Pasta with Sausage and a Creamy Butternut Squash and Sage Sauce

For a while now, I had been wanting to make a fall-ish pasta dish, and this is what I came up with. Because the sauce is a bechamel with some squash puree mixed in, the squash flavor is on the light side, but the sauce is also lighter on fat and calories than it would be if it was made of squash and heavy cream. I'm not claiming that this dish is low-fat, though--there's a good bit of butter, and of course there's the fat from the sausage. But fat is flavor, right? Plus, you get all of the nutrients from the squash, like fiber and beta carotene, so this might be a good way to get some veggies into vegetable-phobic kids.

Sage can overpower a dish, and it can therefore be a little bit intimidating to cook with. But in this case, with the sage added at the beginning of the cooking process, it's present without fighting too much with the other ingredients. 

Fried sage leaves would make a lovely garnish, and they're apparently delicious, so I've included Thomas Keller's instructions for making them. You may notice, though, that I have fresh sage leaves as a garnish on my poorly-plated dish. That's because I was too lazy to use a thermometer for frying, and for some reason, I expected the oil to bubble. 

When it started to smoke profusely and smell like burning plastic, I figured something wasn't quite right, so I turned off the heat. As for why I then threw in some sage leaves anyway, I have no good explanation. But it was pretty amusing how they instantly went 'Poof!' (they really did make that sound) and turned black. I made this a couple days ago now, and the kitchen still smells bad. Otherwise, the dish was a success. 

Pasta with Sausage and a Creamy Butternut Squash and Sage Sauce

Serves 4-6

• 2 medium-sized butternut squash
• Canola oil
• Kosher salt
• 1 recipe fresh pasta dough (below), or 1 pound dried fettuccine
• 5tablespoons butter
• 1 cup finely diced shallots
• 8 sage leaves, finely diced
• 1/4 cup flour
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 1 3/4 cup whole milk
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• 3 tablespoons Sherry or Marsala
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• One link hot Italian sausage per person
• Optional: Fried sage leaves (below)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cut the butternut squash in half and remove the seeds. Place on a foil-lined baking sheet and smear a little bit of oil over the halves, which should be cut-side up. Sprinkle liberally with Kosher salt. Roast in the center of the oven until the squash is very tender and a little bit browned, about an hour.

While the squash roasts, prepare the pasta dough as instructed below. When the squash is ready, remove it from the oven and allow it to cool.

In the meantime, cook the shallots and sage in 3 tablespoons butter until the shallots are tender, about 7 minutes. Add the flour and cook 3 minutes. Add the nutmeg and pour in the milk and chicken stock. Over medium heat, continue to stir until the sauce is thickened and coats the back of a spoon. This takes a while, as you must be patient in order to not curdle or burn the sauce. Taste for seasoning along the way-this sauce requires a good bit of salt.

When the sauce is thickened, stir in the Sherry. Scoop the flesh out of the squash skins, and puree in a blender of food processor until very smooth. Stir the puree into the milk sauce (bechamel). Add freshly ground black pepper, taste for seasoning, and add more salt and pepper as necessary.

In a large skillet, melt a tablespoon butter over medium-high heat and add the sausage. Sear for a minute, and place a lid over the skillet. Turn the heat down to medium. Occasionally shift the sausages in the pan. After about about 4 minutes, flip the sausage, put the lid back on the pan and cook for about 4 minutes. Remove the lid and cook for another 3 minutes. Add another tablespoon butter, and continue to cook until the sausage is cooked through. They could be done at this point, or they could need a few more minutes.

While the sausage cooks, roll out the pasta and set a large pot of salted water on to boil. To roll out the pasta, divide it into 4 pieces. Make each piece into a flattish shape. Take one to start with, and cover the other so that they don't dry out.

With your plain roller set to the largest setting (lowest number), pass the dough through once. Fold like a book (one flat piece in the back, and two pieces folded over on the sides so that they almost meet in the middle) and pass through again. Fold like a book and repeat 2 more times. After the last time, send the pasta through as is. Send it through as a flat piece 2 more times.

Then, put the roller on the next smallest setting and pass the dough through. Continue to do this on smaller and smaller settings until the pasta is the right thickness (about a 6 on Kitchenaid stand mixers, depending on how flat you'd like the pasta). Lay the dough out on a flat surface and cover with a towel so that it does not dry out, and repeat with the remaining lumps of dough.

When all of the pasta is laid out flat, switch to the fettuccine-cutting roller, and pass the pieces of dough through, one at a time. If your pieces are very long, cut them into more manageable lengths. Again, spread out the dough and cover with a towel so that it does not dry out. 

al dente (it will continue to cook in the hot sauce). Drain, reserving about a cup of the cooking water.

Add the sauce to the skillet (you may not need all of it) and, if necessary, reheat until hot, stirring to incorporate the fat that was left in the skillet. Add the pasta and toss to coat with the sauce. If the sauce is very thick and you would like to thin it out, add some of the reserved cooking water.

Divide the pasta among the plates. If you like, slice the sausage into pieces that are a little more than 1/4-inch thick, ans divide the slices among the plates. Or, place a whole sausage on each plate. Garnish with the fried sage leaves, if using.

Fresh Pasta

• 400 grams all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon Kosher salt
• 4 large eggs

Mound the flour onto a large cutting board or other work surface, and make a well in the middle. Sprinkle the salt over the flour, then add the eggs to the well.

Using your fingers or a fork, break the egg yolks, mix the eggs together a bit, and keep swirling while you gradually incorporate the flour into the eggs. Use your other hand to keep the outer wall intact as you swirl on the inside. This takes some practice, so don't worry if your well breaks--just mix it all together.

Knead the dough for 10 minutes. Seriously--10 minutes. Use primarily the palms of your hands, and occasionally fold the dough in half and continue kneading. When the dough is very soft and silky, almost cloud-like, wrap it in plastic and let it sit at room temperature for 30 minutes. Proceed with rolling as instructed above.

Fried Sage Leaves

• Canola oil, for deep-frying
• About 16 smallish sage leaves

In a small pot, heat oil for deep frying to 275 degrees. Fry the small sage leaves briefly, just until they are crisp (their color should not change), and dry on paper towels. 

Pollo all'Americano--Chicken Stew with Polenta, Celery Root, and Sage, and a Brownie Redemption

I will not be defeated by brownies. I've tried Alton Brown's recipe, Cook's Illustrated's recipe, a Saveur recipe, and Thomas Keller's recipe for brownies, and every one of them has resulted in a fail. After this last spectacular failure, I was determined to once and for all conquer this unassuming dessert.

I had enough ingredients available to once again attempt Thomas Keller's recipe, and because the problem seemed to be with me as opposed to the recipe, I decided to go Ad Hoc.

This time, I decided that I would let the batter rest for a while, as is all the rage with chocolate chip cookie dough these days. This, I hoped, would help with the seeming lack of cohesiveness of ingredients that I experienced last time. Not wanting to poison my friends and family, I figured I had better let it rest in the fridge.

This, of course, meant that when I took it back out, it was rock solid and was therefore not about to be poured into a baking pan. Genius.

So I put the bowl of batter on top of the oven while it was preheating, but I kept envisioning melted and ruined batter. So I took it off. It was taking too long. I put it back on. I took it off.

Eventually, it was somewhat spreadable, but still had a fudgy texture. Good enough; it had to go in the oven. "Wow," Hunter said, "How did you manage to get brownie batter to be like fudge?"

"Shut up."

So far, brownies seem to exist just to torment me. But you know what? After only a short time in the oven, it became obvious that the brownies were going to develop that crackly, crispy crust that I so love and desire in my brownies. That flaky exterior is one of my favorite brownie attributes, and I have never yet been able to achieve it. Every time I've slid a pan or brownies in the oven, whether they be homemade or (gasp!) boxed, I say to them, "You better get crusty this time, damnit."

And they never listen. At best, I get maybe a square inch of cooperation, so I could have wept for joy when I saw this:

Nonetheless, Nick continued to say, "They're burning. They're going to burn. But they'll still be raw in the middle."

"Shut UP."

So it's true that they were a tiny bit chewy/overcooked around the edges, and while the middle was cooked just right, for whatever reason, the bottoms were a bit chewy, as well.

These brownies have chunks of chocolate in them, which, in the first batch, became little pockets of molten chocolate. That didn't consistently happen this time, perhaps because the batter was cold, but it didn't really bother me. Plus, perhaps I got my long sought-after crust because of the temperature of the batter. If anyone ever reads this and knows the answer, feel free to let me know.

So, overall, they were not the perfect brownies, but they were pretty good. My Dad argued that they're not cost effective and perhaps not worthwhile on that basis, but I argued that while a box of brownies may have been a quarter of the price, and it may have tasted almost as good, these brownies are less likely to give you cancer. He conceded the point, and he did admit that these were worthy of a Brownie Redemption.

Before all this brownie madness, however, we had some dinner. I had worked the night before and was therefore feeling relatively unmotivated, so I sought out a relatively simple recipe. Mario Batali's Chicken Stew with Polenta, Celery Root and Sage fit the criteria, so I went to the store.

What's that? I was just whining about how I didn't want to eat a wintery, chickeny, stew thing? True. In my defense, it was a really cold day, and I do admit that I can be rather contrary.

Nick won't go to Whole Foods with me because the crowded isles filled with non-paying-attention people make him want to punch someone. I can usually handle it, but I knew it was a bad sign when I walked up to the front door and noted that there were no carts. 'Okay. Deep breath. You can do this.'

Well, there was no celery root to be found, but I thought that it was rather brilliant of me to get some parsnips and fennel instead. Close-ish, right?

And then there were no whole chickens. Because I'm lazy, I had ideally hoped to get one of those packs of chicken that have been cut up into 'serving pieces' the way I was supposed to have done to a whole chicken, but that was not going to happen. So I had to get all mad scientist and buy the separate chicken pieces in order to make a whole chicken. Somehow, this way, it didn't seem like much chicken, so I figured I'd get a couple bone-in thighs. Well, they only had huge 'family packs' so I guess we'll just have to do our chicken and chorizo thingy later this week.

They also didn't have fine cornmeal or quick cooking polenta, and I've heard that the pre-made tube-packaged polenta is not really worth bothering with. I had some cornmeal at home, but it didn't say whether it was fine or not fine, and I couldn't really tell. I thought about sending it for a spin in the food processor the way some recipes will instruct you to make superfine sugar out of regular sugar if you're unable to find the superfine stuff, but that was just getting too complicated, and I was feeling way too lazy.

My solution was to attempt the polenta with the cornmeal I had on hand, but bring some couscous in case I achieved a Polenta Fail. The problem, though, was that I've never made polenta, so wasn't really able to judge what constitutes a Fail. Polenta can be a rather scary and fabled culinary objective, although less so than souffles, which are on the List of Things Leah Can't Make. Molly of Orangette writes amusingly and eloquently of the Polenta Dilemma.

It's true--it does require a lot of stirring, to which Nick and his sore arm can attest. Mario says that you can bring some water to a boil, dump in the cornmeal, and stir until it reaches the consistency of "molten lava," whatever that is. Well, it was soon obvious that it was not as magically simple as he makes it out to be, so back on the heat it went.

The description 'molten lava,' while poetic, is not very helpful, so when I got tired of dealing with the stuff, the polenta went into a pan to cool, as instructed. In retrospect, the consistency was correct for normal polenta, but not for polenta that was to be cut into squares. Or maybe it just didn't get cool enough. I don't know.

The solution was to leave it as un-cubed polenta and use it as a bed onto which we would nestle the braised bits. Those braised bits started off as chicken pieces dredged in flour, which were seared until golden.

The veggies were then cooked until golden, and 2 cups of red wine, a cup of Mario's standard tomato sauce, and 8 sage leaves were added to the pot.

Okay, I confess--I used a jarred sauce rather than Mario's sauce. My Dad was rather scandalized, and my Italian grandmother would have been ashamed of me, but in my defense, this is some of the best pasta sauce I've ever tasted. Numerous times, I've attempted to make my own tomato sauces, and while they've been pretty good, none of them have been as good as Classico's Fire Roasted Tomato and Garlic. I swear they're not paying me to say that.

This all simmered for a while and was then plated on top of the polenta and garnished with some parsley and lemon zest. While the meal was very good, it could have been tastier had I salted it better. As I've mentioned, I've been rather scared of salt lately and have yet to achieve the happy medium between tastelessness and mouth-puckering saltiness. Mario didn't even mention adding salt to the polenta, but I added a bit anyway. I'm glad I did, but it wasn't nearly enough.

So while the lack of salt lent the dish a rather bland taste, Nick and I were also a little bit bored with it because it tasted like just about every other braised dish with meat, wine, and vegetables. We therefore concluded that there's something to be said for the 'deconstructed' approach. For example, Hunter was impressed by the fragrance of the raw parsnips, but in the finished dish, there really could have been any root vegetable in there. If we make this again, perhaps we'll take a Keller-esque approach and cook the parsnips separately.

So overall, we had fun making this meal, it was delicious, and, best of all, I almost conquered those pesky little brownies.

This is how we'll make this stew if we ever make it again:

Polenta with Chicken Stew with Root Vegetables and Sage

(Adapted from Mario Batali's Pollo all'Americano)

• 5 cups water
• 1 cup quick-cooking polenta or fine cornmeal
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• salt and freshly ground black pepper
• one 3 1/2 to 4 pound organic chicken, cut into serving pieces and skinned, rinsed and patted dry
• 4 bone-in skinless chicken thighs, rinsed and patted dry
• 6 TBSP olive oil
• 1 large sweet yellow onion, diced
• 4 large parsnips, peeled and diced
• half of one small fennel bulb, diced
• 2 cups red wine
• 1 cup jarred, good quality tomato sauce
• 8 fresh sage leaves
• 3 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 1 tablespoon lemon zest

In a large sauce pan, bring the water to a boil. Add the polenta or cornmeal and reduce heat to low. Stir almost constantly (as you would a risotto) until the polenta achieves a pudding-like consistency; salt to taste while cooking. It will probably take an hour to an hour and a half to cook the polenta.

Season the flour with salt and pepper and place in a large bag or Tupperware container. One at a time, add the chicken pieces and shake to coat evenly with the flour. Pat off excess and set aside.

In a large Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat until almost smoking. In batches, without crowding the pan, brown the chicken pieces. If necessary, wipe out any burnt bits from the bottom of the pot.

Add more oil if necessary, and sauté the parsnips and fennel until golden.

Add the wine, tomato sauce, and sage leaves, and return the chicken to the pot. Bring to a boil and reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the thighs are cooked through, about 35 minutes.

Remove chicken pieces to a plate and briskly simmer sauce until it is reduced to a thick sauce; season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Return chicken to the pot to re-warm if it has cooled.

Spoon 1/4 of the polenta onto each plate, and top with a thin sliver of butter. Place a piece of chicken on the bed of polenta, and spoon sauce over. Sprinkle with parsley and lemon zest, serve immediately.

Possible alternative: First, preheat oven to 425 degrees. Peel and dice parsnips into 3/4 inch chunks, and toss with olive oil and salt on a baking sheet. Roast until parsnips are tender and browned, about 20-40 minutes, depending on the parsnips. Add to the stew 10 minutes before the end of cooking time.

Brownies

(adapted from Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc at Home)

• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 cup unsweetened alkalized cocoa powder
• 1 teaspoon Kosher salt
• 3 sticks butter (3/4 lb), cut into tablespoon-sized pieces
• 3 large eggs
• 1 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 6 ounces Ghiardelli (or a similar brand) semi-sweet chocolate chips

Stir together the flour, cocoa powder, and salt.

Melt half the butter in a small sauce pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Put the remaining butter in a medium bowl. Pour the melted butter over the butter in the bowl, and stir to melt. The butter should look creamy, with small bits of unmelted butter, and be at room temperature.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix together the eggs and sugar on medium speed for about 3 minutes, or until thick and very pale. Mix in the vanilla. On low speed, add about one-third of the dry ingredients, then add one-third of the butter. Continue alternating butter and dry ingredients until they are incorporated into the batter. Add the chocolate chips and mix to combine.

Put the batter in the refrigerator for at least a few hours, and up to a week. When ready to cook the brownies, preheat the oven to 350 degrees, and allow the brownies to sit at room temperature until they are spreadable. Butter and flour a glass or metal 9x13 inch baking pan.

Spread the batter evenly in the pan and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until a toothpick poled into the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs attached to it. If the pick comes out wet, test a second time, as you may have hit a chocolate chip, which will be molten.

Cool brownies in the pan, on a rack, until they are a bit warmer than room temperature. Cut into squares and serve.

Sweet Potato Agnolotti in Sage Cream Sauce

Ooooh...the first French Laundry recipe of 10X10.

This might actually be a good time for a little tallying. So far we have:

Two recipes from My French Kitchen, one recipe from Braise, two recipes from Parisian Home Cooking, one recipe from Molto Italiano, and one recipe from The French Laundry. Just 93 to go.

Also, Ad Hoc came in the mail, so it's time for the "random" number generator.

Page 136 is a selection of 10 different salads. While these salads are not necessarily simple, as every salad is actually a combination of a few different recipes, this seems too lackluster. Perhaps I'll pick again.

Page 150 is iceberg lettuce slices with blue cheese dressing, oven-roasted tomatoes, bacon, and brioce crutons. The number generator apparently really wants me to make a salad from this book. Well, this looks delicious, and I had actually planned to make it. Althought it is a salad, it's not necessarily a copout because the recipe requires that you make the dressing, roast the tomatoes, as well as make and toast the brioche. Brioche requires an overnight rest in the fridge, and the tomatoes take several hours to slowly roast, so it's a actually not a wimpy recipe.

By the way, did you know that the formerly tacky, pre-foodie, chicken-soup-casserole-era iceberg is making a comeback? It's true. Look for heirloom varieties of iceberg lettuce at the farmer's market this summer. People are once again coming to appreciate its crispy, watery coolness, and its image is being revamped from a holdout found only in steakhouses, to an unapologetic indulgence. Who cares if it has "no nutritional value?"

So, part of the reason that I liked Nick's idea for this project was because I had been interested in getting back to utilizing cookbooks. I love the tactile act of flipping through a cookbook, marking the pages you like, and maybe rediscovering a recipe that did not previously interest you. But I had been cooking from online recipes for so long that when I walked into my Dad's house this past fall with a book rather that a computer, Hunter was amazed. It was time for a change.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with online recipes. Epicurious, for example, has a wonderful (and extensive) collection, and the functions that enable you to organize your recipes are awesome. With a cookbook, however, someone has created a whole world within the two covers, and when you explore a cookbook, you become a part of that world.

A cookbook can tell a story, and it can teach you to be a better cook. Just about every cookbook has some instructional aspects, and their usefuleness depends on your proir experience. For example, I didn't find anything new in Tyler Florence's Real Kitchen. I chose that book because he has a wide range of seemingly solid recipes, and I particularly liked how a lot of his desserts have savory aspects. When I read the French Laundry cookbook and Mastering the Art of French Cooking, however, I learned a lot.

I first took note of Tyler Florence's book when it was listed in this article that my Dad thoughtfully sent in order to assist me in the search for books for this project. The article purportedly enumerated the best cookbooks of the decade, and Tyler Florence's Real Kitchen was on this list, so when I saw it in the library I decided to give it a chance, and I ended up putting it on the list.

I have to admit that I am not familiar with every book on this 'best of the decade' list, but I have perused many of them. And I have to say that this is a list with some notable errors. For example, the French Laundry cookbook is not on this list. How can it not be? Alinea is first on the list, but without Thomas Keller and the French Laundry, Grant Achatz might not have even opened Alinea. Plus, the French Laundry cookbook revolutionized the way cookbooks are published.

When Thomas Keller made the first edition of this book, everyone thought that he was crazy. They tried to tell him that people didn't want such a lavishly illustrated, complicated cookbook. It went on to sell insanely well, of course, as it is a stunning and inspirational book. Had he not made this beautiful book, would Heston Blumenthal have been able to publish the Big Fat Duck Cookbook, and would David Chang have been able to create the Momofuku cookbook? If you think that the French Laundry is challenging, try one of those books.

I've had my eye on this recipe for a long time, and it's one of the recipes that made me really want the pasta maker attachment for my stand mixer. In fact, if I didn't receive it as a Christmas gift, I was going to make it a Merry Christmas To Me present. Don't deny it, you do it too--"One for me, one for them, two for me, one for them..."

Well, I wrecked my car on Hunter's birthday, which is right before Christmas. Not only did I mess up his party, I had to buy an Audi as the Merry Christmas To Me present, instead of the pasta maker. Well, I didn't have to get an Audi, but whether I got an Audi or a Volkswagen, it precluded buying myself a pasta maker. Lucky for me, Nick got it for me.

So you start by roasting a pound and a half of sweet potatoes with four tablespoons of butter. You scoop out the flesh and pass it through a food mill or potato ricer while it's still hot; this is always an opportune moment for some nice scalding. I didn't take a picture of this step, as I thought it would be better to show you how Hunter feels about the food mill:

(This was actually for the French Laundry recipe Warm Friutwood Smoked Salmon with Potato Gnocchi and Balsamic Glaze. It was very delicious, and very buttery.)

Two pieces of bacon are then lightly browned and added to the sweet potato mixure, along with some nutmeg, allspice, and four more tablespoons of butter. I think Thomas Keller is trying to kill me. With butter.

This filling was allowed to cool and then piped onto the freshly made pasta dough. Okay, I admit it--I didn't pipe it, I spooned it. I was too lazy to get out the pastry bag, okay?

Ummm...I also didn't use Thomas Keller's pasta recipe. "Gasp!" Well, I've attempted it before, and I don't like it. I found that the flour-to-egg ration was too high to make the dough workable. I recently read that West Coast eggs are smaller than East Coast eggs; I don't know if this egg thing is true (although I think I read this in the Ad Hoc book), but it might help explain why I found the dough to be too tough.

I used Jamie Oliver's recipe instead, and it turned out beautifully. The best part is--it didn't smell like placenta! The last time I made pasta, I made two different batches, and both times, the dough smelled overwhelmingly of placenta. If you think about it, this sort of makes sense as an egg is sort of like a placenta, but it was still traumatizing for me and my Facebook friends. As I was working with that dough, I had to avert my face and hope that the resulting pasta tasted better than it smelled. Don't worry--it was delicious.

After the filling was "piped" onto the fresh pasta dough, it was time to form the agnolotti. Much cussing ensued. I mean, the part of the French Laundry cookbook that explained the forming of the agnolotti is a column of about 6 inches of dense type, and I couldn't make much sense of it. It got to the point that Nick offered to make an attempt, because I think he started to worry about all of the sharp and breakable stuff laying around within my reach.


I couldn't not be a pain in the butt, so I complicated the situation by not leaving Nick alone until I was quite frustrated with myself, and with the very concept of agnolotti. "Why do these stupid pasta have to be in such a stupid shape, and why does it have to be so stupidly difficult to make them?" Once I let Nick do his thing, though, he figured it out. They don't really look like the ones in the book's pictures, but they'll do. Thanks, Nick.

In fact, they're rather cute. They look like wrapped up candy.


It was now time to prep the chicken cutlets that had been brining. I had loved the idea of pan-seared scallops with the agnolotti, but for many years, half of the time that we ate scallops, Nick and I would throw up. I don't think it was a matter of food poisoning, as we didn't necessarily throw up at the same time. It hasn't been a problem for a while, so I don't know what that was all about, but it's left us a bit wary of scallops. The ones at Whole Foods didn't look so hot, so chicken it is.

Meals that involve Thomas Keller's recipes tend to come together in a concluding crescendo, and this one was no different: we pan-seared the cutlets, dropped the agnolotti in salted water for boiling, pureed warm creme fraiche and a half a cup of butter (for a half-sized sauce recipe) with some previously boiled sage leaves, strained the cream sauce back into the skillet, made some brown butter, wilted some spinach, tossed the cooked agnolotti with the cream sauce, plated the spinach, plated the chicken, strewed the agnolotti around, and drizzled them with brown butter. Whew.

Did I mention that Thomas Keller is trying to kill me with butter? Have you been keeping track? I'm not eating again until my birthday dinner.


I have another confession--I didn't make the fried sage leaves, and I forgot to put the julienned prosciutto on the initial plating.

Well, it was delicious anyway. The filling was sweet and buttery without being too dense and heavy, and the sage cream sauce nicely complimented the sweet and salty aspects of the agnolotti. The pasta was tasty, and if it was a bit too chewy, I'll just tell myself that it provided a nice counterpoint to the meltingly soft sweet potato filling.


The best part was that while you could certainly tell that the sage was there, and it played well with the other flavors, you almost had to go looking for a distinct taste of it. The execution of this recipe wasn't perfect (especially my sucky plating), but it was quite satisfactory. This, too, will go on the repeat list.

Sweet Potato Agnolotti in in Sage Cream Sauce

(From the The French Laundry Cookbook)

Sweet Potato Filling

• 1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes
• 8 tablespoons (4 ounces) unsalted butter
• 2 slices bacon, frozen and cut into 1/4-inch dice
• Pinch of allspice or nutmeg
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1/2 recipe for pasta dough

Sage Cream

• 1/3 cup sage leaves (save the smaller leaves for the fried sage leaf garnish)
• 1 cup creme fraiche
• 1 cup Buerre Monte (below)
• Pinch of Kosher salt, or to taste
• Canola oil for deep-frying
• 48 tiny sage leaves (reserved from above)
• 2 tablespoons (1 ounce) unsalted butter
• 4 thin slices prosciutto, cut crosswise into fine julienne

For the sweet potato filling:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Cut the ends off the potatoes and wrap the potatoes individually in aluminum foil, dividing 4 tablespoons of the butter evenly between them. Bake until they are soft, 1 to 2 hours (the time will vary, depending on the size of the potatoes).


Unwrap the cooked potatoes and cut a slit lengthwise in the skin of each. Pull the skin away from the potato and discard. Push the potatoes through a potato ricer while they are hot and place in a saucepan.


Place the diced bacon in a skillet. Cook until it is lightly browned and the fat has been rendered. Transfer the bacon pieces to paper towels to drain briefly, then add them to the potatoes.


Stir the potatoes over low heat, seasoning to taste with the nutmeg or allspice and salt and pepper. Mix in the remaining 4 tablespoons butter. You will have about 1 2/3 cups filling (enough to fill 48 agnolotti). Refrigerate the filling until chilled, or for up to 2 days, before filling the agnolotti.


Divide the dough into 2 or 3 pieces. Run the dough through a pasta machine as for ravioli, but make the sheets wider. The size will vary according to the pasta machine used, but the sheets should be at least 5 inches wide. It is important that the pasta sheet be thin enough so that you can see your fingers through it, but not so thin that it's translucent. Keep the pasta sheets covered, as they dry out quickly.


Lay the pasta sheets, one at a time, on a lightly floured work surface with the long side facing you. Trim the edges so they are straight. Place the agnolotti filling in a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch plain tip. Pipe a 'tube' of filling across the bottom of the pasta sheet, leaving a 3/4-inch border of pasta along the left, right, and bottom edges.


Pull the bottom edge of the pasta up and over the filling. Seal the agnolotti by carefully molding the pasta over the filling and pressing lightly with your index finger to seal the edge of the dough to the pasta sheet; don't drag your finger along the dough to seal, or you risk riping the dough.


When it is sealed, there should be about 1/2-inch of excess dough visible above the tube of filling (where you sealed it). Be certain that you are sealing tightly while pressing out any air pockets. Seal the left and right ends of the dough.


Starting at one end, place the thumb and forefinger of each hand together as if you were going to pinch something, and, leaving about 1 inch of space between your hands and holding your fingers vertically, pinch the filling in 1-inch increments, making about 3/4 inch of 'pinched' area between the agnolotti, or when the agnolotti are separated, they might come unsealed.


Run a crimped pastry wheel along the top of the folded-over dough, separating the strip of filled pockets from the remainder of the pasta sheet. Don't cut too close to the filling, or you risk breaking the seal. Separate the individual agnolotti by cutting through the center of each pinched area, rolling the pastry wheel away from you.


Working quickly, place the agnolotti on a baking sheet dusted with a thin layer of cornmeal, which will help prevent sticking. Don't let the agnolotti touch each other, or they may stick together. Repeat the same procedure with the remainder of the pasta sheets.


For the sage cream, blanch the sage leaves in boiling water for 2 minutes. Drain, cool in cold water, and drain again. Squeeze the leaves dry.


Heat the creme fraiche, buerre monte, and salt over low heat until hot; do not boil. Place the sage in a blender and process to chop it. With the motor running, pour the hot cream mixture through the top and blend thoroughly. Strain the cream into a large skillet. Check the seasoning and set aside.


In a small pot, heat oil for deep frying to 275 degrees. Fry the small sage leaves briefly, just until they are crisp (their color should not change), and dry on paper towels. 


Place the butter in a skillet over medium heat and cook to a nutty brown color; reduce the heat and keep warm. Meanwhile, cook the agnolotti in a large pot of lightly salted boiling water until cooked through, 4 to 5 minutes.


Drain the cooked agnolotti and mix them gently with the sage cream sauce over low heat. Divide the agnolotti among six serving dishes and drizzle with the browned butter. Scatter some prosciutto over each serving and garnish with the fried sage leaves.

Buerre Monte

A little bit of butter helps the emulsion process: Whether you emulsify 4 tablespoons (2 ounces) or 1 pound of butter, just a tablespoon of water will do. 


Bring the water to a boil in an appropriate-size saucepan. Reduce the heat to low and begin whisking chunks of butter into the water, bit by bit to emulsify. Once you have established the emulsion, you can continue to add pieces of butter until you have the quantity of buerre monte that you need.


It is important to keep the level of heat gentle and consistent in order to maintain the emulsification. Make the buerre monte close to the time it will be used and keep it in a warm place. If you have extra buerre monte, it can be refrigerated and then reheated to use as melted butter, or clarified.