up. One by an eminent poet and two by friends.

The first is a C. K. Williams' poem, "The Singing." He gave me permission to quote his poems on my blog and website while I drove him to the airport after this year's Palm Beach Poetry Festival in Delray Beach. Hearfelt thanks! Yes, I am blessed! And what's more I have his voice in my ear when I read his work--this too, is a blessing. Here is his wonderful poem from the collection of the same title, for which he won the National Book Award.

THE SINGING

by C. K. Williams

I was walking home down a hill near our house on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here every spring with
their burgeoning forth

When a young man turned in from a corner singing no it was more of
a cadenced shouting
Most of which I couldn't catch I thought because the young man was
black speaking black

It didn't matter I could tell he was making his song up which pleased
me he was nice-looking
Husky dressed in some style of big pants obviously full of himself
hence his lyrical flowing over

We went along in the same direction then he noticed me there almost
beside him and "Big"
He shouted-sang "Big" and I thought how droll to have my height
incorporated in his song

So I smiled but the face of the young man showed nothing he looked
in fact pointedly away
And his song changed "I'm not a nice person" he chanted "I'm not
I'm not a nice person"

No menace was meant I gathered no particular threat but he did want
to be certain I knew
That if my smile implied I conceived of anything like concord
between us I should forget it

That's all nothing else happened his song became indecipherable to
me again he arrived
Where he was going a house where a girl in braids waited for him on

the porch that was all

No one saw no one heard all the unasked and unanswered questions
were left where they were
It occurred to me to sing back "I'm not a nice person either" but I
couldn't come up with a tune

Besides I wouldn't have meant it nor he have believed it both of us

knew just where we were
In the duet we composed the equation we made the conventions to
which we were condemned

Sometimes it feels even when no one is there that someone something
is watching and listening
Someone to rectify redo remake this time again though no one saw nor
heard no one was there

~~Now here's award-winning poet Elaine Winer's poem, "The Dark Room" (forgive any errors in line breaks or spacing!)

THE DARK ROOM

by Elaine Winer

The safe-light leaks moist red into the darkness.

Bach sings his magic hills, the door says

Keep Out. Balancing light and time, strengthening

solutions, patience, love of solitude; but in the end

one must become a swimmer somersaulting

beneath clear green water.

We'd spent the week in Marrakash,

Mother,my three sisters, and I.

At dawn a driver came

to take us to the airport in Rabat.

The night was cold,

charcoal palm trees sketched against

a star-punched paper.

"You have time to see the Camel Souk," the driver said.

"But your mother and crippled sister should wait

inside the car with me. Camels and horses

ridden to show their speed and strength can be dangerous."

So Mother and Nonnie

walked with us only as far as the stone wall

that encircled the souk.

I had the driver take this picture there,

we five posed against the rough stone wall,

a family. Nonnie can barely hold up her head;

she died with Mother six months later,

but you can see the camera loved her eyes.

Caught in the flash they're slightly bugged,

the lashes long and thick. Behind her

a boy's head projects above the wall,

one arm flung high. Nonnie's laughing,

although she never walked into the souk,

never passed through that opening on her crooked legs

but turned back to the car to wait with mother

while we three went on alone.

We entered inside the wall as the sun rose.

The enclosure held night to wall's height,

a great cup filled to the brim with dark water

while all above it glittered; I loaded my camera

with black and white film and snapped

items of extreme romance, a flashing eye,

a flowing mane, camels standing on three legs,

the fourth bent back and tied; boys galloped

bareback, djellabas folded beneath slender legs.

The drumming of oiled hooves raised volcanoes

of white dust that towered in the dawn-fresh air.

Animals ran at us, a dangerous thunder we ran

blindly to escape. The sun plunged daggers of light

into our frightened eyes. The stout smooth men,

buying and selling, laughing at foreign women,

had the air of doing God's work in the cold Moroccan dawn.

I place this negative into the enlarger's carrier

and turn the timer to fifteen seconds.
That black dawn diamonds the darkroom

briefly, then fades, leaving only the safe-light

filtered through red glass,

the sound of dripping water and Bach.

I transfer the paper to the developing tray.

Nonnie's eyes meet mine, blooming

coins of light and warm black lines.

Her face ripples as though the water

were a chiding hand. Her mouth's not right.

The first prints never are.

I change to a smoother paper and reset the timer.

The second photo lurches into being

like a shocked breath. It grows in increments.

No matter how I try, I never see

the exact point in time when the picture deepens

and comes together, when crawling lines create

a nose, a mouth, a wall. There is a moment in the darkroom

when the ability to see what was really happening

opens like an eye in darkness.

Leaning over trays,

images crawl into your soul

so black, so blackly beautiful,

so strongly, richly black; against it

eyes flare across the field like tiny spotlights,

like sequin-threaded moonlight, and everywhere

those rising towers of pale dust.

The sun hammered everything that rose

above the night, and so I didn't see

half-shadows crow-clumping across the field.

I need the strongest whites the paper holds

to fight those chilling, those prophetic shadows.

Back in the car I said

It wasn't much. And I said,

the field's too rough. And I said,

we'll come back some day.

You'll see it next time.



Next we have "Your Voice" by Marie Lovas, a burgeoning poet. This poem recently appeared in Driftwood.

Your Voice
by Marie Lovas

Hypnotic …
the smoky timbre
smooth,
warm

as flowing
syrup,
scented of musk,
of sleep.

I hear you
though
you’re not here,
like morning fog
your voice seeps
into the labyrinth
of my mind,

my dreams.
Always there.

I await your return
to hear your voice,
to take me where the stars
kiss the dripping dawn.

Goodnight.
I beg you,

talk to me in dreams,
seduce me with your voice
as you fill my body
and soul with rapture.