Tag Archives: parmesan

Basil Butter Garlic Bread

Another winner from the delicious blog of Kay, this bread (or at least the batch that happened in my kitchen) is Very Ugly. I considered naming it “Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover Garlic Bread,” “Gross-looking Greeny Garlic Bread,” and “Swamp Monster Garlic Bread.” Ultimately I didn’t have the guts to go with any of those choices, but be assured that this bread ain’t gonna win no beauty contest.

But if you close your eyes and just bite into it, you will love it. It’s full of herbs, garlic, butter, and melty Parmesan all over the top. Plus, it’s great reheated the second day. And the third day, as I am your witness.

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

1 loaf of Ciabatta
2 oz butter
2 TBS olive oil
Handful fresh basil leaves
Parsley (1/3 the amount of basil)
2 garlic cloves
1 green onion
Salt and pepper
1-2 cups shredded Parmesan cheese

The short version is: combine all the ingredients except the bread in a food processor, and process until smooth. The long version is: put the basil in the food processor (or blender, in this case) . . .

. . . add in the parsley (I used a little too much–so use about 1/3 of the amount of basil you put in) . . .

. . . smash the garlic, toss the skins, and throw that in too . . .

Add the green onion and butter . . .

. . . a generous stream of olive oil . . .

. . . and give it all a nice whizz. To accomplish this, I had to do battle with my blender for about 10 minutes, all because I forgot to get the food processor that aunt Jacquie promised me when we were at her house for AJ6BP.

Thankfully we were just at her house again last Friday to see my wonderful cousin Will and his lovely wife Kristen (not to mention their 3 killer-cute kiddos), so I have a food processor update post to write–it will be Coming Soon To Blogs Near You!

Don’t forget to season the greeny goop with salt and pepper! I almost did.

I then re-blended, and tasted it to make sure it was to my liking.

Cut open the loaf of bread and spread both halves with the basil butter.

Put the halves together and wrap the whole thing in aluminum foil. Bake it for 10 minutes at 400 F. Remove the bread, separate the halves and load them up with Parmesan cheese.

Note: the bread in this picture is most certainly NOT loaded up with Parmesan cheese. It is merely sprinkled. Make sure you pile on at least three times the amount of cheese that is pictured. It’s for your own good.

Return the halves, face up, to the oven. Either crank up the heat to 500, or put them under the broiler. Cook until the cheese is melted, bubbly, and starting to get brown. Serve!

Here you can see the bread with the mere sprinkling of Parmesan . . .

Pretty good.

Though not even its own mother could love that dark green swamp look.

However, with the added cheese, the bread goes from ‘pretty good’ to ‘really good.’

It’s amazing what a little Parmesan can accomplish.

I know that you know that I know that not a single picture actually looks that delicious–but believe me. It’s so good. If you have a garden overflowing with basil, this is a great way to use a good solid handful of it.

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Tomato Mascarpone Pasta

I can’t count the times that I’ve heard my mom use the phrase “In my humble but correct opinion . . .” When I was young, I thought it was just one of her mom-isms, like her habit of waking us up in the mornings with an annoyingly happy song and a dose of joy that our sleep-encrusted selves were simply not ready for. Or her habit of encouraging our problem solving skills by chirping ‘Figure it out yourself!’ in that maddeningly cheerful voice that made you want to shoot a small rabbit. But as an adult, I have connected some psychological dots, and that phrase “In my humble but correct opinion” does a lot to explain a whole family-treeful of people.

See, the women on that side of the family, well–they like to be right. A lot. Especially a certain member of the family whose name stars with a ‘J-‘ and ends with an ‘-essica.’ It doesn’t help matters that she actually is right most of the time, dagnabbit.

I’ve been hitting myself over the head for years with the Mallet of Truth, trying to drive into my puny little brain the following: being right isn’t the most important thing in life! And I think I’m actually making some progress. However, as soon as I sat down to type up this recipe, my mom’s old phrase started emerging from the battleground of my own psyche. Since I haven’t even had my first coffee of the morning, I will make no attempt to resist it at this time. So here goes:

In my humble but correct opinion, Kayotic Kitchen is one of the best food blogs out there. This Dutch cooking whirlwind of a woman creates recipes that have both innovative flavor combinations and that comforting quality about them. And did I mention her stellar photography? Basically, I would dig into anything that Kay cooked up with more relish than I care to expound on (I think I’ve already done enough expounding for one morning). Kay is responsible for inspiring this African stew as well as this amazing Tomato Mozzarella tart. So if you at all have a thing for food blogs, it is your bounden duty as a human being to go look at her blog.

Okay! *stepping off podium* Enough jabbering! Let’s get to the cooking. This little pasta number is a simple dish, with just the right amount of creaminess, herbs, and rich tomatoey-ness. With my twist (red wine and more garlic!), here we go!

Ingredients

(Serves 5)

1 lb spaghetti
1 TBS olive oil
1 onion
5 garlic cloves
1-28 oz can diced tomatoes
5 oz mascarpone
2 tsp Italian seasoning
Salt and pepper, to taste
1/3 cup red wine
Parmesan curls, to serve
Handful fresh basil

Oops! Forgot the wine.

I love the price on that Yellow Tail brand.

Dice the onion finely . . .

. . . and mince the garlic.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the onion and cook for 5-6 minutes, until softened.

Season the onion with salt and pepper, then add the minced garlic and cook for 1-2 more minutes, stirring to make sure the garlic doesn’t burn.

Pour in the diced tomatoes (please make sure to splash yourself thoroughly with tomato juice during this step–I hear red polka dots are the New Black) . . .

. . . and add the Italian seasoning.

Give it a nice stir.

Bring the sauce to a boil, then partially cover the pan (leaving a small opening on one side between the pan and the lid) and cook the sauce over medium low heat for 20 minutes.

Add the red wine . . .

. . . and cook for 10 more minutes, with the pan still mostly covered.

Cook the pasta in salted water until al dente.

While the pasta and sauce are a-cookin’, it’s prime time to finely slice or mince the basil . . .

. . . and shave some Parmesan. I just use a vegetable peeler to get those nice thin slices:

And don’t stop until you have a goodly pile of shavings–I never heard anyone crying ’cause there was too much Parmesan.

Except for Luke. He’s my dear cousin. He’s lactose intolerant. Who knows–a large mountain of Parmesan might indeed bring a tear to his eye.

Stir the mascarpone into the finished tomato sauce.

Ignore the pool of grease that’s quickly becoming apparent. The way I figure it, the faster you stir it in, the faster the evidence will disappear.

Taste and adjust the seasoning.

It’s better to overseason it a little since it’s going to be flavoring a whole whoppin’ pound of pasta.

I also wondered to myself if the sauce would need a pinch of sugar to counteract the acidity of the tomatoes–but it did not. In my humble but correct opinion, that is.

Stir the pasta into the sauce along with the basil.

Tongs are useful at this juncture, in my humbl . . . *hitting self repeatedly*

Top it with Parmesan shavings to serve.

Please forgive the wacky color balance of these pictures and just focus on how good a bite of this would taste. Does taste. Has tasted.

And while we’re on the subject, have I mentioned that I can do a really cool trick? I grab a strand of spaghetti, see, and while holding onto one end, I swallow it.

Then I drag it up and out through my throat. It’s the tickliest sensation you can imagine, and if I had a strand of spaghetti I’d totally do it right now for you.

I regularly horrified my younger siblings with this trick during our youth. Then we all grew up and moved out and I ran out of people to horrify. So I got married. And I started a blog. Problem solved!

The End.

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