Spaghetti Carbonara and Three Blind Mice

You know those days when it is almost time for dinner, but you've managed to spend the whole day doing very un-dinnery-planning things?  And so, randomly throughout the day, you wander into the kitchen to see if there is, in fact, that one certain ingredient absolutely essential for the great idea you just had for dinner.   Then, not finding it, you wander back out again, highly annoyed, and back at square one?  This ingredient could be anything from potatoes (tortilla espanola), salmon (salmon), bread crumbs (neapolitan meatballs), lemons (roasting a chicken), or pancetta (spaghetti carbonara).  And naturally just the suggestion of loading everyone into the car to quickly pop over to QFC for, I don't know, quinoa and garlic maybe, makes you want to tell everyone to sod off and just leave you alone already?

I know how it is.

But, alas, this was not the case today.  Because at roughly 3:30 this afternoon I managed to find a package of pancetta in the back of the freezer.  Well, it wasn't quite pancetta.  It was bacon.  But if you slice it just so and squint while eating it -- there you go -- it's practically the same thing.  I settled on Marcella Hazan's Carbonara Sauce recipe, and, of course it calls for white wine.  I could have swore that I drank the lot of it two days ago, but I somehow managed to conjure up a quarter cup -- exactly.  Yippee!!  (I'm not a lush after all.  Shall we have a drink to celebrate?)

I have done a number of carbonara recipes over the years, but (oddly) this was the first time I tried Ms. Hazan's. I generally opt for the one in my Saveur Authentic Italian cookbook, or the one in Michelle Scicolone's 1000 Italian Recipes, the latter being my best and favorite when it comes to all things Italian.  But this was a nice change of pace, really.  And Marcella Hazan's recipe is completely worth the trouble.  What I actually mean by trouble is deciding whether or not to toss that last bit of wine into your pan instead of into your glass.  Anyway, all of her recipes are simple (well, those that I've done anyway), and so incredibly good.  She seems to rely mostly on good ingredients and letting them cook as long as they need.  (A perfect example of this is her bolognese sauce.  You could start making it, go out and have a bite, come home and still have hours to go.)  I do always laugh at the fact though that she seems to think her general audience is a bunch of blockheads.  Her writing style, while quite nice, is incredibly condescending and she will mock you for doing anything except the way she tells you to do it.  This includes opting for a pasta shape other than the one she suggests.  For instance, in tonight's Carbonara Sauce: 'It is difficult to imagine serving carbonara on anything but spaghetti.'  It makes me like her all the more, but it also makes me want to disobey and choose penne (or anything else) that would make her turn her Venetian nose high up in the air.  Because really, it isn't actually that difficult to imagine.  She also orders you to remove the garlic and then toss it out once it has browned and turned mouth-wateringly yummy.  I'm sorry, but I simply cannot do this step.  It goes against my nature to toss out gorgeous garlic that has been cooked to perfection.  And so, because of this, I always leave it in the pan and pretend that I threw it away.  'Oh, whoops!  Where did that come from?!  Er, how very odd to find it on my plate!'

And so, while Michael and Emilia ran around in the backyard (he still in his suit from work with his natty new green tie, and she with her Mary Poppins umbrella), Leo in his bouncy seat in the kitchen, yelling at me for his nightly airing of grievances, and Governor hovering right underneath my feet hoping a slice of seasoned meat and/or cheese would land on top his little head, this is what I made.

Fast forward about 30-45 minutes later, Leo is in his bed, and Emilia is belting out as loudly as she possibly can, the words for Three Blind Mice.  I grew up with this nursery rhyme, which is why I was not surprised in the least to see it in Beatrix Potter's Cecily Parsley's Nursery Rhymes.  Michael, on the other hand, was flabbergasted.  And as I sat and corrected Emilia with the words, (No, no, no, not putcher knife, it's butcher knife... She cuts of their tails with a butcher knife.  See?  Although Beatrix Potter actually says carving knife.  You can use whichever you want, really.') Michael was mildy surprised.  'Hmmm, well, I guess the reason I have never heard it is because I did not come from a violent family...blah....blah...blah...words...words...words... (insert whichever holier than thou things you'd prefer).'  But really, can the man be serious?  He has never heard of Three Blind Mice, yet he is totally down with horrifying the crap out of all of us with March of the Wooden Soldiers every Christmas.  I'm sorry, but that mouse is freaky and clearly not right.  And neither is that stupid Honey Badger which he has also taken a fancy to these days.  But I digress...

Spaghetti with Carbonara Sauce

1/2 pound pancetta, cut as a single 1/2-inch-thick slice, or its equivalent in a good slab of bacon
4 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup dry white wine
2 large eggs
1/4 cup freshly grated romano cheese
1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese
black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
1 1/4 pounds pasta

Cut the pancetta into strips 1/4-inch wide.  Lightly mash the garlic cloves with the back of your knife and remove their papers.  Put the garlic and olive oil in small pan and cook over medium-high heat.  Saute until the garlic is a nice shade of gold.  Remove the garlic and discard (if you are a crazy person...).

Put the pancetta in the pan and cook until they begin to crisp up around the edges.  Add the wine and let it all bubble up for a minute or two.  Then, off the heat.

Break the 2 eggs into the bowl in which you will be serving your lovely spaghetti.  Beat them lightly with a fork, and then add the cheese, a big grinding of pepper, and the parsley.  Mix thoroughly.

Meanwhile, cook your pasta.  Once cooked, drain and then add it to the serving bowl, tossing rapidly.  Quickly reheat the pancetta over high heat, and then pour out the entire contents of the pan into the bowl of pasta.  Toss well and serve.  Recipe from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan.  Alfred A. Knopf, 2008.)

Sophia Loren's Spaghetti with Tomato Sauce

Cardinal Tarciscio Bertone once said something along the lines of this: 'The Catholic Church stands against human cloning.  However, we may be willing to make an exception in the case of Sophia Loren.'  And all I have to say is that the man makes a fine point.  Seriously.  Sophia Loren is gorgeous -- and that is an understatement, to be sure. 

I would think that being so gorgeous must be quite exhausting, but not so for Ms. Loren.  Because apart from all the other things that have filled her busy schedule over the years, Sophia Loren likes to cook.  So much so, that she has written a couple of cookbooks over the years demonstrating her abilities.   I've got her first book, In the Kitchen with Love, (a first edition, thank you very much) which is devoted to Neapolitan cuisine*.   The book is written in a friendly, chit-chatty sort of way, and filled with pictures of her throwing pizza dough up in the air, feeding chickens, setting the dining room table, etc, all while wearing her signature lined eyes.  Oh, how I wish I had the nerve to do my eyes up like that.  I love that mid 60s/early 70s eye-liner look that she mastered (Audrey Hepburn also mastered it in the movie How to Steal a Million, by the way).  But the truth of the matter is that one looks rather absurd wearing eyes like that on a normal day-to-day basis.  Or, at least I would. And what's more, is that eyes like that usually only look lovely in photos or movies and such -- not while you are wandering around the produce section of the grocery store, or trying your hand at sewing a pair of flannel pajamas for your two-year-old, or while making batch after batch of pastry dough for eclairs.  You get the idea.

In fact, there is not much about Sophia Loren, generally speaking, that is attainable.  But that is where her recipes come in to play.  So while I may currently be looking, shall we say, slightly less than ravishing, I can still conjure up a batch of her tomato sauce to pile on a bowl-full of spaghetti.  I've done it twice now in a week and a half.  Emilia loves it because she happens to adore spaghetti all sorts, and Michael adores it because he finds Sophia Loren dreamy, and I adore it because it is easy-peasy.  Seriously, all that goes in it olive oil, garlic, canned tomatoes (although we only buy the jarred ones these days on account of all that nasty BPA), basil, salt, and touch of sugar.  Why on earth people buy jarred sauce filled with high-fructose corn syrup and all sorts of nasties is beyond me.  And making your own sauce is ridiculously simple to do.  But hey, that's just me.

Pollo con Pomodoro in Tecia (Or, Chicken in Tomato)

I realize this may not, in fact, be the best picture I've ever taken.  However, this Pollo con Pomodoro in Tecia is so good that I can't help myself and am putting it up anyway.  Eating this is the perfect way to make one exhale (or sigh contentedly, whichever you prefer).  It is immediately homey and rustic, yet I would not cry if it was served to me in a fancy restaurant.      

The recipe comes from Tessa Kiros's Venezia: Food & Dreams -- a beautiful cookbook that is loaded with seafood recipes.  Admittedly, I've not done many of the seafood recipes as of yet.  And, oddly enough, I'm not sure why I'm waiting.  Because everything I've done from this cookbook has been quite memorable.  The sauce alone in this chicken recipe is not to be balked at.  Michael was raving about it, and Emilia kept asking for more -- just the sauce though, as she claims not to have much love for polenta.  (She was trying to make a well out of her polenta so she could fill it up with sauce, and then eat it like a bowl of soup or something.)  They are both right, though, because simmering meat in tomato sauce is mouthwatering good.  Not to mention the fact that it is also the most perfect form of comfort food.  And as an added bonus, it yielded enough leftovers (for us anyway) to have the next night.  Mmmm.

The recipe calls for a whole chicken cut into eight pieces.  Because PCC (the little store I happened to be at for the necessary ingredients) did not have anyone there to cut up a chicken for me (and because that is a job I have no intention of ever doing myself), I bought two pre-wrapped packages of already cut-up chicken -- three breasts and three thighs.  I was more than happy with the result. 

Also, you are meant to serve this chicken over polenta.  Usually I make polenta using the forty minute route.  However, I have all of this fast cooking polenta that I bought to make a bread that didn't bowl me over enough to be bothered making it again, so I decided to use it here.  It cooked in literally two or three minutes.  I then stirred in some butter and grated parmesan.  (How could Emilia not like that?)  Whichever route you go, make sure you time it accordingly -- because polenta does not like to wait.  It needs to be eaten right after it is made.           

A Bourgeois Trampoline and Mascarpone Jelly Thumbprints

Our strawberry picking was thwarted today because we woke up this morning to rain.  In other activities rain is not necessarily a problem; however, when it comes to standing in the mud while picking fruit, it can become a rather messy problem.  Several years ago while out picking raspberries after a lot of rain, my clogs were so caked with mud that I stepped right out of one of them and put my bare foot smack into the mud. I then had to turn around to look for my blasted shoe. 

This kind of thing is particularly a nuisance when you've got little people around you who are naturally prone to getting dirty, and you happen to be in charge of cleaning them up.  Although some of my sister's kids are much older now, so this isn't the problem it once was.  Nowadays my nieces and nephews listen to their i-pods and get told they are going to walk home if they end up too filthy to get back in the car.  However, Emilia still has a few years before I can make such feeble threats.

So anyway, as I went to get Emilia out of her bed this morning, flung open the drapes, and looked out at the grey drizzle before us, she immediately said, 'Want to go on trampoline!'  'Sorry Charlie, it's too wet today.  No bouncing on the trampoline when it's too wet.'  'Mama not say sorry Charlie!  Not sorry Charlie!'  And there you go, a glimmer of how our day has gone.

But, yes, it is true.  We have finally joined the ranks of the trampoline owners.  I know what you're thinking, 'well, la-di-da!  Aren't you so fancy!'  And I will completely agree with you.  When we were growing up it was all the rich kids who had trampolines.  We all looked at them so longingly, vowing that the very first moment we were grown up (and very rich), we would buy a trampoline and put it in our own backyards.  Michael laughs at me when I tell him this, and told me, as we were setting the trampoline up over the weekend, 'We're so bourgeois.'  In fact, when my sister got a trampoline at her house several years ago, I remember telling her 'I've never felt a chasm so great between us as I do right now.'  And then I refused to get off the thing.  Literally every time we went over to their house that summer I (after shamelessly kicking my nieces and nephews off) was on the trampoline — demonstrating my spectacular moves for everyone.

Olive Oil and Fresh Rosemary Cake

Sunday afternoon — Emilia is down for her nap, Michael is out doing yard work, Governor is working on his suntan on the deck, and I just pulled out an olive oil and rosemary cake from the oven.

This little cake is wonderful in the afternoon with a hot cup of tea, or whatever happens to strike your fancy.  It takes about 10 seconds to make, isn't too sweet, and has absolutely no frosting.  (Sometimes we end up with a bit too much frosting in this house.)  It's perfect and I don't know why I don't make it more often.

Olive Oil and Fresh Rosemary Cake

4 eggs
¾ cup sugar
⅔ cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh rosemary leaves
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 325° F.  Butter a 10-inch loaf pan and set aside.

In a medium size bowl (or just use your KitchenAid -- I would have, but didn't feel like hauling it down the hallway) beat the eggs for about 30 seconds.  Add the sugar, continue to beat until the eggs look nice and frothy and pale yellow.  With your beaters (or mixer) going, slowly add the olive oil.  Using a rubber spatula, gently fold in the rosemary.

Then get a separate bowl and whisk all the dry ingredients together.  (That would be the flour, baking powder, and salt.)  Add to the wet ingredients and mix to combine.  Pour the batter into your prepared pan.

Bake for 45 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through to get even coloring.  Insert a skewer, if it comes clean, pull it out.  If not, close the door and go back to reading the Wall Street Journal for a few more minutes.

Allow to cool in the pan for a few, then gently tip the cake onto a wire rack. Mmmm. (Recipe from: The Babbo Cookbook by Mario Batali. Random House, 2002.)

Rossini, A Venetian Cocktail

I drink champagne when I'm happy and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it -- unless I'm thirsty. (Madame Lilly Bollinger)

This is a perfect drink for springtime.  Gorgeous to look at, and if you're not careful, you will have downed the whole bottle in no time.  Bliss.

Rossini (Cheers!)
1/2 cup ripe organic strawberries
1 flat teaspoon sugar (or more, depending on your strawberries)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup very cold prosecco

Hull and then quarter the strawberries.  Sprinkle with sugar and lemon juice.  Puree until absolutely smooth.  (Michael used the marvelous hand-held blender and a Pyrex for this.)  Pour into 2 glasses, divide the prosecco, give it a good mix, let is settle, and serve immediately.  (Recipe from Venezia: Food and Dreams by Tessa Kiros.  Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2008.)

St. Joseph's Day Soup

'Wednesday is St. Patrick's Day', I said. 'And Friday is St. Joseph's Day! And we go to a farm! And do swimming!', responded Miss Milia. 'Yes! But instead of a farm and swimming, we'll make some soup!'

I think it is safe to say that 2-year-olds don't generally have the best grasp on time. 'In a minute' and 'in a month' are basically the same thing in the 2-year-old mind. Basically it means not right this second. But really, the memory on this girl is astounding. We mentioned last week that both St. Paddy's Day and St. Joseph's Day were coming up. We also said that we are going to go to a farm (weather permitting) on Saturday. I've no idea where the swimming bit entered into her head. It does sound nice though, doesn't it? Almost like what one should actually do on St. Joseph's Day. You know, a little swimming on a farm to truly celebrate the life and wonders of St. Joseph.

But instead, we'll have soup. Not just any old soup, mind you. Today we are having St. Joseph's Day Soup. And I've been looking forward to it since last year's pot.

Typically I would delve into the history of the celebrated saint in honor of their day, but, really, what does one say about our beloved St. Joseph? (Other than my mom's thoughts, when I told her about my yummy soup, 'Honey, you Catholics sure have a lot of holidays!') However, something should be said. Joseph never gets enough props, and I challenge you to say otherwise.

And so, today, being March 19th, is the Feast of St. Joseph. He was the husband of Mary and the adoptive father of Jesus. (My copy of The Lives of the Saints calls him Jesus' foster-father, but I find that wildly offensive. Apart from God, obviously, Joseph was the only father Jesus ever knew.) He is the patron saint of home and family. He is also the patron saint of the Universal Church, workers, and carpenters. Interestingly, today is not a Holy Day of Obligation. In fact, the Feast of St. Joseph is not even really celebrated in the United States. Everyone here is undoubtedly still recovering from their hangovers from green beer, and can't be too bothered with a saint that does not involve another trip to the pub. Unless of course it is a saint that sells chocolate and lingerie. (That would be St. Valentine, in case it wasn't completely clear.)

Italy is largely where St. Joseph's Day is celebrated, and the further south you go, the more impressive the festivities become. Apparently in Sicily families cook dish after dish after dish (sometimes up to a hundred dishes, I hear) in celebration, and hopes of intercession. Most of the dishes are fried, causing Joseph to also be called San Giuseppe Frittelaro, Saint Joseph the Fryer. These dishes range from cream-puffs to rice balls to artichokes. However, all the dishes are meatless because the day always falls during lent.

I have not dabbled with any of the fried dishes in honor of St. Joseph, namely because the idea of deep-frying is still slightly scary to me. (I really must invest in one of those Fry-Daddy's sometime.) Instead, I have begun opting for St. Joseph's soup, which is so good I've thought about making it at other times during the year. However, I like to have food traditions. For the same reason I would not serve turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and so on, in the middle of August, let's say, because that is a special menu for Thanksgiving. It is important to let certain foods be special and to have their place on the calendar. And before you start calling me some sort of bizarre and esoteric nerd, I'll have you know that some rather posh establishments celebrate St. Joseph's Day with this very same soup. Our highly revered, and rightly so, Salumi, for example.

Anyway, the soup itself is wonderful, perfect for the beginning of spring, yet still very substantial. It is also very healthy and low in fat. And in our family, it yields enough for dinner tomorrow night as well. Maybe even the next night if we're lucky. Although, really, that might be an awful lot of soup.

Dinner for Three — Penne with Mushrooms, Garlic, and Rosemary

Once upon a time, my husband and I liked to eat dinner every night around nine. And we did this for years and years. Then one day Miss Milia was born and everything changed. Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. Everything did change, but we continued to eat dinner every night around nine.

Typically Michael gets home from work just after seven, and the idea has been to get Emilia in bed no later than eight. That doesn't leave much time for 'hello, how was your day?'/dinner/bath/bottle/books. And besides, it isn't exactly relaxing eating all together in the evening. I've much preferred unwinding with dinner once the munchkin is in bed.

However, this is something I am trying very hard to change. Emilia is nearly two and it is important to eat together as a family. That means I've been on the lookout for good dinners that don't take a week to make. Also, it is a bonus if Emilia will actually eat it. It warms my heart to no end hearing her say, 'Mmmm, dinner yummy!', or just to watch her sit quietly and enjoy her food. Admittedly, she was not the biggest fan of the mushrooms in this pasta. She ate around them, and would spit them out when I inadvertently got one into her mouth. But she ate everything else. (I figure if I keep trying, she will eventually acquire the taste. Maybe?) And she was in bed by 8:30.

As a side note, not only is this pasta delicious (despite the reaction from your 22-month-old) and easy to make, it is also inexpensive. The recipe calls for a pound of mushrooms, and I did a mix of white button (because, strangely, Whole Foods was out of Cremini), shitake, and oyster — costing just over ten dollars. That means when you add the pasta and what not, the main dish costs about fifteen bucks. Not bad. (It is also helpful if you have an enormous rosemary bush in your backyard, like we do, as fresh herbs don't come cheap.) And for us, anyway, it yielded enough leftovers to torture Emilia with the next day. Perfect.

Penne with Mushrooms, Garlic, and Rosemary

¼ cup olive oil

1 pound mushrooms, thinly sliced

2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped

2 teaspoons very finely chopped rosemary

salt and freshly ground pepper

1 pound penne

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

In a skillet large enough to hold all the pasta, heat the oil over moderate heat. Add the mushrooms, garlic, and rosemary. Cook, stirring frequently, until the mushrooms render their juices, about 10 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cook, stirring often until the mushrooms are lightly brown, about 5 minutes.

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Add some salt and then the pasta. Stir well, and cook until al dente. Before draining, pull aside a little bit of the cooking water.

Drain the pasta and toss in the pan with the mushrooms, butter, and parsley. Add a little of the water if it seems dry. Serve immediately. (Recipe from: 1,000 Italian Recipes by Michele Scicolone. John Wiley Publishing, 2004.)

Sweet Beans for All Saints' Day

Today, being the Feast of All Saints, is a Holy Day of Obligation in the Roman Catholic Church. (However, since it fell on a Sunday this year, it did not require any more church-going.) That means that yesterday was Halloween, or All Hallows Eve, or even Hallowmas, depending on how far back into history you want to go. 'Hallows' meaning 'saints', while 'e'en' and 'eve' are short for evening, and 'mas' is 'mass'. So, therefore, Halloween is technically the vigil for All Saints' Day. I suppose that is a lot of decoding simply to tell you to get your tokhes to church, but there it is. And I hope you made it, because one of my favorite things in the world is listening to the Litany of the Saints.

However, it is 2009. So unless you are a nerdy history buff (or worse, a Catholic), Halloween is more of a day to dress up in costumes, go to a party, and eat a whole lot of garbage — which is also fun. Alternatively, you can run door-to-door going trick-or-treating.

One of my erstwhile careers was that of a professional bra-fitter in an up-scale department store. I still remember a young woman and her boyfriend coming into the lingerie department to pick out her costume. She needed a black push-up bra and a thong to wear with her black leather chaps for their Halloween party. She kept running out of the fitting room to get her boyfriend's opinion of her 'costume'. Oi. And another time a high-school girl came in dressed as a cheerleader, wearing a very short skirt and apparently not much underneath. She bought a pair of Calvin Klein boyshorts, and then stood right there in the lingerie department and put them on. Talk about some classy dames! Anyway, I digress.

I know I have said many times before that I like to eat in season; meaning asparagus in the spring, watermelon and raspberries in the summer, butternut squash in the fall, snickerdoodles in the winter, and that sort of thing. Lately we are also trying to eat in the spirit of the season, which is why I decided to make Sweet Bean Cookies for All Saints' Day.

Sweet Beans, or Fave Dei Morti as they are more appropriately called, are an Italian cookie. They are traditionally found in bakeries in Italy, Rome in particular, on All Saints' Day (which is often referred to as I Morti, meaning the dead). The cookies are shaped like fava beans which held an important role in ancient Rome. For the Feast of Feralia, people (typically the head-of-house) would toss a handful of favas over their shoulder for the wandering spirits to pick up in the night. Finding the beans quite sufficient, they would then take their leave. Also, fava beans were placed over the eyes of the dead before burial.

As much of a fan as I am of all things Italian, I have always found their cookies to be a bit suspicious. So when I saw this recipe for Sweet Beans, it did raise my eyebrows a bit. The main ingredient is nuts (almonds and pinenuts, to be exact), and there is no butter, no chocolate, no brown sugar, no vanilla extract — you get my point. However, being in the spirit of the season, I made them anyway. And then I proceeded to eat about 20 of them; Michael was a respectable close second, while Emilia held one in her hands for about an hour before finally throwing it away. In her defense, her new favorite food seems to be salt and vinegar chips. She does not usually have much of a sweet tooth (unless it is a cupcake, and by cupcake, I mean frosting).

Anyway, the cookies are so good. And they are very easy to make. I even peeled the almonds myself because PCC did not have blanched almonds. I was very grumpy with the idea of this until I did it. Honestly, it took 10 minutes, and half that time was letting the almonds soak in hot-hot water. So if you can't find blanched almonds, stop whining and just do it yourself.

The cookies are perfect with a cup of tea or what have you. And since they have no butter or chocolate or anything in them, they are practically a health food.

Sweet Bean Cookies

2 ½ cups blanched almonds

½ cup pine nuts

1 cup sugar

½ cup flour

1 teaspoon lemon zest

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

1 tablespoon grappa, rum, or brandy
confectioners' sugar, for dusting

Preheat the oven to 325° and line a baking sheet with parchment. (Alternatively, you can butter and flour the baking sheets.)

In a food processor, combine the almonds, pine nuts, and ½ cup of sugar. Blend until the nuts are very finely chopped. Transfer to a large bowl and stir in the remaining ½ cup sugar, flour, lemon zest, and cinnamon.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and the booze. (I used Grand Marnier because we have no grappa, and the idea of rum made me a little queasy. Besides, the label on the Grand Marnier says it is an 'orange and brandy liqueur'.) Add this mixture to the nuts and stir with a wooden spoon until well combined. It should be moist throughout and beginning to form a ball.

Begin to form the cookies by pinching off a bit of the dough — no more than the size of a grape. Using your hands, roll it into a ball and shape into the form of a bean. Place on the baking sheet and keep going. I found it was easiest to rinse my hands every so often, otherwise the cookies became sticky and lost their 'smooth' appearance, making them much more difficult to work with. Place an inch apart on the baking sheet.

At this point you are supposed to take a knife and, using the dull edge, form a long groove lengthwise on each cookie. My cookies looked extraordinarily daft when I attempted this step, which is why I skipped it after seeing the first batch.

Bake for 15-17 minutes. (If you are doing 2 sheets at a time, then rotate 10 minutes into the baking time.) Cool on a wire rack.

Dust with confectioners' sugar before serving. And store the remainders in an air-tight container. (Recipe from: Italian Holiday Cooking, by Michele Scicolone. Harper Collins, 2001.)

The Feast of St. Francis of Assisi

We were supposed to take Governor to church today to get him blessed, but somehow the time got away from us and we didn't. Poor guy. I suppose he will have to wait until next year. And I will just have to say extra prayers for him tonight.

If you want to see much of St. Francis of Assisi these days you need not go any further than your local gardening store. Or walk through your neighbor's back yard where they undoubtedly have a statue of St. Francis right next to the bird feeder and the hollyhocks. Today St. Francis seems to be regarded more as a hippie, being in touch with nature and having a great love for animals. While there is a certain truth to this notion, there is much more to this fascinating saint.

Francis was born to a family of cloth merchants in Assisi, Italy in 1181. His parents made a very respectable living at this trade, and Francis apparently did his best to squander it -- hanging out in the local taverns all hours of the night, boozing it up, and sharing very shady company. When the war broke out (something between the nobles and the merchant classes in Assisi and a neighboring village or so) Francis went to war. After a very brief stint he ended up a prisoner-of-war for a year, where he lived in filth and squalor and probably did not eat many enormous platefuls of pasta and chianti. Upon his release he made a mediocre attempt to return to his old ways. However, he found himself gravitating more and more to the church.

Sitting in church one afternoon Francis heard (and saw) Jesus speak directly to him. Jesus asked Francis to help rebuild this church, which was falling into tatters. He immediately jumped up, ran to his parents shop, grabbed all of the finest cloth he could, sold it, and made a rather generous donation to the church. His father found it rather annoying that his son would sell off their livelihood, unbeknownst to them, and so he sued the pants off of his son -- and won. The church readily gave the money back to Francis's parents.

Francis revolted after this incident and said that he didn't want anything that his father had ever given to him , including the clothes on his back. One day he stood in the public square and stripped down to his altogether, further illustrating this point. And this is when Francis's conversion began to really happen.

Francis embraced a form of extreme poverty. He stressed the humanity of Jesus, 'poor, abandoned, and crucified', and henceforth devoted himself to the lowest of the low, believing that he saw the face of Christ in all of them. He believed that he saw Christ in all living creatures -- from dogs, to donkeys, to earthworms. Francis wrote the Canticle of the Sun in 1224. In this song he praises all of nature and expresses his deep gratitude that we are taken care of by nature, as opposed to wealth and the many comforts that it provides. Francis was the founder of the Franciscan Order, but he never became a priest. Instead, he roamed the cities and countryside preaching God's message of love, humility, and poverty.

A few years before his death Francis developed the stigmata, which I personally hope I never get. Not only does it cause one to have to bandage their hands and feet all hours of the day, it is also terribly painful.

St. Francis died in 1226. On his deathbed he requested some sort of almond pastry, and I can happily tell you that Lady Jacoba de Settesoli brought one to him. I would love to know what this confection was exactly. Maybe next year, in honor of St. Francis, I'll try my hand at some sort of make-shift recipe. Surely there is a St. Francis almond pastry recipe to be found! And I'll make it right after we get back from bringing Governor to church for his blessing. In the meantime, he may get to hear a lovely rendition of the Canticle.

(Sources: Lives of the Saints, New Revised Edition, Catholic Book Publishing, Co., 1999. Saints Behaving Badly, Thomas J. Craughwell, Doubleday, 2006.)