Comfort In Case You’ve Just Suffered A Big Disappointment, Too~

Department of Misery Loves Company…Mayhap…

~By Sylvia Thompson, A Cook Who’s Been Working in A Kitchen 82 Years…

So a special bunch was coming for supper—three of Bill’s grandsons plus two extra gents, one from Paris! A wowzer occasion. Had to make something marvelous but it couldn’t take a lot of time.

Righty ho.

Pasta, of course, for five strapping young men who loved seconds and thirds.

I know: PASTITSIO! the great Greek casserole—plump tubes of pasta layered with tomato-and-onion-studded sautéed beef, four great cheeses, enrobed in a rich béchamel (cream) sauce.

Oh boy. Oh joy.

Found the recipe that declared it was, indeed, THE BEST.

I’ve made Pastitsio several times since I first tasted it on Corfu decades ago and—well, how can it miss?

This cook’s recipe said it took one hour to prepare. Um, why do otherwise honest folk do such a disservice  in recipes?

Cook also said it served 8. So I bought ingredients for 12—my lads like seconds if not thirds.

The Dinner was to be—and this took place–day before yesterday. Labor Day. A significant holiday. I mean, isn’t the thought of honoring the American Labor Movement by laboring over a noble dish from a noble country apt? Something like that.

Oh, and I had it in my head that the dish would be a fun thing to write up for you…I mean, a super-duper-not-too-difficult-not-too-costly casserole for eight? Great idea.

Got out the notebook and pencil to take detailed notes so it would be one of my best recipes.

7:45 a.m. I was off to Safeway to pick up the fresh bread—our store bakes a splendid Ciabatta loaf—and the ice cream bars for dessert.

Came home, made breakfast for Uschi, breakfast for Bill and me, then had to water the bonsais, help pick up the collection of raisins/nuts/cookies/clippings/magazines/pamphlets/bills/letters on the bench at the end of our dining area (you know how it goes)…unload the dishwasher, check to see if there were eight clean forks, knives, spoons…

The anticipation was taking its toll…needed to lie down for twenty-five minutes…

Did that. Felt fine.

Started the Pastitsio. It was going to be great. (Have I already said that?)

Chopped three pounds of red onions in my food processor, making detailed notes for you about that. Began sautéing them in my largest skillet. Began to worry about the size of skillets…

Began preparing the Italian tomatoes—Cook wanted them concasé which means peeled, seeded, chopped. Puh-leese. Instead I bought cans of organic whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes, thank you very much. I did seed them, then halfway through the 4 cups I thought to myself, “Why in hell am I seeding them for such a complex dish—who cares about tomato seeds? This is ridiculous!” so I stopped. Did cut them up nicely.

Began to get concerned (hadn’t read the recipe in fine detail—BIG MISTAKE~NOTE THAT, PLEASE!)* when, after sautéing the ground beef “about 10-15 minutes” until it “begins to brown…” Cook then directed me to simmer the ground beef “for 35-40 minutes until meat is cooked”…

I felt like Alice in Wonderland.

The recipe included “dry white wine.” Super. Poured myself half a Picardie glassful. Two o’clock in the afternoon, no problem. My mother always sipped white wine when she cooked…should do more of that…

Now I boiled the pasta—ziti, largish tubes from Italy, very nice. At least I had a kettle big enough to boil 1-1/2 pounds…

Then I made the cream sauce—béchamel…half-gallon of whole milk and pint of heavy cream…then three eggs and four egg yolks.

Holy Toledo.

The almost hardest part of this recipe came next—and this I had anticipated: Cook told me to “lightly oil a large baking pan.” Excuse me? How large is large?

For this vague but crucial implement I’d had my eye on an old rectangular baking pan in the garage with some of Uschi’s cans of food neatly stacked in it. An alternative option was one of my father’s lovely old (circa 1932) enamel photography developing pans…it was outside in the garden, home to friends and foe—we brought it in, rinsed it out, way too big. Uschi’s storage pan would work.

I scrubbed it, “lightly oiled” it.

And suddenly it was an hour before guests were due and the composition was supposed to bake for one hour and it wasn’t finished. Oh Sylvia!

To spare you sorrowful details, I got the Pastitsio put together—bottom layer half the pasta (creamy mixed with some of the béchamel)…over that spread all the onion/tomato/meat sauce…next half the shredded mozzarella, crumbled feta, ricotta, grated Pecorino Romano…next the remaining pasta…then all the béchamel sauce smoothed over—so beautiful…then remaining cheese…

Did I mention that I had to leave a goodly amount of the béchamel sauce in its pan? Painful waste of a beautiful sauce. Miscalculation.

Baking temperature Cook gave was way off – had to raise it a quarter of the way through.

When the surface was stippled golden-brown and bubbly and the gentlemen were ready to sit down and eat, the damn pan weighed almost more than my CrossFit arms could lift—but I said “almost,” I stalwartly pulled it out of the oven and hefted it onto the top of the stove! Coach would have been pleased.

Invited the company to come into the kitchen and everybody take a plate, serve themselves.

(The sweet Parisian laughed, embarrassed, apologized, but said American food wasn’t agreeing with him, thus he took very little. Damn.)

How was it?

How do you write the word that sounds like a goat’s bray…ahnnnn.

Nobody took seconds. Not even Bill.

Last night, the visiting lads went off to a restaurant that offered Hanloh Thai food. Lucky them.

Stay-at-home Bill and I dove into the Patstitsio. Made a dent. Tonight, I guess, we’ll finish it.

So here I am, Friend, to say if you, too, have recently suffered a disappointment, I feel your pain.

And next time I won’t be stupid and look online for a recipe…I’ll make the Pastitsio I’ve made in the yellow-bound Greek cookbook (which I can’t find in my study at the moment, but soon I’ll be cleaning up my study  and will find it…)

Big hugs.

*… always always read the recipe (especially a complex one that’s important to you) completely before cooking…I’m afraid I assign this event’s failure to do so to Old Girl’s Fatigue…