Cheap therapy with a a drunken pig. What?

I have been so busy lately that I've hardly been in the kitchen which is a shame because the kitchen is the easiest and best place for me to find my balance and clear my head. It is in fact, the craziest and most hectic times that I need to cook the most. It's true. There is simply no question that almost any meal prepared at home by hand is healthier and more balanced than anything you can buy that is handed to you in a bag through a window or dropped unceremoniously in front of you on a heavy white stoneware plate by a angst filled teenager who is convinced they are criminally underpaid.

But physical well being is only one part of this story. Cooking, for me, is an act of mental and emotional therapy as well. Cooking a meal for my wife and children allows me an opportunity to relish in the service of those I love the most. I cannot conceive of a better way to demonstrate one's love for another human being than through the preparation of a nourishing and delicious meal. Cooking a meal for my family gives me emotional perspective in a way that I now find myself incapable of describing in words.

It also allows me to exercise and indulge in an immersive way, the pleasure centers of the human senses. The use of our human senses of taste and smell are obvious when speaking about food and its preparation. But cooking, for me, is an exercise in all five senses. I am very keen on touching food as I prepare it and of course, as I eat. Texture and the sometimes subtle and sometimes very drastic ways in which texture can change when a food item is transformed from a raw ingredient to part of a prepared meal is a critical consideration in understanding and preparing delicious food. I derive a certain sense of satisfaction by touching food both through my hands and fingers as I prepare food and through my mouth and tonge as I eat it.

I likewise find auditory satisfaction in the effervescent sizzle of onions and garlic sauteeing in a pan or even the "tick, tick, tick....woof" as I ignite an eye of my gas range. To me, these are the sounds of a good meal in process, audible assurance that everything is gonna be OK.

And who would argue the visual pleasure one may derive from a indulgently large pan full of some delicious anything? The fact of the matter is, if it looks delicious, it probably is delicious.

Last night, my mental and emotional therapy came in the form of a recipe that I saw prepared on one of my favorite new cooking shows, "Extra Virgin" on the cooking channel. I have been planning to cook this meal for some time and at risk of scaring everyone away from trying this out, I statred on Saturday by stirring together

3 cups of bread flour
3/4 teaspoon of active dry yeast
1/2 teaspopon fresh cracked black pepper
2 1/2 cups of aged asiago cheese (cut into 1/2 inch cubes)
1 1/2 cups of water

This is roughly the recipe for "Pane di Formaggio" from Jim Leahy's book "My Bread." Anyone who has ever taken a bite of bread in their life should own this book. I wasn't kidding when i said I stirred these ingredients together. Leahy's method is a "no-knead" meathod of making traditional artisan loaves and from someone who, prior to obtaining Leahy's book, couldn't bake bread to save his own life, it is nothing short of miraculous! The dough sits covered in the bowl you stirred it in for 12-18 hours to rise. I stirred it together at appx. 11:00 p.m. saturday evening and it had doubled in size by 11:00 a.m. sunday morning. I dumped the sticky wet dough out onto my floured countertop and tucked the edges of the dough under to make a nice round mound. I laid the dough on a tea towel dusted with wheat bran and folded the towel over the dough to allow for a final rise. After about an hour and a half, I preheated the oven to 475 and stuck my cast iron dutch oven, with the lid, in the oven to heat as well. Once the oven came up to temperature, I pulled out the dutch oven and plopped the dough in, clamped on the lid and put it back in the hot oven. (I will note here that perhaps my favorite part of this recipe is the smell in the house as this bread bakes: this is aromatherpay at its fundamental core!) After 30 minutes in the oven I remove the lid of the dutch oven and allowed the bread to continue to bake for an additional 15 minutes. The crust is dry and crisp and golden and scarred by a large crack wich formed as the bread baked. The crumb is moist and chewy and, in this version, cheesy! Perfection every time! Just get the book.

I always intended the Pane di Formaggio as the ideal sauce-sopping accompanyment to what I will forever refer to as drunken pig pasta. I started with 3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, 2 large cloves of garlic, minced, and 2 large onions, finely diced. I threw in a pinch of grey sea salt just to get the onions sweating and sauteed on medium until the onions and garlic were completely translucent but not taking on any color. I then added one pound of mild italian ground sausage. I uses a wooden spoon to break down the sausage into as fine texture as possible as it browned. Once the sausage was cooked through, I finely chooped 3 tablespoons of fresh sage and about 2 tablespoons of fresh rosemary which I scattered over the sausage. Then, I poured in about a cup, maybe a cup and a half of white italian moscato. I increased the heat to high and let the wine reduce down for several minutes to allow the alcohol to cook off. Then I added about two cups of high quality chicken stock and retruned the pan to boiling and then back down to simmer to reduce down, thicken and develop the flavors.

In the meantime I boiled 1 lb. of dry "cavatappi" or corkscrew pasta, in well salted water. Once the pasta was cooked "al dente," I drained it quickly and tossed the pasta into the simmering sauasage and wine sauce. I gave it a quick stir and almost immediately the pasta soaked up the winey, porky juices from the sauce. I spooned the hot pasta into bowls and blanketed it with a fine snow of freshly grated, aged asiago cheese, left over from the wedge I bought to make the bread. I cut two thick slices of the aged asiago loaf and served the boys at there little table in the living room so they could take in some Kung Fu Panda with dinner. They didn't pay much attention to the TV.

Therapy this good never came so cheap.