By its very nature, Charcuterie is a slow food. Preparing to make it takes time, actually making it takes time and it takes time to wait until it’s ready to eat. There is nothing about the process that can be considered quick. Just think about it, even making the least time-consuming sausage takes a couple hours, lots of energy and counter space.

This past year has been a year of enlightenment and great tactile pleasure in the creation of our own Charcuterie. Even the failure of the first Duck Prosciutto taught us a great lesson on procurement and quality of the starting ingredients…after all, without a good start, the end can be no better.

What the year of Charcutepalooza has taught me most has been patience. There is so much waiting in the act of creating a work of charcuterie; yet, waiting brings rewards. Patience is rewarded. But what the year rewarded me most with was the courage to actually try to do these things and friendship to make it so.

By its very nature, Thanksgiving is a slow meal. It’s one of my family’s favorite times to get together; it always has been. This year, though, we were all very aware that this would likely by the last holiday season with our dad at the table. You see, by its very nature, Alzheimer’s is a very slow, destructive disease. My dad has been battling it for over 12 years and he’s losing. He’s losing everything and we’re losing him.  The final challenge to create a celebration using what we learned in Charcutepalooza was likely a little harder to prepare because of that, but I was so grateful for the ability to squeeze more love into each and every thing we served; because that’s how I am. The more I love my family and friends, the more I want to create beautiful food for them and this challenge was perfect for that.

For years, my family has asked if we could have a Turducken on Thanksgiving. After all, John Madden loves them and if the greatest Raider coach of all time thinks it’s a good idea, us Raider fans better agree. Usually, though, their suggestion is countered with something along the lines of, “Yeah, right! When pigs fly!”

While the pigs didn’t actually fly, but over the year they were cured, ground, smoked, dried, stuffed, stretched and by November, they made me believe I could put together a proper and edible Turducken. Edible was key, because we usually have 3 different turkeys for Thanksgiving but this year we only had the skinny Bourbon Red (affectionately called Carl, as all our Heritage birds are called) and the Turducken. It was go big or go home, and I was already home.

Boning the Turkey was much easier than the chicken, it turned out. While not much to look at, that’s the turkey layered with Merguez dressing, roasted red peppers, spinach and the chicken on top.

Second verse … same as the first; except for the lovely duck breasts I’ve had stashed in my freezer (which is now duckless.) Another layer of the Merguez dressing, red peppers and spinach topped it off. The thought of slimy, uncrisp duck skin (and chicken skin, for that matter) in the middle of the bird had me taking all the skin off of those pieces. I think this was a key move.

With Frankenbird stitched up, he got to rest awhile. Not too long, though. I cooked both Frank and Carl on Wednesday. This, by the way, was a brilliant move. I will never cook a turkey on Thanksgiving Day again. Revolutionized my whole holiday!

Frankenbird, in all his glory; warmed back up to safe temperature and looking like a normal, every day kind of bird.

I have a pretty small kitchen, but we were all jammed in there waiting to see what Frank would reveal. The oohs and ahhs were pretty rewarding, but not nearly so much as actually taking a bite. Nobody in our group had ever had a Turducken before and Frank proved to be an amazing addition to our dinner; one that is already being requested for next year. Not sure if those pigs will be able to talk me into it again, but I may be jaded.

Here’s most everyone sitting pretty, waiting for dinner. By now, it’s dark outside. The feasting has been going for hours, so you’d think everyone was pretty sated. The photo below was taken just moments after the first photo; apparently, there was still some room left.

So, when it was all said and done and the wine was drank, it was a beautiful celebration. While this may have been Dad’s last Thanksgiving at our table, there was no dwelling on the future, not even any morose thoughts of years past. We didn’t forget that the future was coming, but what happened was what always happens at our family celebrations…laughter, food, more laughter, wine and completely new memories for us to take forward into the next year.

Porcini Polenta with Melted Gorgonzola and Agneau de Noix

Ingredients

• 6 cups chicken broth
• 1 teaspoons salt
• 2 cups Polenta or medium grind cornmeal
• 1/2 c. heavy cream
• 1 c. rehydrated porcini mushrooms, chopped (save the water used to hydrate)
• 1 c. shredded Manchego Cheese
• 3 tablespoons butter
• Gorgonzola Cheese
• Thinly sliced Agneau de Noix or Jambon de Noix

Directions

This month’s Charcutepalooza challenge was all about curing a hunk of meat. Fully convinced that I didn’t have an appropriate space to hang meat for 3-4 weeks, I figured I was finally unable to complete a challenge. Right at the end, too. Rotten luck.

However, in thinking it out amidst all my whining, I realized I did have the perfect place to cure it, I’d just have to be organized (that’s not as easy for me as it is for others.) My husband had recently gotten a keg/fermenting fridge and had vacated my single door, glass-front fridge in our garage for his own, greener pastures. We hooked up a temperature controller and a hygrometer (something to measure humidity) and I got to work. Knowing full well that I would need that fridge by Thanksgiving, I naturally waited until the last possible minute to get my meat curing.

And cure I did, after all I had the whole refrigerator to myself.

All told, there was Pancetta, multiple Sopressatas and Tuscan Salamis, Bresaola, Duck Prosciutto and something I call Agneau de Noix (lamb in the style of Jambon de Noix.)

When it was finished (barely in time,) it was the Bresaola that won my heart. Truly, it didn’t take much. Bresaola and I have a bit of history.

In 2009, my husband and I spent nearly a month in Italy with his parents. At the beginning of the trip, we spent several days with his extended family…some in the house that his great-grandfather had built in the Dolomites and some in Padova, where his cousins live.

We met them in the main Piazza in Padova, where the market is held. It was turning evening and the market had begun to shut down. Vendors were closing up, there was little to be had. Barbara, Andreas and Nicola met us there and Roberto and Sylvia would join us later for the drive to their favorite restaurant.

Walking around Padova for a short time was so nice with the people who actually lived there – it was less like tourists and more like being shown a home we had never seen. The history was incredible, but they made it even more alive by showing us family places; places they worked and played and shopped.

Eventually, we met up with Roberto and Sylvia, Barbara’s brother and his long-time girlfriend. We had too many people to all ride together, so Andy told us all to “make a sandwich” with our cars, us in the middle, so we wouldn’t get lost while driving there. It seemed we drove and drove and drove. It was quite dusk and the small roads we traveled wended their way through small villages and up onto a hilltop where we stopped. The wind was picking up and thunder rumbled in the sky.

Unsure what to expect (after all they spoke some English and we spoke some Italian, but none of us much of either), we were led into a small dimly lit restaurant and were greeted joyously by the owner. Turned out that we were the only Americans that had ever been to his restaurant and he seemed more excited than we were. It was fairly crowded; a wedding anniversary party was also being held, so we knew this was a special kind of restaurant. Directed to a lovely set table in an outdoor room that had been enclosed, we sat down in anticipation. We did not have long to wait. Out swooped several servers, all bringing us plates and bowls and wine and treats that were indescribable. Things we’d never eaten before (and a couple I could live without.) White wine was served like water and there was a different kind of wine for every course…and there were so many courses!

One course caught my eye. Looking down at my plate, I knew. I’d never had Bresaola before, but I knew what a treat this would be. The taste was supple and sublime. Mine was served on arugula with parmesan and peaches. Not everyone’s plate was the same; some had grapefruit, lemons or other fruit. It was incredible! My mother-in-law didn’t finish hers, but I finished mine and hers! I couldn’t get enough; so much so that I had it at nearly every restaurant we had on our trip after that. Some were close, but none was as exactly good as that first bite; my culinary life wouldn’t remain the same.

That night was magical. The lightning show that Padova put on for us that only added to the bliss. We ate and ate and drank and drank and finished the night with a delicate sorbetto of melon and raspberry that was like a soft, cool kiss.

After eating and talking for hours, we left that night with bottles of wine and hugs from the owner and a deep appreciation of Italian hospitality that we had never experienced in our entire lives. Our lives were changed and whenever I see, smell or read of Bresaola, my mind floats back to that wonderful, incredible evening.

Bresaola-Mozzarella Roll with Basil Jelly

Bresaola-Mozzarella Roll

This is a simple recipe that doesn’t take long to put together. Well, that’s after the weeks of curing that the Bresaola takes to finish.

Start with a 1 lb batch of fresh, warm mozzarella.
(If you’ve never done this before, it’s pretty cool…check it out here)

Bresaola that’s sliced paper-thin

Arugula

Roll the mozzarella out with a rolling pin into a rectangle, about 7 x 14 inches. Layer with the bresaola and again with the arugula. Roll up tightly, jelly roll style and wrap very tightly in plastic wrap. Refrigerate several hours or overnight and slice just before serving.

This is tasty as is, but I topped the slices with homemade basil jelly. Peach would be great or even a peach jalapeno jelly (hey, I have some of that!)

The creaminess of the fresh mozzarella and the silkiness of the bresaola shines through with the tangy peppery flavor of the arugula. Topping it with something sweet just makes it all the better!

I saw her from across the room. She was perfection. Studying her grace, elegance and beauty, I wanted her. Badly. I didn’t care if she was alone and I didn’t care that others wanted her; she would be mine. Mine to ravish.

I reached her side as she quietly sat there, in the coolness of the morning. She was covered in goose bumps as if she were shivering; as if she knew she was out of place. I knew I could help her…I knew I could make her feel more comfortable in her own skin.  Most of all, I knew she and I were meant to be together. It was kismet.

She looked so vulnerable. So innocent and pure. If we were to be together, I just knew this would be her first time; she had an air about her that she’d never been touched in the way we would. What she would never know, is that it would also be my first time. My first time, ever … with a chick like her. There were no words to describe my anticipation; I was trembling as much as she seemed to be.

We had yet to meet. That’s the only thing standing in our way. Softly, I leaned over and whispered…”Darlin’, tonight, you look prettier than a gob of butter melting on a stack of hot pancakes. Can I take you home and get you outta this outfit?”

And so we did. Just like removing a sweater or a tight skirt, we dillied all morning…

We dallied all afternoon…

And we continued into the night. It was a cool evening and emotions were high…passion was tactile.

Against all mores and common wisdom, we were determined to finish what we had started so many hours earlier…

Eventually, we were sated … satisfied with what we had accomplished …

We both knew we’d succeeded in doing something magical; we were complete.

Apricot-Dijon Vinaigrette

(This makes a lot)

1 15-oz can apricots, drained
1/2 c. apple cider vinegar
1 t. agave nectar
1 T. dijon mustard
1 t. salt
1/2 t. pepper
dash cayenne

Toss all ingredients in a blender and blend until completely combined. Dress your salad to taste.

In the end, Lady Galantine and I realized we would hold each other dear and tightly in our hearts, but we could never make lives together…our love and passion is too intense to last forever. We shall meet again…maybe Paris??

A duck walks into a bar. And he says to the bartender “Got any cherries?” The bartender says “No, I don’t have any cherries.” The duck walks out, sorely disappointed.

So the next day, he walks back into the bar, asks the same question, gets the same answer.

The day after, he walks back into the bar, and again, asks the bartender, “Do you have any cherries?” The bartender, having still not figured out why this duck seems to think he may have some grapes, says to the duck, “No, and if you come back in here tomorrow and ask me if I have any cherries, I will nail your bill to the bar!”

The duck frowns, turns around, and walks out of the bar. So the next day, the duck walks back into the bar, and asks the bartender “Got any nails?”

The bartender says, “No.”

So the duck says, “Got any cherries?”

Silliness aside, ducks and cherries are perfect together. Just like ham and cheese. Just like fall and pumpkins and just like football and snacks. Football and snacks. A perfect match and two things my family takes very seriously. We don’t just watch games, we live them. Football watching is verbal, aerobic and darned near a contact sport. We wait for football season all year long and mourn its end every February. Such passion needs great snacks and this month’s challenge fit perfectly with the beginning of football season.

Duck Pâté sounded just right. Partly because I had a duck in the freezer and partly because duck, cherry and pecans all remind me of fall and fall reminds me of football … see where this is going?

I found the perfect recipe and then modified it, naturally. Pâté making is a very intentional act; the preparation, cooking and waiting all take so long. The anticipation made it feel even longer. The first football Sunday was the day.

Truth be told, I was kind of anxious how the family would take this challenge. For the most part, they’ve been pretty encouraging but none of us had ever had Pâté before. How would it taste? What would its texture be like? Would the darned thing even be edible??

Edible didn’t even describe it. It was unctuous, lovely, rich, elegant and beyond yummy. Meatloaf, this wasn’t. It was perfect on the sourdough toast…just enough sour to cut into a bit of the richness. The Pâté was gently sweet and garlicky. What an epiphany. The French were onto something here! That football Sunday will be memorable, not for the game itself, but for the snack platter we had that afternoon.

This month’s challenge was exactly what Charcutepalooza is all about for me. Trying something new that I may never have made; combining ingredients in such a way as to witness the alchemy that happens when I do. What a gift!

Duck, Cherry & Pecan Pâté

(adapted from Saveur)

2 duck breasts (about 1 lb.),  trimmed of skin and fat
3 cloves garlic
1/2-3/4 c. dried cherries, soaked in cherry liqueur, such as Heerings
2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
9 fresh or dried bay leaves
1 lb. boneless pork shoulder, chilled
3⁄4 lb. bacon, chilled
1⁄4 lb. duck livers
2 eggs, beaten
1 tbsp. chopped thyme
leaves plus 8 sprigs
1⁄2 tsp. ground cloves
1⁄2 tsp. ground ginger
1⁄4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1⁄4 tsp.   paprika
1 tbsp. kosher salt
1⁄3 cup chopped pecans
12–15 additional slices bacon

1. Cut the duck breasts into 1⁄2″ cubes. Transfer duck, 1 finely chopped clove garlic, 1 tbsp. of the olive oil, and 3 bay leaves to a small bowl; stir to coat the duck pieces. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 day and up to 3 days, to allow the flavors to come together. (The longer the duck marinates, the better the pâté will taste.) Cut the pork shoulder and the bacon into small pieces. Place in a small bowl and chill.

2. After the duck has marinated, finely chop the remaining garlic using a food processor. Scrape the sides of the bowl with rubber spatula. Add chicken livers and pulse until puréed. Add reserved duck,  pork and bacon. In short bursts, pulse until the mixture resembles coarse hamburger meat, about 20 pulses. Transfer pork–liver mixture to a large bowl. Add eggs, chopped thyme, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, paprika and salt. Mix the ingredients together with your hands until well combined.

3. Meanwhile, line the bottom of a 1 1⁄2-qt. rectangular terrine mold with 4 evenly spaced thyme sprigs and 3 bay leaves. Place bacon crosswise along the bottom and up the sides of the mold, covering the herbs.

5. Spoon the meat–duck mixture into the terrine mold and gently smooth the top with the back of a spoon. Lay 4 strips bacon lengthwise across the top of the pâté. Cover bacon with remaining thyme sprigs and bay leaves. Cover the top of the pâté with 2 sheets of aluminum foil; crimp foil around edges of the mold to form a tight seal.

6. Heat oven to 325°. Transfer terrine mold to a 9″ x 13″ baking dish. Transfer dish to middle rack of the oven. Pour in enough boiling water that it reaches 1⁄2″ up the sides of the terrine. Bake the pâté until an instant-read thermometer inserted into center reads 158°, about 2 hours. Transfer baking dish to a rack; remove foil. Cut out 2 rectangles of cardboard to fit inside rim of terrine mold. Wrap cardboard rectangles in foil and place them over pâté. Place three 15-oz. soup cans atop cardboard; let sit in water bath for 1 hour; remove. (Weighting makes the pâté easier to slice.) Refrigerate pâté (in its mold) for at least 1 day and up to 4 days. To serve, slide a knife along edges of pâté to loosen it. Invert the pâté onto a cutting board and slide a butter knife along one short edge to free the pâté from the mold. Cut into 3⁄4″ slices and serve.

Nearly every month, the Charcutepalooza challenge becomes a challenge just getting the proper ingredients. Nowhere in my town is pork belly, fatback, beef bung or duck breasts. Not this month. This month, the main ingredient is easily found …

Where I live, they sell pig heads in the regular grocery store. They are plentiful and inexpensive. They are also not ever going to be in my kitchen! Ever.

It’s funny that the night before the challenge was issued, my husband asked me what I would do if we were ever to have to make headcheese. I laughed and said, “Of course, I would do it” and hoping I would never have to make good on that comment. Next day, there it was staring me right in the face. A challenge to make headcheese. I believe with all my heart there is no reason to make, nor eat headcheese. I live in a first world country and I don’t need that in my life, right??

Reading the challenge post, I was so grateful to not have to actually do that. We were given an out; a pass on the head boiling. A reprieve. In substitution, we could use trotters. Trotters are just what you think they are. Pig feet. I’ll take it!

Simply said, the trotters contain a great amount of collagen and collagen is that which makes gelatin. Jello. That jiggly, kid-friendly staple is gelatin.

Making the stock with the trotters was just the same as any other stock; it was just a whole lot more ‘aromatic.”  I was surprised at how unappetizing the smell was and there were lots of jokes around the house about the foot jello I was making and how the whole house smelled of feet. Yeah, I live in a house of clowns.

When finished, strained and chilled I had about a pint of gelled pork juice. I was so impressed that it all turned out and I didn’t even have to add any packaged stuff…this was the real deal! And it tasted pretty darned good. I had so many ideas of what to do with it!

Roasted Vegetable Terrine

I made this Roasted Vegetable Terrine using a Portabello Mushroom, Red and Yellow Bell Peppers, Jalapenos, Red Onion, Eggplant and Summer Squashes. I carefully layered them in a appropriately-sized dish and poured a mixture of spicy tomato juice (à la Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Bloody Mary Mix) and warmed pork gelatin that I had tested in the fridge to make sure it would set. Chill overnight and cut thinly. It was truly delicious with a spicy brown mustard and served on sliced baguette.

Roasted Pepper and Poached Egg in Aspic on Purslane

Chile Verde Terrine Wrap

with Cilantro Green Goddess Dressing

Terrine:

1 lb. lean, boneless pork, diced
1 small can green enchilada sauce
1/2 c. chopped cilantro
1/2 roasted bell pepper
1/2 onion, chopped
1 c. cooked rice
2 T. roasted pumpkin seeds
1/2 – 1 roasted jalapeno, chopped
1/2 c. pork gelatin, slightly warmed
1 1/2 c. spicy tomato juice

Combine onion, pork and enchilada sauce in a covered, ovenproof dish. Cook in a 400 degree oven for 45 minutes or until the meat is very tender. Lightly shred the pork and allow to cool.

Combine the remaining ingredients (except for gelatin and juice) with the pork. Spray a loaf pan or other container with cooking spray and add the pork mixture to the pan, pressing tightly. Combine the gelatin and juice and pour over the pork mixture, making sure it goes down all the sides and covers all the mixture. Chill overnight. Invert your terrine and release it from the pan.

Cilantro Green Goddess Dressing:

1/2 c. mayonnaise
1/2 c. sour cream
1 bunch green onions, chopped
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
2 limes, juiced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients in a blender and process until smooth and creamy.

Slice the terrine thinly and lay on a small flour tortilla. Add lettuce, tomato and avocado. Drizzle liberally with the dressing.

Now that this challenge is over, I have to admit to a begrudging respect for the whole process…yes, that includes headcheese. While I am glad to be moving on, I really see great value in knowing how this works and in knowing how to use every lovely pig bit and bite.

Indelible … that which cannot be eliminated, forgotten or changed.

Here we are, a bit over halfway through our “Year of Meat,” or “Charcutepalooza.” Less half is left in a challenge that has already left an indelible imprint on my life.

The learning curve has been steep in spots. The results have been sometimes sketchy, sometimes awful, occasionally stunning and always fun. Take this month’s challenge, for example. Never in a million years would I have ever believed that I could make Mortadella and that it would turn into something we could eat.

Most of my experience with Mortadella had been while I was growing up and my dad would eat that and Olive Loaf. I found most things my dad ate to be disgusting and Mortadella was no exception. After all, what were those white things in there?? It was just unfathomable and completely inedible, in my opinion.

The next real time Mortadella crossed my life was while we were in Italy. Each morning, we were faced with amazing choices — proscuitto, breasola, cheeses, pastries, breads and so many other wonderful things. Oh, and Mortadella. My husband ate and ate and ate all these meats and really loved the Mortadella. Memories of my childhood prevented me from even trying it, so I ignored its presence. I should have known better.

The making of the Mortadella was something that stretched every bit of my imagination of where my food comes from. Following the instructions absolutely, afraid that any deviation would spoil the thing I was sure I would hate, the emulsification was constructed and ready to put into the prepared bung.

I will say nothing more about the bung, other than its texture was very much like an inner tube, which it is in a way.

Poaching took nearly 2 hours and then 2 more days in the refrigerator before I actually sliced it.

I even tasted it…after all, I had put several days into this challenge. The taste? Sublime. Lightly spiced, garlicky and creamy. Everything it should have always been, but never was.

Will I make it again? Probably not, but I did make it once and that’s what impresses me. Mortadella and I are no longer at odds with each other.

Truth be told, the most amazing part about this “Year of Meat” has been much more than learning and doing and creating charcuterie. The very best part has been the people that I’ve met and the friends I’ve made. Not so much friends you call in the middle of the night, after all I’ve only met them online and I don’t even know everyone’s real name. But friends of shared experiences; friends who know exactly what to say when things are going badly in the kitchen…”Have a drink and relax!”

A little over halfway through the Charcutepalooza challenges and I’m already mourning the end. When it’s over, what will happen to all the smart and witty people that surround all the chatter about meats and sausages and bungs? Who knows? I do know one thing — this challenge has made an indelible imprint on my life.

Mortadella Breakfast Toast

1 slice of chewy bread, grilled
Mortadella, thinly sliced and julienned
Butter
1 egg, sunny side up
Basil

Saute the Mortadella in butter until crispy. Place on the toast, top with egg and basil. Dig in!

We knew we were in for trouble the moment we got the phone call that said “I’ve got 30 pounds of pork…wanna make sausage?”

A friend of ours had gotten a meat grinder for Christmas and had yet to use it. We’d been talking about Charcutepalooza with him and that we were going to be making chicken sausage with the 10 lbs of chicken thighs we’d bought just for the occasion. We’d kind of suggested to our friend that he might want to come watch, or even make a couple pounds of sausage himself. We warned him against taking on too much for his first batch, but never dreamed he’d go that far over the edge…30 lbs?!?!??

We planned our assault carefully. We brought in coolers (who the heck has that kind of room in their freezer?) and we covered the table in plastic. We had disposable aluminum pans, lots of ice and we sanitized everything!

Prepping our meat took a lot longer than we anticipated; after all we had 40 lbs total. After boning the chicken and trimming the pork , we moved on to the grinding and grinding and grinding and stuffing and stuffing and stuffing. We smoked and tasted and had such a good, although exhausting day.

Eventually, (by that I mean after 8 hours of sausage making) we finished. 27 ½ pounds of sausage later, we had…

Breakfast Links

Italian Sausage

Chicken Poblano Sausage

Chicken Andouille Sausage

And our very favorite…Chicken and Roasted Tomato Sausage.

So, what to do with all that sausage?

Chicken & Roasted Tomato Sausage and Peppers over Creamy Polenta

1 lb Chicken & Roasted Tomato Sausage, or any sausage of your choice
1 Green Bell Pepper, sliced thinly
1 Red Bell Pepper, sliced thinly
1 Onion, sliced thinly
2 t. fresh Oregano, finely minced
Salt and Pepper, to taste

Gently sweat the peppers and onions for a couple of minutes in oil, to release their liquid. Add sausages, in their casings, cover and cook on medium-low until sausages are done and pepper are soft, approximately 15 minutes. Serve over Creamy Polenta.

Creamy Polenta

4 1/2 c. Water
1 1/2 c. coarse Cornmeal or Polenta
1/2 or more c. grated Romano Cheese
2 T. Butter
2 T. Heavy Cream
2 t. Salt

In a saucepan, bring water to a boil. Add salt and slowly whisk in cornmeal or polenta. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring often, until cornmeal or polenta is tender. About 20-25 minutes. Remove from heat. Add cheese, butter and cream and stir until melted. Serve as a base for Sausage and Peppers.

Chicken & Roasted Tomato Ravioli!

The tomatoes became so much sweeter after some time in the oven.

This pasta dough was a dream … fresh farm eggs made it so yellow and creamy.

Simple and delicious.

Chicken & Roasted Tomato Sausage Ravioli

1 lb Chicken & Roasted Tomato Sausage, or any sausage of your choice
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4-1/2 c. finely grated Romano Cheese
2 T. finely chopped basil
3 T. Panko bread crumbs
Egg wash

Crumble and cook sausage. Let cool. Add eggs, cheese, basil, bread crumbs and seasoning. Roll pasta into thin sheets. Mound a tablespoon of filling at generous intervals. Brush egg wash on pasta between mounds of filling. Carefully top with another sheet of pasta. Press all around each mound to remove air and to seal. Let dry for at least 30 minutes. Gently simmer for about 4-5 minutes and serve with Roasted Tomato and Basil Sauce.

Roasted Tomato and Basil Sauce

1 1/2 c. roasted tomatoes
4 cloves garlic
1/4 c. chopped basil
Extra Virgin Olive Oil, to cover

Place tomatoes and garlic in saucepan and cover with oil. Gently warm and let steep for about 15 minutes. Do not boil. Add basil and spoon over hot pasta.

That amazing tile that’s in the photograph at the top of this page was hand painted by Renee at Kudos Kitchen Art as a prize for the Blog Her Food 2011 Pity Party (hosted by @thepeche.) I got to choose my design and naturally chose the Charcutepalooza logo. Thanks, Renee!!

Growing up, my family was pretty much standard for an early 70’s home. My dad worked and my mom stayed home with us. Us was me and one older brother and one younger brother – all separated by 6 years. Like I said, we were pretty standard for the times; blended family and all. Sometimes, it was just like a bad sitcom gone terribly wrong.

Dinner time was no exception. Everything always started out the same.  One of us kids would set the table while dinner was cooking. We’d sit down and one of us kids would say the same prayer we always said: “God is great, God is good…” and then we’d pass the food and eat.

Every single day, dinner would proceed exactly the same. My dad would listen to the news while we ate. He’d get angry, sometimes, about what was going on in the world. Very often, we had to “shush” so he could hear the end of a news story or some bit he’d missed. I’m not sure if it was ever news related, but many nights our dinner time would go a very predictable route.  South.

You see, my dad was a very conservative person. His music was old-fashioned, even then. He didn’t curse, and he did not understand opposition to the Vietnam War or sympathy for counter-culture groups, especially in his own home.

My older brother was in high school and for a time would only eat rice. Just rice. H

e also wore his hair long. You know, all the way to the top of his collar. Hippie long. He would also have been very happy to have joined the Symbionese Liberation Army and been part of the whole Patty Hearst kidnapping.

So, dinner would go south starting with my dad asking, “Why don’t you go to the barber tomorrow?” and my brother responding with some scathing comment in the negative. Then, “You look like a hippie, you better get your hair cut, or else” and my brother saying even more. The parry and thrust would continue until my dad would leave the table in anger, slam out the back door and go do some manly thing somewhere while my brother would leave the table in anger, slam into his bedroom and listen to Pink Floyd. You know, typical dinnertime for every family.

One evening, right in the middle of all this, my dad turned and saw my baby brother (who was 4 or 5 at the time) was not eating his broccoli. Naturally, we had to eat everything on our plate. Broccoli was not anyone’s favorite. Nobody would eat it and we really hated to get caught not eating it. My dad demanded my baby brother eat the broccoli, all the while the haircut fight rages on. “Eat the broccoli. Get a haircut”; it was tense.

Just at the apex of the unwinnable fight, my baby brother succumbs and eats his broccoli. Immediately, the broccoli returns to the table in a projectile and gushing manner. Every one of us stopped and stared for what felt like minutes, but was likely just one second frozen in time.

Suddenly, Dad threw his napkin on the table and slammed the back door on his way out. My older brother slammed his bedroom door and turned on his stereo and my mom tried to pretend nothing had happened.

There I sat with vomit, tears and anger all around. I decided that since my brothers

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were bad, I would be good and make everyone happy. I would eat the broccoli. All of it. Despite the fact that I couldn’t swallow it without gagging.

Bowl of broccoli in front of me, I ate and ate and ate. I gagged and gagged and gagged . With each successive bite, the gagging got worse and I was not sure I could finish. Finally, the bowl was empty and, victoriously, I felt more than a little self-righteous and better than both my brothers. I looked up for the accolades that I knew would be awaiting me.

Nobody had even noticed.  Not a soul. My dad was still outside, my older brother was in his cave, my younger brother had escaped and my mom was too sad. I had eaten all that broccoli for nothing.

As an adult, I truly love broccoli, but I can’t ever eat it without remembering my childhood dinner table and in particular, that one night.  When I think of all those nights, I know that my family was really pretty standard for the time and I really love that we all ate dinner together every night … well, at least started at the same time.

One of my very favorite pictures of Dad

It’s so easy to dehumanize an Alzheimer’s patient — to not see them as the people they used to be. I mean, every day things are different. More things are forgotten, some things may be vaguely remembered and even other things are thought to be memories but never really happened.

I find it happening by me, sometimes. Dad loves to pat my arm or ask me hundreds of times if the oak barrel top he made for me years ago was still good. He doesn’t really remember making it, but he knows he should know it and somehow knows he should be proud of it. It’s in there, all mixed up with the stories and thoughts of the Korean War, his childhood and everything else he’s ever experienced. But, in my rush to go about my business or my own desire to talk and be heard, I sometimes don’t hear him. I blow right by.

Having a parent with Alzheimer’s is one of the most excruciating things to watch. I can only get whispers of how it must feel for my mother who is watching her husband melt away. To know he doesn’t always know your name or your history or that you’re his wife. My family spends a lot of time with him, but my mom spends every single day and every single night with him. Every one.

As easy as it is to use dad’s Alzheimer’s as an excuse to think he really doesn’t know anything, sometimes we get a knock upside our own heads that tells us otherwise. Recently, mom and dad were asleep in the night. Dad got up to use the restroom and mom pretended to be asleep. She pretends because when he comes back, he’ll talk and talk and talk all night long and nobody gets any sleep.

But, she really wasn’t asleep at all. Just laying there.

Dad returned to bed, finally settled down and began whispering. Mom struggled to hear him and as he got a bit louder, she realized he was saying, “My name is Richard Dean Adams. My name is Richard Dean Adams” over and over. He kept repeating his name for several minutes before my mom responded. She rolled over and asked if he was o.k. His response was, “My name is Richard Dean Adams and you are….” while awaiting her response. Every time he said it, she repeated her name. Eventually, he fell back asleep but mom didn’t, of course. Her own pain deepened and in hearing of it, my heart broke.

Truth is, my dad is in there. While he won’t be forever, he’s there now. He’s just harder to find than he used to be.