illdothedisheslater

Is there a word in the English language less appetizing than “casserole”?  It brings to mind funeral food, pot-lucks, and choking down a mish-mash of pantry rejects that have been drowned in cream-of-something soup and baked in Pyrex with a completely inappropriate topping (Fritos, cornflakes, Velveeta etc.)  Imagine a jolly, roly-poly woman (think the delightful Edie McClurg – the nosy neighbor in every 80’s sitcom you can think of) showing up at your door with a foil covered monster to help you through a hard time.

Gross.

Note:  I did NOT make this.  (Special thanks to Google Image Search for “gross casserole”.

(Fun fact for the Halloween season:  Edie McClurg was one of the popular mean girls in the original Carrie.  Edie McClurg, nude, pelting Sissy Spacek with tampons.  That’s my spooktacular fact of the week.)

(Fun fact #2 – I’m in a rambling kind of mood today.  Too many words.)

BUT it’s not all bad – in fact we’re going to completely ignore the crunchy gray mess and instead discuss Pasta al Forno.   This technically means pasta in the oven, and is made all over Italy, essentially as a way to use up leftovers.  Half a pot of spaghetti?  Dump it in a dish, cover it with cheese, and bake.  This is where we get lasagna, and today’s project:  baked ziti.  I asked a coworker on Friday what I should cook this weekend, and he replied “Something with meat and cheese.”  I couldn’t argue with that.   My coworkers have a vested interest in my cooking, since there are only two of us in the house and I tend to cook as though Caesar himself is marching an army up to my front porch.  Monday mornings at my office = garbage disposal for weekend cooking projects.  This particular coworker shall remain nameless since a) I did not ask him if I could use his name, and b) his name lends itself too easily to profane nicknames.  I’m showing a remarkable amount of self control.

First I’ll pick a bone: my grocery doesn’t sell ziti.  I have about 6 choices in noodle shapes, and the closest I can get is penne.  For the purposes of this recipe, we will refer to it as ziti.  I also have a few half-empty boxes of real ziti, rigatoni, and mostaccioli that I will probably throw in as well, for no other reason than to clear out some cabinet space.

Step one:  boil up  your noodles.  Leave them al dente, since they will continue to cook once the dish is assembled.  Drain, and toss with a glug of olive oil.  (Since I’m Queenie Pet Peevey today, I’m also sick to death of the term “EVOO”.  Just call it olive oil.  Same amount of syllables.  You are saving no time.)

Far from the pot-luck nightmare, this will be fresh, homemade, and a wonderful treat for a cold autumn day.  First brown one pound of ground beef and one pound of mild Italian sausage.  There is no need for a picture here is there?  Everyone knows what ground meat looks like.  Gray.  Remove the meat, leaving approximately two tablespoons of the drippings (technical cooking jargon:  drippings.  Can you tell I’m from the south?)  Dice one small yellow onion (or half a medium one – curse you, local grocery chain!) and sauté in the reserved drippings.  When they are tender and translucent, add three cloves of minced or pressed garlic.  Stir constantly to keep the garlic from burning and turning bitter.  Put the meat back in, and add one large can of crushed tomatoes, and one can of a neutral tomato sauce.  Add one tablespoon of Italian seasoning – dealer’s choice here.  ‘Tis not the season for fresh herbs.  Recommended:  basil, oregano, a little rosemary.  Also one tablespoon of crushed red pepper – have you ever tried the good stuff?  Thank you Penzey’s for changing the way I think about crushed red pepper.  Stir and taste.  Nom.

In a small bowl, mix one and a half cups of ricotta cheese with one egg, two tablespoons of parmesan cheese, and a tablespoon of parsley (flakes, fresh, whatever.  It’s parsley.  If you think your choice of parsley ruins things, I have to suspect you’ve done something else wrong.)

NOW preheat oven to 350.  Don’t you hate how most recipes start that way?  Really, it doesn’t take that long to preheat, and the constant “I’m heated!” beeping always makes me anxious.  Spray a deep 9×13 pan lightly with cooking spray.  Spread a generous spoonful of sauce over the bottom of the pan, paying special attention to the corners (cheese will work its way into the corners and burn) then spread a single layer of noodles on top.  Drizzle half the ricotta mixture across the noodles.  It doesn’t drizzle?  Glop then – glop it on.

Here’s a fantastic tip I got from Cooks Illustrated – when you’re using cheese in a baked dish, most people tend to either use pre-shredded (get out of my kitchen Hufflepuff) or to shred it themselves.  Imagine baking a tray of shredded cheese.  It melts – hooray.  Now imagine it cooling and drying – it becomes a dense, dry net.  The top becomes crispy and tasteless.  The inner layers practically disappear.  BUT if you dice it into little cubes, it will prevent the crispy dryness, and every bite will contain a gooey morsel of cheese.  So cube your cheese people.

Keep layering sauce, noodles, ricotta, mozzarella.  You’ll run out of ricotta after two layers – that’s fine since it’s more of an inner-cheese.  Aim for three layers, and toss the last layer of noodles in sauce before you add them – it will again prevent dry crispy poky bits.  For some reason, three is the last word in layered baked pasta.  Apparently four layers will cause the earth to spin out of orbit, the moon will crash into the ocean, dogs and cats will live in sin, etc.  Or maybe the middle won’t cook thoroughly.  I’m sketchy on the details.

Look at this and imagine the cheesiness:

That’s another tablespoon of parmesan and some more parsley on top.  Cover loosely with foil – you don’t want all that delicious cheese to come off in a stringy sheet once it’s baked.  Bake for 30 minutes covered.

Fun fact #3: During this time my husband took off on a five mile run while I ate the leftover noodles and sauce out of a large Halloween candy bowl with a slotted spoon the size of my face.

Carefully remove the foil and bake for another 20 minutes uncovered.  Take a look at the results and just try not to propose to me.

Okay, well maybe it’s not that pretty, but it’s a casserole.  It’s not grey.

Let it rest, loosely tented with foil for an agonizing 15 minutes, then dig in.