Category Archives: Pasta

Pappardelle with Roasted Butternut Squash, Shallots, and Arugula

Pappardelle

I moved from Boston to Los Angeles on January 13, 2012.  The first few weeks I was here, I pranced about in utter delight that I could step foot outdoors in the winter without having to wear my giant sleeping-bag-of-a-monstrosity puffer coat.  Sometimes I chanced it and even went outside without a coat at all.  Yeah, I was living life on the edge and totally blissed out.  Remember that dance sequence from (500) Days of Summer?  That would be me, celebrating the joys of not freezing my butt off (instead of the joys of bedding someone you have a major crush on, which is also worth celebrating, but is not an appropriate topic for this blog).

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I think we all know where this going.  Flash forward a year and almost 10 months, and I find myself actually wishing for a bit of that New England chill.  Fall has always been my favorite season, but in Boston it was particularly glorious.  I miss it.  I miss the crispness of the air, the brilliance of the foliage, walking through Boston Common and the Public Garden and feeling so overwhelmed by all that beauty.  I see pictures of people picking apples and visiting pumpkin patches (REAL pumpkin patches, not like the one in Santa Monica where they basically revamp a parking lot by hauling in pumpkins and hay, and if you squint you can see the Pacific Ocean in the distance, which just brings home how NOT pumpkin patch-y it is) and get really jealous.  And I want to wear sweaters and boots and cute sassy coats, gosh darn it.  On Saturday, temperatures were in the low 80s and I wore a sleeveless dress.  In November.  I love you, Los Angeles, but this is unacceptable.

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Baked Orzo with Eggplant and Mozzarella

Hey there, remember me?

It’s been a while, I know.  This blog has been gathering dust this summer, along with its writer’s kitchen.  Part of the reason is because of this little bugger, who for a while was doing an excellent job of keeping me on my toes.  Now, at sixteen weeks old, she’s not having nearly as many accidents and therefore can occasionally be left to her own devices.  Which sometimes means assuming the role of my shadow in the kitchen.  It’s fun to turn around and find a little puppy staring up at you, wondering what it is you’re chopping so vigorously on the cutting board and, more importantly, why you’re not sharing.

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Pasta with Garlicky Broccoli Rabe

This pasta has been a long time coming.  When I first saw it in mid-April, I wanted to make it immediately but was too busy to do so.  Then I made a trip to the grocery store and absentmindedly bought a bunch of broccolini, realizing my mistake only when I got home.  Broccolini and broccoli rabe (a.k.a. rapini) are very different creatures, with the latter being bitter and the former much more mild.  I sighed and put the broccolini in the fridge, intending to find something else to do with it.  A week and a half later, I threw it out, all wilted and sad-looking.

Then came a couple of weeks where I frequently scoured the Ralph’s and the Whole Foods near me, hoping to find broccoli rabe but leaving with empty hands.  (Well, not quite empty.  Boxes of ice cream sandwiches kept somehow making their way into my cart).  As the weeks went by, my frustration mounted to the point where, a few nights ago, I had a dream in which I was arguing with a friend, came across a guy selling broccoli rabe, and became super excited.  Upon hearing of this dream, one of my favorite people in the world said, “That is SO YOU.  Conflict — food — conflict resolved.”  Agreed.

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