Monday, October 6, 2008

Ploughman's pasta

It's been a great long-weekend here in the 'berra. I've done loads of cooking, gardening, a spot of shopping and even managed to squeeze in some general lounging about and magazine reading. Not a bad effort.
I got to a point this weekend when I felt like doing something other than cooking. Tim took this to mean that I would enjoy struggling to keep up with his powerful, long and fast strides up the side of a mountain (aka a nearby hill) that he can pretty much run up without breaking into more than a light perspire. Ladybug handles the situation by running between me and Tim, making no effort to hide the fact that she really, really, really enjoys running, or the fact that she really, really, really wishes I'd hurry up so she wouldn't have to keep stopping to check on me.
Recovery from this adventure meant a quick, easy and yet tasty dinner, packed with every Hollywood starlet's worst nightmare - carbs. So what's the easiest thing for dinner under the circumstances? Pasta. Oh magnificent pasta, in all your shapes and colours - long, short, coloured, plain, shells, spirals, tiny little maps of Australia - all wonderful in your own special way. I realise that this ode may be slightly over the top, but when you think about it, how versatile can a foundation ingredient get? Boiled, sauced, baked or even fried in some cases, pasta is the unfailing, reliable servant of the average kitchen today. And where would we be without it? Hungry, that's for sure!!!
Once again, I turned an old favourite of ours. Tim calls it 'Ploughman's Pasta'. I call it pasta with peas and some other stuff. It started out as a totally basic dish derived from what we could locate in a hurry one night - peas, ham, some olive oil and white wine - and sort of developed over time to include spinach and mushrooms, mustard, and so on. Both good options depending on what you've got on hand and how you feel.
Any way you like it, it's easy - in a pan, pour a little olive oil and about a half a cup of chopped bacon or ham if you like. Or go without this part if you're a vego. It's all good. Once the meat is starting to cook, (shouldn't be crispy) throw in a couple of roughly chopped shallots and one very finely chopped clove of garlic. These just need to be sweated, not browned. Then in about two cups of roughly chopped silverbeet (I used the coloured heirloom stuff that grows like a weed once you get it started), about a cup or so of frozen peas, and the same of sliced mushrooms. I also throw in about three chopped parsley stalks because they're very flavoursome and I use the leaves to garnish.
After literally a couple of minutes, the spinach starts wilting and you don't need to overdo it. Splash in some dry white wine, a tablespoon of sour cream and a teaspoon of dijonaise mustard. Use your judgement here - if you prefer it thicker, stir in a teaspoon of corn flour; if you like it runnier and you're not giving it to infants, pour in some more wine. Salt and pepper to taste.
I use the San Remo gluten free pasta because I'm a special needs individual who blows up like a balloon when I eat wheat. Lots of fun that. Anyhow, this stuff is excellent and by far the best GF pasta I've ever had. It's more expensive than regular pasta, but totally worth it. You won't know the difference, unlike some of the rice or corn varieties that I find just stick together in a gluggy mess that no real Italian worth their salt would ever dream of calling pasta, lest they wind up damned to the hell that is ham and pineapple pizza made with pita bread and straight tomato paste. (I personally don't mind proper ham & pineapple pizza on occasion, but I'm yet to find one authentic Italian person who will make it, eat or even say the name out aloud, except to ridicule the concept).
Anyway, I throw all the sauce into a big pot with the drained pasta, and stir it around gently. Serve with some fresh chopped parsley. You could use parmesan to serve, but you shouldn't need it.
Well, tomorrow's another working day, so time to pack some left-overs, iron a shirt and go to bed. Like most pasta, this is brilliant the next day too.