The Best of the Season

For several years in high school and college, I was a vegetarian.  By definition, I did not eat meat; however, this concept was foreign to some of my relatives.  For example, I distinctly remember my (Jewish) grandmother telling me, "But bacon's different."  

Ummm, not really grandma, bacon comes from a pig.  

This memory came to me yesterday as I prepared what I had planned to be a vegetarian dinner, except of course for the bacon.  This recipe was a standout and the perfect way to highlight two of the best fresh vegetables of the season:  peas and asparagus.  And this recipe would have been equally wonderful without the bacon, so to my legions of vegetarian readers, take heart, this one is for you, too!

It is hard to know where to start, there were so many things to love about this recipe.  Visually, the pasta was just gorgeous, with several shades of perfectly cooked green vegetables.  I also loved the high vegetable to pasta ratio, always a plus in the book of those of us who think that pasta is merely a vehicle for sauce (I feel the same way about the role of chips and salsa).  While the recipe has a somewhat lengthy list of ingredients, nothing about this recipe was particularly complicated or time consuming; I didn't change any of timing, take any shortcuts, or accidentally forget anything.  Adding lemon juice and lemon zest to pasta was a bit of a gray zone in my cooking experience, but it was actually astoundingly good and worked perfectly with the basil.  I could go on and on, but the bottom line is simple:  this was really, really good.  And even vegetarian, at least according to my grandmother.

Fettuccine with Peas, Asparagus, and Pancetta
Without modification, from Bon Appetit/epicurious.com 
Serves 4

12 ounces fettuccine or penne 
3 ounces pancetta or bacon, chopped 
1 1/4 pounds asparagus, trimmed, cut on diagonal into 1-inch pieces 
2 cups shelled fresh green peas, blanched 1 minute in boiling water, drained, or frozen peas (do not thaw) 
1 bunch green onions, thinly sliced, white and pale green parts separated from dark green parts 
2 garlic cloves, pressed 
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese plus additional for serving 
1/3 cup heavy whipping cream 
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice 
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon peel 
1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley, divided 
1/4 cup thinly sliced fresh basil, divided

Cook pasta in pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup pasta cooking liquid. Return pasta to pot.

Meanwhile, cook pancetta in large nonstick skillet over medium heat until crisp. Using slotted spoon, transfer pancetta to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 1 teaspoon drippings from skillet. Add asparagus to drippings in skillet; sauté 3 minutes. Add peas, white and pale green parts of green onions, and garlic; sauté until vegetables are just tender, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat.

Add vegetable mixture, 1/4 cup pasta cooking liquid, dark green parts of green onions, 1/2 cup Parmesan, cream, olive oil, lemon juice, lemon peel, half of parsley, and half of basil to pasta. Toss, adding more cooking liquid by tablespoonfuls if needed. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Transfer to large bowl. Sprinkle pancetta, remaining parsley, and basil over. Serve, passing additional Parmesan cheese.

A Tribute to Anchovies

I already know what you are thinking--Anchovies?  Gross.  Seems to be the predominant reaction when anchovies are mentioned, and a quick Google search confirmed my suspicion that anchovies are, indeed, American's least favorite pizza topping.  But I'm here to tell you that anchovies can be quite delicious and if prepared correctly they lend the resultant dish an incredible richness without the uber-fishy saltiness that they are usually maligned for.  So let's hope for a minute that you are open enough to try something, just once, made with anchovies.  Can I change your mind?

I came across this recipe yesterday as I thumbed through one of the more recent issues of Bon Appetit over my morning bowl of Cheerios.  I was craving pasta (yes, it was breakfast, but I am always already planning dinner before I've started breakfast) and had noted the day before that we had no fewer than a half dozen tins of anchovies in the pantry.   Even though I have always liked anchovies well enough, despite some questionable memories of a pizza buffet in Panama City, Florida with my bargain-loving (and anchovy-loving) grandparents, I will admit to being a bit skeptical of this recipe and what would happen when six whole anchovy fillets were added to a bowl of pasta.  My skepticism was overcome; however, by the desire to try a new and different-than-usual recipe, as well as the impetus to use up at least one of those lingering tins.

As it turns out, something strange and mysterious happens when anchovies are cooked with breadcrumbs and added to pasta.  Something very deliciously strange and mysterious.  Essentially all trace of fishiness disappears, imparting the pasta with a slight (but not overwhelming) saltiness, with a depth that alludes to, but is not at all, fishy.  I would almost bet that you could serve this dish to someone and they would never know it contained anchovies, until of course you had to confess that you fed them anchovies, destroying the ruse entirely and perhaps really upsetting someone who thinks that they don't like anchovies. 

For those of you who still aren't on board with the anchovies, there are a few other reasons to love this recipe.  First of all, it's simple and quick, perfect for a weeknight.  Second, who doesn't love roasted cherry tomatoes (my interpretation of 'baby heirloom tomatoes')? Third, the breadcrumbs are perfectly garlicky and breadcrumbs added to pasta, while perhaps a tad on the carb-heavy side, are wonderful.  And last, the addition of fresh basil (in my case, from the garden!) is the ultimate reminder of the wonders of summertime cooking.

This serves four, but there were no leftovers.  I urge you, give anchovies another chance.

Linguine with Baby Heirloom Tomatoes and Anchovy Breadcrumbs
From Bon Appetit/epicurious.com, with a few small modifications
Serves 4

8 ounces linguine
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
6 anchovy fillets, mashed to paste with 1 teaspoon oil from can
3 garlic cloves, pressed, divided
1 cup coarse fresh breadcrumbs made from crustless bread (use what you have on hand)
1 1-pound container baby heirloom tomatoes or cherry tomatoes (I used a 1-pint container)
1 cup thinly sliced fresh basil (I used 1/2 of that) 
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Cook linguine until just tender. Drain, reserving 1 cup cooking liquid.

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil in large skillet over medium heat. Add anchovies and 2 pressed garlic cloves, then breadcrumbs. Cook breadcrumbs until golden, about 5 minutes. Scrape crumbs onto plate and cool.

Heat remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons oil in same skillet over medium heat. Add tomatoes and remaining garlic clove. Cover; cook until tomatoes begin to break down, 3 to 4 minutes. Using fork, crush 3/4 of tomatoes [The original recipe called for crushing 1/4 of the cherry tomatoes during cooking.  The consensus was that the dish would be even better if more of them are crushed, I've amended the recipe to reflect that but have not tried it].  Add pasta, basil, cheese, and 1/2 cup reserved cooking liquid to tomatoes. Toss, adding more liquid if dry. Mix in half of crumbs. Season pasta with salt and pepper.

Transfer pasta to serving dish; top with remaining breadcrumbs and serve.