Almost 100-layer lasagne

Don't bother counting. There are 70 layers here, not the 100 that were planned. That's what my friend Tom tells me anyway. And he was in charge of keeping track. Of course, he was drinking at the time.

We certainly had fun trying to recreate the 100-layer lasagne from Del Posto restaurant in New York. Eating it wasn't such a hardship either, but that's another story.

We need to get something out of the way before moving on. The hundred-layer lasagne isn't made with 100 pasta sheets. It's made with 50 "layers" of pasta and another 50 of sauce. I know. Sounds like cheating to me too.

Anyhow, we went with super-thin pasta sheets, the No. 1 setting on my pasta machine. The sheets are around a 6-inch square. Rather than using a lasagne pan we went with a round Dutch oven, the idea being that we'd need room around the assembled tower to position utensils for lifting it out when it was done. (This reasoning proved horribly flawed but I'll get to that in a minute.)

The sauces are a combination of Bolognese and béchamel.

Everything was going pretty well for a while, I at the pasta machine, Tom at the layering station. I don't know what number of layers we're on at this point, but you can see that things are stacking up nicely.

Except that we're not as smart as we look. As the tower grew larger the weight of it wound up forcing the pasta sheets downward and outward. This might have been avoided by using skewers to keep things in place, but now is not the time to be pondering such things. What's done is done, no?

In the end this is what we wound up with, a round Dutch oven-shaped lasagne that required sculpting to mimic the square version that it was meant to be.

I'm hoping for better luck the next time Tom and I get an idea like this. If there is a next time.

Happy New Year everybody!

Lobster lasagne

Earlier this summer my friend Giovani volunteered me to prepare "a really simple pasta dish" for pals of his who were visiting Maine from the midwest. He provided no guidance as to the type of pasta, but did insist that I not put myself out "too very much."

Translation: Hey Meatball, these are really special friends we're talking about here. So get on the stick and come up with something special. Capeesh?

And so I got myself about a pound of super fresh lobster meat.

And cut it into small pieces.

This is a lot of chopped garlic, 10 cloves at least, that I sauteed in olive oil until softened but not browned. I've also got some hot pepper and anchovy in there, but you can do without those if you prefer.

Add the lobster meat to the pan and stir things around until everything is incorporated, then turn off the heat and set aside.

I figured that another moist element might be needed in this dish and settled on a bunch of rainbow chard. After steaming until tender allow the greens to cool, then chop finely.

In a bowl mix together the chard, a pound of fresh ricotta, a little grated cheese, some nutmeg, salt and pepper. Mix and adjust seasonings to taste.

This is a very nice Bechamel sauce that My Associate was kind enough to prepare. (Thank you, My Associate.)

Butter a lasagne pan, then lay down your first layer of pasta sheets. I went with black ink pasta but only because of the dramatic effect it might have on my guests (and Giovani); any type of pasta sheets will do.

A layer of bechamel.

Some of the ricotta and chard mixture.

A sprinkle of the lobster meat and garlic.

Another sheet of pasta and then repeat the layers until the pan is filled.

Like so.

Bake at 350-375 degrees for 30 to 45 minutes, then allow to rest for at least 15 minutes before cutting into the lasagne and serving.

"A really simple pasta dish" that won't put you out "too very much."

Polenta lasagne

Polenta? Check.

Meat sauce? Got it.

Oven pan? Right over here.

Talk about your no-brainers.

Make some of this, would you. Thank me later.

It all starts with a good-quality base. I know some people swear by the instant stuff, but I always go with the real deal, a good Italian polenta that takes time (half an hour at least) and patience (constant and uninterrupted stirring) to cook properly. Here you have two cups of the stuff, which is mixed with eight cups of well-salted boiling water.

My ancestors are no doubt rolling over this, and I myself may go to Hell because of it, but I use a whisk for stirring polenta, not the sacred wooden spoon that generations of polenta makers have relied upon. The whisk just works better, okay. Somebody had to say it.

When the polenta is done, pour it onto a flat surface. I used a cutting board, which first got a light coat of olive oil to prevent sticking.

While it's still hot, spread the polenta so that it's evenly dispersed, then allow it to cool.

Everybody has their own idea about what makes a good meat sauce. I have several ideas. This one's got ground beef, shredded pork, pancetta and a little sausage meat. Oh, and tomatoes, garlic and some onion. But you knew that.

All that's left to do now is start layering, just as you would with any lasagne. Layer of sauce on the bottom, slab of polenta, like that.

In the middle and on top I run a cheese grater (with Romano here) over the meat sauce. (There's no ricotta or mozzarella in this version, but I would not stop you from adding it to your own.)

After about an hour or so in the oven (at 350 F), the first forty minutes covered in aluminum foil, you have got yourself one extraordinarily satisfying "lasagne." Even if it's really polenta.

And don't forget to wait awhile before cutting into the thing. It doesn't need to rest as long as a real lasagne, but fifteen or twenty minutes wouldn't hurt.

What, you're in a hurry?

The lunatic is in the hall

I indulge my friends far too much.

Tom especially. The guy's too lazy to start his own blog, see, and figures he can just use mine anytime he wants. Like when he read my Lasagne alla Bolognese post a couple weeks back. He just had to make his own. And then show everybody.

I must put a stop to this, I know. But until the doctors get his meds straightened out I don't want to upset the guy, know what I mean? Just go ahead and click on some other link, let me do this thing so we don't have another "incident" with my friend.

I'll be back next week.

TOM: I swear it's a coincidence. Key Food had a sale on ricotta, a big tub of the stuff, and the best way to use it up is in lasagne. I mean if you don't use bechamel. Thought you might be interested in my non-Italo take.

MM: Lasagne, what a great idea, Tom. Good for you. Glad to see you doing so well.

TOM: Good lasagne starts out with fresh pasta. Note the curly edge; that's difficult to achieve.

MM: Yes, difficult, I can see that. How about we sing a song together, would you like that? "Ronzoni sono buoni. Ronzoni tastes so good." Wasn't that fun?

TOM: Two staples in my version are sweet potatoes (good for you, a superveg) and chorizo (well-known to prep cooks working in the best Italian restaurants in NYC). Si, Senor Meatball.

MM: Are you really supposed to be playing with knives, Tommy? Is Beth around? Let me speak to her for a second.

TOM: Layered in the dish with celery, red pepper, green olives. Lots of color. (Note the traditional Italian seasonings.)

MM: Seasonings, right. Now, I want you to stay away from the Bon Ami next to your pasta maker, okay. It's not for eating.

TOM: No bechamel in this lasagne, just plenty of ricotta spooned straight from the tub. There's some of that rubbery mozzarella in there too, and gratings of real Parmesan from Argentina.

MM: That's great, Tommy. Tell me again, what time do we need to be at that nice doctor's office today?

TOM: The finished dish. Come on, looks good, right? Tasty too. Ask Toby.

MM: Looks wonderful. Can't wait to try some. (Toby, for those who are not aware, is a stuffed bear.)

TOM: Of course I have half a tub of ricotta left. Maybe make a real Italo cheesecake? With sweet potatoes?

MM: Yes, do that.

(No, do not send me the pics.)

(Lunatic!)