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Baked Pasta There is almost nothing that can’t be ruined by bad taste and poor execution and baked pasta is no exception. To most of us, baked pasta has come to mean flaccid ziti and gloopy lasagnas displayed in salad bars and supermarkets or those bizarre tuna-noodle casseroles that turn up at church suppers, chock full of Kraft cheese, potato chips, cashews and who knows what else – all glued together with a can of mushroom soup, our culinary contribution to the béchamel group of sauces. Not
exactly the haute cuisine dish that it was born to be. In 14th
century Italy, as part of the “bonfire of the vanities” phase,
sumptuary laws were passed to regulate the spending of Renaissance
yuppies that decreed that no more than three courses could be served at
banquets. In no time at all, main dishes were devised that consisted of
mounds of meat, ravioli, dates and almonds, all baked together in a
gigantic pie called a timballo or timpano. These early one-dish meals,
which made an art of excess, quickly became popular with the Medicis and
their like. But not even an illustrious history could save baked pasta
from the low rent image it picked up in the fifties. In Canada, the
trend continues to this day as food editors, riding the wave of one dish
meal madness continue to create convenience casseroles that are easy on
the budget and hard on the taste buds. In
the last twenty years, other members of the pasta family have recovered
nicely from the aberrant metamorphoses it suffered at the North American
cooks in the “Leave it to Beaver” meatball and spaghetti decades.
Baked pasta hasn’t been so lucky. But
as any kid who grew up in the fifties could tell you macaroni and cheese
wasn’t all that bad – and it was always best the second day you ate
it, especially if it was left in the oven a little too long, because
then you could eat the crusty part. And
that crusty top, serving as a counterpoint to the rich and creamy stuff
inside, is still the secret of any baked pastas appeal. Ideally, baked
pasta should meld complimentary flavours and textures. Ingredients like
shiitake mushrooms and radicchio, baked with cream and three cheeses.
The crunchy part leads some of us to believe that all the cream and
cheeses aren’t really so fattening after all. Serves
6 Conchiglie
with Mushrooms and Radicchio 6
ounces shiitake mushrooms, cleaned 8
tablespoons unsalted butter plus some for buttering the dish 1
pound imported conchiglie rigate 1
tablespoon olive oil 2
½ cups heavy cream 2
small head radicchio, cored and finely shredded ½
cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese ½
cup shredded Bel Paese cheese ½
cup crumbled Gorgonzola Sea
salt to taste 6
leaves fresh sage 1)
Preheat the oven to 450 F. 2)
Remove the stems from the mushrooms and discard. Slice the
mushroom caps ¼ inch thick. Heat 6 tablespoons of butter in a medium
sized skillet. Add the mushrooms and cook over a medium heat for 3 to 4
minutes, stirring frequently, until they are softened. 3)
Add the pasta to a large pot of boiling salted water and cook for
5 minutes. Add the olive oil, if desired to keep the pasta from sticking
together. Drain the pasta. Run cold water over it to stop the cooking
process, then drain again. 4)
In a large bowl, combine the cream, shredded radicchio,
Parmigiano-Reggiano, Bel Paese, Gorgonzola and the cooked mushrooms. Add
the pasta and toss. Stir in the salt and the sage leaves if desired. 5)
Butter a glass or earthenware baking dish (about 13 by 9 by 2
inches). Transfer the mixture to the dish. Dot with butter. Bake for 30
to 35 minutes until the pasta is bubbly and crusty brown on top. Let
stand for 5 minutes before serving. |
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