Passionfruit Butter

Remember me? I’m the girl who hasn’t blogged in almost a month.

But then, for all our naked dance parties and naked donut runs, Brown isn’t a walk in the park. And it’s finals time. And somehow, at finals time, it seems professors always think it’s a great idea to dump papers and tests on you. I guess we could choose to be empowered: surely they think we’re superhuman if they believe we can handle all this?

So to that, I say, thank you, trusty profs, for having such faith in me when I had none. I have soldiered through three essays and two tests this week, and I’m facing another two tests and a big ten-pager in the next five days. I will be a better person at the end of this, and I owe it all to you.

In the midst of all this chaotic studying, I find myself taking solace in cooking, which is awfully convenient for my dormmates. Now, friends of my beer pong aficionado neighbors even burst into my room on Friday nights and say, “So you’re the one who cooks? Will you cook me something?”

June Cleaver, at your service!

SORRYSOSORRY for the utter lack of artfulness. Aesthetics get thrown to the wind when you're surrounded by hungry college kids. Also, this was after the chèvre enthusiasts dumped in a whole bunch of, well, chèvre. Your rendition needn't be this decadent.

Pasta is, of course, among the easiest things to cook and serve the masses: you can doctor it up with anything, you can satisfy the vegetarian and the carnivore in one shot, and you can get your daily (or weekly) carb dose. Magnificent.

I made this orechiette a while back for the folks of Champlin, and I know a few people wanted the recipe. I feel a bit traitorous even writing one, since it was so absurdly easy – I actually just improvised the whole darn thing. But here are some guidelines. It’s all straightforward if you’ve got any experience in the kitchen, but it’s a little involved what with the roasting you’ll be doing. Translation: what a fabulous thing to occupy your time while you’re cooped up inside away from the cold.

Now, please accept this obscenely long-winded blog entry as my humble apology for my recent academia-induced absence.

PHASE ONE, IN WHICH RÉMY ROASTS HER TOMATOES:
Gather a smorgasbord of cherry tomatoes. Or grape. Whichever you prefer, my dears. Just get enough to cover your favorite cookie sheet.
Slice them in half. Toss in olive oil and dust in kosher salt. Spread this heaven evenly over a cookie sheet and plunk a healthy amount of garlic cloves throughout. Don’t bother peeling them; when they’re finished roasting, they’ll be like little savory Hershey’s Kisses just begging to be unwrapped and devoured. Are you too good for eating roasted garlic straight-up? Get off your high horse and try it, buffoon. You’ll never go back.
Using a mortar and pestle (or, if you’re a poor college kid, a sturdy bowl and any pestle-like object you can find [I used a salt shaker]), grind up a couple teaspoons of Italian herbs (oregano, rosemary, basil, the like) and sprinkle evenly over the tomatoes to taste.
Shimmy this into an oven at 275 and slow-roast for a few hours. Three and four are both good numbers, so feel free to pop in a movie after you get this started and check back a little later. What we’re looking for are chewy, succulent, shriveled tomatoes. Be careful not to let them dry up! But at the same time, we want all that watery raw-tomatoey-ness to be gone, so you really just need to play it by ear. All things considered, this is a pretty easy (if slow) process, so don’t get too hung up on it.
When this is finished, dump everything into a pretty jar (or ugly Tupperware) and refrigerate until you’re ready to throw it into the pasta. Take extra precautions to guard the stuff; they’re like candy, and there is a good chance they will be snatched up by your resident kitchen miscreant.

PHASE TWO, IN WHICH RÉMY BASICALLY REPEATS THE PROCESS FOR EGGPLANT:
Now we’re going to slow-roast some eggplant. Get however many of these odd purple veggies that you want; I got two.
Slice them in half lengthwise and score them. Massage some olive oil into each half so they’ll have just enough to wallow in as they cook. Sprinkle with salt and more of your ground-up Italian spices. You know, the usual.
Pop in the oven. Cook until they’re soft and unctuous and everything good. Cut into little pieces that are roughly the same size as your pasta.

PHASE THREE, IN WHICH THE REST OF THE MEAL IS ASSEMBLED:
Start boiling some water for your pasta.
Meanwhile, you’ll want some chicken for the carnivores in your life. (Note: pancetta would also be wildly good here.) Salt and pepper the raw bits – you know what you’re doing so I’m not gonna give you quantities, because heaven knows I didn’t measure mine. Just follow your intuition and err on the side of NOT curing your lovely meat. We’ll be doing better things with it in a moment…
…i.e., cooking it in olive oil on the stovetop. Yeah. Pretty straightforward. Cook your chicken. Cut it into pasta-appropriate pieces, taking cues from your eggplant experience.
If you haven’t put your pasta into the boiling water, now is a good time to do so.
Unless you’re surrounded by very strict vegetarians, it’s fine to cook your spinach in the pan that was previously used for the chicken. Regardless, you’re gonna want to cook down the spinach in some olive oil. Toss in some minced garlic if you know what’s good for you. Spinach, as you know, SHRINKS when you cook it. You’ll need more than you think. Just know this. Something else to know: I can’t possibly tell you how much you need. Everything in my life goes back to the theme of WINGING IT. So if you want to follow my “recipes,” you will have to follow suit. Sorry. There is a reason Giada DeLaurentiis has a food show and I do not.

Congratulations! Everything important is completed. Now you just need to put it all together. So, without further ado…

PHASE FOUR, IN WHICH THE ACTUAL MEAL IS FINALLY ASSEMBLED BECAUSE, GODDAMMIT, WE’RE HUNGRY:
Drain your pasta and toss it with the spinach and tomatoes. For good measure, you’ll want a 4-ounce log of chèvre. (Or, who am I kidding? You’ll want however much chèvre as is necessary to make you happy. God, I’m inconclusive.)
Be like me: put the sliced chicken on one plate and the eggplant on another. Let everyone choose if they want one, both, or neither in their individualized pasta bowls (see? I care about the vegs. It’s all about tolerance).
Be unlike me, and toss your cares to the wind: toss the chicken and eggplant in with the pasta. SO INDULGENT.
Relax in the moment as everyone kisses your feet. Gracefully accept the praise; graciously play off any subsequent marriage proposals. You rule the world. Enjoy!

ALTERNATIVELY, THE SHORT(ER) VERSION OF THE RECIPE:
A pound of pasta
A couple pints of cherry or grape tomatoes
One or two bulbs of garlic
A few teaspoons of Italian spices (for all that roasting you’re gonna do!)
A healthy amount of olive oil. Any self-respecting cook should have enough not to worry about measurements, but I’ll humor you and tell you you want about a half a cup. Or a few gallons, just for future reference.
An eggplant or two, depending on demand
The patience to deal with my utter refusal to decisively quantify anything
Chicken of any fashion. I used thighs since they were CHEAP! And since dark meat is flavorful. But you could be tasteful and use chicken breasts; I won’t judge. (Or will I?)
A bunch of salt and pepper (but you already knew that)
One of those little tubs of spinach
At least four ounces of soft goat cheese

1. Slow-roast the halved tomatoes with olive oil, salt, and ground Italian spices.
2. Repeat the process with the eggplant.
3. Sauté your chicken with olive oil and spices in a little pan.
4. Boil water; cook pasta.
5. Sauté the spinach with olive oil and garlic.
6. Drain the pasta and toss it with the tomatoes, spinach, and goat cheese to taste.
7. Serve with chicken/eggplant/both.
8. Be worshipped by the desperately hungry college kids in your life.