I’m not gonna lie. This isn’t a gourmet dish that came about through many moons of research and testing. It was birthed when its parents, desperation and craving, met late one night in a refrigerator half-stocked with vegetables my mother has never heard of and more booze than I would ever care to tell her about. We all know that chance encounters sometimes don’t work out, but on that night, desperation and craving were at the right place at the right time. It was love at first sight.

Desperation wanted to use all of the ingredients in the kitchen that were on their last legs. Craving wanted nothing more than a giant bowl of wiggly spaetzle — the same spaetzle that caused a young culinary student (ahem) to hide in a corner of the kitchen storeroom while shoveling it into her mouth with her bare hands.

Together, desperation and craving created a meal with echoes of that curious day when three-quarters of the spaetzle mysteriously disappeared from the Culinary Arts 122 class. Only this time, there was broccoli rabe, prosciutto and toasted pine nuts to share the spotlight. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

A big hug and thank you to Val, who  in my hour of need typed the spaetzle recipe to me in an e-mail. The original recipe is from one of the earlier editions of the CIA’s “Professional Chef,” but it was inexplicably taken out in later versions of the book (too many students hiding in storerooms?). I tweaked the recipe based on what I had in my fridge, and it’s just as good as I remember.

BROWN BUTTER SPAETZLE WITH PROSCIUTTO AND BROCCOLI RABE
Yield: 2 to 3 servings

• 2 eggs
• 1/3 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup parsley, minced
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon pepper
• 1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/3 cup butter
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/4 medium onion, minced
• 1/4 cup pine nuts
• 1 bunch broccoli rabe, chopped
• 1/4 pound sliced prosciutto, chopped
• Garnish: Parmesan cheese, lemon juice

PROCEDURE
1. Put a large pot of salted water on the stove and over high heat to boil.
2. In a large bowl, crack the eggs and add milk, parsley, salt and pepper and mix until combined. Add in flour a little bit at a time and mix until combined. The dough will be a bit runny, and this is just fine. Let sit for 10 minutes to rest.
3. Put a colander or cheese grater over the pot of boiling water and spoon dough through holes. You’ll have a bunch of wiggly noodle nuggets that drop into the pot. Cook these for 5 to 6 minutes until just tender. Drain.
4. Melt butter in a sauté pan over high heat. When butter starts to separate and brown, have your ingredients at the ready. You’ll know the butter is ready to go when you start smelling a sweet, nutty aroma.
5. Dump in the drained spaetzle, garlic, onion, pine nuts and broccoli rabe. Cook in browned butter for about 2 minutes, then remove from heat. Toss in prosciutto and top with a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese and lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

Dear readers, I am in a funk. And not the good kind that allows you to wear a sequined gold dress and your sunglasses at night. The kind where everything you cook burns or tastes weird and everything you write reads cliché. It’s not a good place to be.

But onward we go, because cooking and writing is what we do here, however cringeworthy or awesome either turn out.

In the span of one week, four out of the five dishes prepared by my hands ended up as spectacular trainwrecks – ones that made microwaved frozen meals look like five-star food. The sole saving grace was this pasta with meat sauce, which is made annually at the first sign of winter’s chilly weather. It’s a hearty sauce thicker than blood, like an Italian chili almost, that goes well with garlic bread and even eaten alone in a bowl with a large spoon, should you be so bold.

In this case, it’s paired with a fresh pasta recipe adapted from Michael Ruhlman’s “Ratio,” using just the basics: flour and eggs. Nothing else.

I’ve been making this meat sauce for years, and thus it’s a recipe built on intuition. It’s a sauce that does its job and does it well, and with all of the flops I’ve been cranking out lately, it also helps to remind me that success, however little or large, is very, very sweet. And filling. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipes)

This Italian meat sauce borrows from its Bolognese sibling by including cream. Garnish the plate with basil chiffonade and a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese, if you please. Both sauce and pasta recipes can be doubled when serving more than two.

LOW-AND-SLOW MEAT SAUCE
Yield: 2 to 3 servings

• 1/2 pound ground beef
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 cup onion, minced
• 1/4 cup carrot, minced
• 1/4 cup celery, minced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1/2 cup red wine
• 1 3/4 cup (about 14 ounces) crushed Italian tomatoes
• 1/4 cup water
• 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, chopped
• 1/2 teaspoon oregano
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 1 tablespoon butter
• Salt and pepper, to taste

1. In a 3-quart pot over medium-high heat, brown the ground beef. Remove from pot and drain. Set aside.
2. Add olive oil, onion, carrot, celery and garlic to pot and sweat for 2 minutes. Add tomato paste and cook for about 5 to 6 minutes, or until tomato paste darkens in color. (This will deepen its flavor.)
3. Add red wine to pot and use wooden spoon to scrape any bits of fond that may be stuck to the bottom of the pot. Let wine reduce in half, about 3 to 4 minutes.
4. Add tomatoes, water, brown sugar, oregano, basil and ground beef. Bring sauce to boil, then reduce heat to low cover with pot lid slightly ajar so steam can escape. Simmer for 3 hours, stirring occasionally. Taste sauce and adjust seasonings to preference. Add heavy cream and butter to finish, and serve with fresh pasta noodles (recipe follows).

PAPARADELLE PASTA NOODLES

Adapted from “Ratio” by Michael Ruhlman
Yield: 2 servings

• 2 eggs
• 6 ounces all-purpose flour

1. Mound flour into a bowl and make a well in the middle. Add eggs and use your fingers to swirl them around the flour until they are completely incorporated. (Dough will be kinda flaky in the beginning but will start looking like dough the more you mix.)
2. Remove dough from bowl and knead on a floured worksurface for 8 minutes, or until dough becomes uniform and no streaks of flour can be seen. Wrap with plastic and let rest for 10 minutes.
3. Using a floured pasta machine, feed dough through on lowest setting (for my Imperia, this is No. 1). Fold dough in half and repeat once.
4. Continue to roll out pasta until you reach your desired pasta thickness (Imperia: setting 5 or 6 is ideal). Place pasta sheet on a floured surface and cut into 1-inch strips. To cook: drop paparadelle into a pot of boiling, salted water for about a minute. Drain and serve with pasta sauce.

If you ever need to find me in a crowd, just follow the string of heavy silences I leave in my wake. It goes like this: I’ll say something, you’ll nod your head and smile, and then you’ll stand frozen while holding your mojito, wishing desperately that someone will come along and save you from me. Eerie silence ensues.

It happened recently when I met Michael Chiarello at a “Top Chef Masters” preview event. There were fans looking over my shoulder, PR reps flanking Chiarello and all kinds of activity in between. In an attempt to ask him something for a follow-up story I wanted to write, I managed to winnow that boisterous man down to a nodding and smiling animatronic. (Cue the crickets.) I’m not quite sure how I do it, but it may have something to do with nervously ramming three questions together in a single, incoherent sentence.

It’s kind of weird being a journalist who gets panicky around selective sources.

The Symposium for Professional Food Writers was yet another event that had me exponentially intimidated. The sheer number of attendees who’ve published cookbooks, the James Beard awards won and the fact that most of them could grow flourishing gardens with both hands tied behind their backs made me feel like a fraud. I’ve written some stories here and there, but did I really know anything about food? I can barely keep a potted thyme alive for longer than a month.

But my nerves subsided slightly when I met cookbook author Tara Mataraza Desmond. Her friendly nature put me at ease, foreshadowing what the week-long conference would be like: welcoming and encouraging. It was exactly what I needed. I had my awkward moments for sure, but I wasn’t a basket case (well, not the whole time). Had I not met Tara in the elevator minutes before the symposium began, I wonder if my experience would have been a little more anxiety-ridden.

So when Tara sent an e-mail to SPFW attendees about a blogger potluck being held in conjunction with her new cookbook “Almost Meatless: Recipes That Are Better for Your Health and the Planet,” I jumped at the chance to join in. The book is co-written by Joy Manning, with recipes that emphasize grains and veggies rather than meat (that’s the “Almost” part). I took on the shrimp and slow-roasted tomato risotto.

As a journalist, I think it may be difficult for me to write an unbiased review of this recipe because I’ve met Tara and think her a genuine and thoughtful person. So I’ll just leave you with this: The recipe reflects the person. And I’ll replace my own further thoughts with letting the recipe and photos speak for themselves. Or better yet, what do you think of them? (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

SHRIMP AND SLOW-ROASTED TOMATO RISOTTO
Reprinted with permission from Ten Speed Press and authors

Risotto is so misunderstood. Thought to be a luxurious restaurant dish, risotto is actually much better at home, where you can make it to order. (at a restaurant, the rice is often cooked hours ahead.) Because of its creamy texture, dieters typically avoid it. But it’s the grain’s natural starchiness that lends the luscious consistency. and, worst of all, many home cooks consider it too difficult to make. in reality, there’s nothing hard about making risotto. it doesn’t even require the constant stirring that’s often part of the recipe. this version gets its flavor from homemade fish stock, good quality shrimp, and flavor-packed slow-roasted tomatoes. in fact, the tomatoes are flavorful enough to be the star of the dish in a vegetarian version that omits the shrimp and uses vegetable broth.

Serves 4 to 6
Slow-roasted tomatoes:

• 1 pound plum tomatoes, quartered and seeded
• 1 tablespoon olive oil, plus extra as needed
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Risotto:

• 5 cups fish stock (page 134 of the book)
• 1/2 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined,
• cut into 1-inch pieces, shells and tails reserved
• 2 tablespoons butter, divided
• 1/4 cup minced shallots
• 1 1/2 cups Carnaroli or arborio rice
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 1/4 cup loosely packed basil leaves, torn

Preheat the oven to 250°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil.
to make the tomatoes, toss them with the oil and a pinch of salt and pepper. Transfer to the prepared sheet and roast in the oven for 3 hours. If you don’t use the tomatoes right away, cool and then layer them in a small jar with 2 tablespoons oil. Cover and refrigerate up to one week.

To prepare the risotto, heat the stock in a saucepan until simmering; add the shrimp shells and tails and simmer for 10 minutes. Strain, then return the stock to low heat to keep hot.

Melt 1 tablespoon of the butter over medium-high heat in a sauté pan. Add the shallots and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes, until softened but not starting to brown. Add the rice, stirring to combine with the butter and shallots for about 3 minutes, until the grains are coated in butter and the edges appear translucent. Add the wine and cook until almost absorbed, stirring occasionally.

Add about 1 cup of the hot stock and stir occasionally, for about 6 minutes. When the rice has absorbed most of the liquid, add another half-cup of stock. keep adding stock in half-cup increments each time the risotto absorbs most of the liquid. Start tasting the rice for doneness when about a cup of stock remains. The risotto should look creamy and be tender with a little al dente bite—this takes about 30 minutes. When the risotto is almost done, add the sliced roasted tomatoes and shrimp; stir until the shrimp has just turned pink and cooked through, for no more than 2 minutes. Stir in the basil and the remaining 1 tablespoon butter (if desired) and season to taste just before serving. Drizzle with the tomato oil if you jarred them.