I started my day by crushing fennel seeds with a little salt. That went exceedingly well. Sometimes accomplishing the most minuscule of tasks gives me an out-of-proportion view of my abilities. These fennel seeds were part of a gift package from Sausage Debauchery. As I breathed in their heady aroma, I could do no wrong. I was-Italiana-cook from the mountains of Italy. I was one with the fennel.
This would be a finishing touch for my non-existent ravioli. I started backwards. My first mistake.
The ravioli filling was delicious - who needed the noodles? I swiped a small ramekin and had a few tablespoons on the side.
Herbed Goat-Cheese Mascarpone Ravioli Filling with a nod to Mario Batali
8 oz creamy, plain goat cheese
8 oz mascarpone
3 tbl chopped rosemary
4 tbl chopped thyme
3 tbl chopped sage
4 tbl chopped Italian parsley
1 tbl freshly ground nutmeg
Whip your goat cheese and mascarpone together till light and fluffy. Add your herbs and nutmeg and combine all until there are herbs in every spoonful. Salt and pepper to taste (I didn't. I was happy with herbs.) I remained on top of the mountain. Grandma would be proud. Her genes glowed.
I finally was able to break open the special "00" flour from Sausage Debauchery. I couldn't wait to sink my hands into some dough. I was in a pounding mood. But I had two laptops sitting on the kitchen table, 8 books, five days of mail, a newspaper, and English muffin and at least 45 pens, so I turned to the mixer.
Who truly did a good job.
Pasta Dough - for 80 raviolis (yes, 80. I need to rethink my life.)
4 cups 00 flour
additional flour for dusting (I used all-purpose)
4 eggs
4 tbl olive oil
a few grinds of salt
(If this sounds suspiciously like Laura Schenone's recipe that is because it is. It is also my mother's, although she says basically, you add flour and eggs until it feel like "this." My mother never really knew what "this" was and so has had a hard time handing me Grandma's wisdom as to ravioli. She didn't get the ravioli gene. Alas and alack, it appears mine is also dormant)
But I did get it all elasticky. I let it rest for an hour, actually cleared the kitchen table and set up my hand-crank pasta machine. (I am not Ms. Schenone - yet. I like the hand-crank machine.) My real challenge was keeping the dough free of animal fur. The fur flies off my dog when she breathes and the cat thinks he is the centerpiece of any table where the action is.
I cut 80 one-inch squares. And put a whopping tablespoon of filling in each. Methinks a wee bit too much.
I folded them into an envelope. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn't. The dough was triple-thick on one side.... and super thin on the other. You may seem where I was going with this.
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I dusted wax paper with flour. Put the wax paper on a baking sheet. Laid the raviolis on it. And put on another dusted sheet and laid new raviolis on top of it and another and ....as I was doing that, I actually thought, "This is probably not a good idea. I bet they will be too heavy and stick to each other."
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Truer words were never spoken.
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On Easter Sunday, I peeled the raviolis from the top (undusted - I know, I know) leaving lots of little tears - in the noodles - on my eyelids. I then put them into gently simmering water so as not to disturb these little guys any more than was necessary.
And the filling leaked into the pasta water. I must say the pasta water was scrumptious - truly a savory, herb mixture. Which was good as I was finishing the raviolis with a Mario Batali method of dusting with the crushed fennel seeds (remember the fennel?), fennel fronds, dried orange peel (dried in the oven for 20 minutes) and - pasta water! Delicious, scrumptious, savory, herby-cheesey pasta water! I would cover my empty ravioli noodles (that now looked like wontons) with herbed-goat cheese pasta water.`
I really covered up those noodles. I was not in theatre for nothing. I know how to repaint, re-costume and cover, cover, cover when there are mistakes.
And so I did. And that was Easter dinner.
