This week I made dinner for three groups of friends. The first was last Sunday, and I whipped up an entire, full-blown Sunday dinner, complete with meatballs, sausage, and braciola simmered in my sauce for hours. The second was just this past Friday, and I served the meat lasagna that is the cornerstone of my mother’s Christmas Day dinner menu for 40. Both of these dinners were the first time that I truly felt connected to the reason why I started this newsletter in the first place. And it came at the perfect time, because lately, I’ve felt more and more disconnected from that.
Let me explain.
Ben and I went down to Bensonhurst last Friday to wander around and, most importantly, do some shopping for the meals ahead. Bensonhurst was a thriving Italian-American neighborhood back in the ‘60s and ‘70s. (It’s where most of Saturday Night Fever was filmed.) As one woman we spoke to told us, the neighborhood started to change after 9/11, because a lot of Italian-American men from the area died when the towers fell. There’s a mix of cultures there now, but a lot of the spots from the old neighborhood still remain. And that’s where Ben and I headed. (He actually called into the Brian Lehrer show this week and spoke about this specific walk we took.)
We went to Bari Pork Store to get the meat for my Sunday sauce and lasagna, along with some Cuoco cans for when we’re feeling in the mood for Sarda. We stocked up on ricotta, olive oil, and lasagna sheets from Pastosa. We stopped by J&V Pizza, and split a jojo, which was a piece of focaccia bread with some traditional eggplant parmigiana tucked in the center.
Ben’s father grew up in Bensonhurst, so we meandered past the row house where he lived and took a photo of the alley where he used to play stickball. We loaded up on cookies from 18th Avenue Bakery and had a really nice chat with the owner. We had two espressos and watched the World Cup in this little coffee shop where everyone’s native language was Italian, but that didn’t stop us from making bets on the game. And before we left, we swung into S.A.S. Italian Records to check out their wares. It turns out that the owner used to work as a psychic on cable access in the ‘90s, and she read our numbers and told us that we were destined to be together.
It was one of those Saturdays that feels like a total dream. We wandered, and talked, and ate, and drank, and bought some incredible food. I often lament to Ben that I feel so disconnected from how food gets to our table, and how it’s prepared, and where it comes from. Supermarkets are incredibly depressing to me. I’d much rather get my food directly from a source, which is why I love farm boxes and green markets so much. Hopping between specialty stores in a neighborhood that felt like an odd ancestral home warmed something in me, and made me feel closer to the “why” of my cooking than I ever have before.
I’ve been trying so hard to make this newsletter something it isn’t. TikToks, advice columns, impassioned essays about topics not relating to food. The content monster has been chasing me, making me feel like I need to turn this thing into a huge success, and the only way to do that is to cling to the things that have made me successful before. But the thing I really love to do is cook, and write about it, and talk about my grandparents, and share the ways in which I was raised around a kitchen table. I feel so lucky to have experienced the connectivity of food, and I feel so passionately about how important it is for us to gather, and talk, and laugh, and drink over something that was prepared with love. It truly is the reason why I want to do all of this.
While I’ve been really trying to force the issue of success, my kitchen has done the opposite. It’s slowly grown into a hodgepodge of delicious things. It’s overflowing with noodles and olive oil and crochet trivets my great-grandmother made and souvenirs from our trip to Italy—the first trip we took together. It’s my favorite spot in the house. It’s where I feel most at home. I’m convinced my grandmother benevolently haunts the space, watching over me like a ghostly strega nona.
And maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to stop sweating it and just do the things I want to do and stop worrying about it. I don’t need to be the best. I don’t need to measure myself against someone else’s yard stick of success. I can just cook, and share that with you, and the rest will fall into place, because I love to do it, and that’s really all that matters.
So here it goes.
A Celebration Lasagna
Serves 6-8
INGREDIENTS
2 lbs lasagna noodles
1 lb ground beef
1 lb ground pork
1 lb ground lamb
1 medium onion, finely diced
6 cloves of garlic, minced
2 cans crushed tomatoes
2 cans tomato puree
2 lbs ricotta
1/2 lb shredded mozzarella cheese
2 eggs
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
2 T, plus two t parsley
2 T, plus two t garlic powder
Salt and pepper, to taste
Olive oil
INSTRUCTIONS
In a large pot, heat about 1 Tbsp of olive oil until shimmering. Add in the onions and garlic. Sauté until the onions are translucent and the garlic is toasty, about 4-5 minutes.
Add in all of your ground meat and season with 1 T of parsley, 1 T of garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is completely browned.
Add in your canned tomatoes, plus another T of both parsley and garlic. Add in some more salt and pepper. Stir well, turn the heat down to low, and let simmer for about an hour to an hour and a half.
In another large pot, boil your lasagna noodles until al dente. (I like to pull them off the heat about two minute before the package says they’re cooked in order to avoid mushy, fall-apart noodles.) Gently strain them, rinse with cold water, and leave them in your strainer to cool.
In a large bowl, mix your ricotta, shredded mozzarella, eggs, parmsesan, 2 t parsley, 2 t garlic powder, and some salt and pepper.
Now, set up your lasagna building station with your sauce, your noodles, and your cheese mixture. I like to have everything in place in front of me for ease.
In a large lasagna pan (at least 13 x 9 x 2), lay down a thin layer of sauce. Place a layer of noodles on top, making sure they overlap slightly.
Using a slotted spoon or strainer ladle, scoop your sauce, shaking it ever-so-slightly so that the excess falls from the bottom of the strainer. Plop that sauce on top of the noodles, spreading it with your fingers, until all the noodles are covered with sauce and the meat is evenly distributed.
Use your fingers to plop little dollops of the cheese mixture over the lasagne evenly. Make sure they’re evenly spaced—they’ll spread as they cook. Top with another layer of noodles and press down ever-so-slightly.
Repeat steps 8 and 9 two or three more times, depending on how many noodles you have and how deep your pan is, for a total of three layers. You should end with a a clean layer of noodles on top. Spread the remainder of your sauce on top of your noodles. (The sauce should be mostly sauce and less meat now if you’ve shaken the excess as you’ve built.)
Cover your lasagna pan with tinfoil and bake in a 350 degree oven for an hour. After that amount of time, lift the foil and check your lasagna. The sauce should be bubbly and the top should look a little crispy. If it needs a little more time, remove the foil and let it cook for another 10 minutes or so. Just keep an eye on it.
When finish, remove the lasagna from the oven. Let it rest for at least 10-15 minutes before cutting and serving.
NOTES
This lasagna is super easy to make ahead. Usually, if I’m hosting, I’ll cook up until step 3 the night before, and then leave the sauce to chill in the fridge overnight. This helps to thicken the sauce slightly. Then, in the morning, I’ll cook my noodles, assemble the lasagna, and then put it in the fridge covered with tinfoil. Make sure to just pull it out of the fridge at least half hour before you’re ready to cook (so at least an hour and a half before you want to serve) to bring it to room temp before baking.
Lasagna is also super easy to freeze. Just assemble up through step 10, cover in tin foil, and pop directly in the freezer. Since it has meat, it will only keep for about 3 months in the freezer, so make sure to label it with the date.
If you have some leftover noodles, sauce, and cheese, don’t worry—this usually happens. Just make yourself a mini lasagna to keep in your freezer. You will thank your lucky stars that you have it on nights when you don’t feel like cooking. Trust me.
Please just keep doing exactly this. Don’t change a thing.