641.5945 Batali: The Babbo Cookbook

This post is dedicated in memoriam to an amazing friend,

cook, and eater, Lisa Clay Styles.

Food can mean so many different things to people. It can be celebratory, comforting, restorative, energizing, even dangerous. It is the cornerstone of many holidays. Traditions of food and cooking are passed from generation to generation. Friends and relatives bond when preparing food together. It is part of family identity, cultural identity, and personal identity for many of us. Food can be a very powerful medium of expression. This is often most evident in times of wonderful joy or of tremendous sorrow.


A few weeks ago, one of my best friends (and sister-in-law) died after being hit by a car. Eric (aka "The Husband" around here) and I spent more than a week in Pittsburgh, helping Lisa's husband and three young kids get through each day, organizing the house, and planning the wake, among many other things. The neighborhood families rallied and dinner was brought to the house by a different neighbor each day. Cakes and cookies were brought, baskets of fruit and candy delivered, bagels and cream cheese dropped off, wine and beer carted in by the case. Many people told us they brought food because they felt they had to do something. Good food not only comforts those who need to eat during times like this, but the ones doing the cooking as well.

I could spend days writing about the wonderful person Lisa was, the incredible family she helped create, and the empty space her death has left me with. But instead I will talk about food. Lisa loved food. Her fridge and cabinets were jam-packed with all your kid-friendly basics and other staples, but also with vacuum-sealed filet mignon, tubs of truffle butter, and leftover lobster shells (so she could make lobster stock, duh.) There was sake next to the juice boxes, brie next to the string cheese, orange flower water next to the Cheerios. Her mortar and pestle was within arm’s reach, and she kept an extra coffee grinder handy to use exclusively for spices.

Her cookbook collection was enviable and well-worn. When Eric and I were married, Lisa and her husband Brett (Eric's brother) threw us a reception in their backyard, and Lisa made, among other things, dozens of ravioli filled with herbs and homemade ricotta out of The Greens Cookbook by Deborah Madison, and an incredible platter of "Summer Vegetables with Three Sauces (Anchovy, Aioli, and Garlic Oil)" out of The Cook and the Gardener by Amanda Hesser. Holidays spent with Lisa were always a culinary treasure, and going out to dinner with her meant you’d always have the perfect wine with your meal.

Back at home, we wanted to cook ourselves a meal that would make Lisa proud. Leftovers and takeout would not cut it any more. And while during times of sadness I often want nothing but instant mashed potatoes and hot chocolate, a good, hearty, comforting but flavorful meal – made with love – is really what is needed most.

Mario Batali’s "Pappardelle Bolognese" is just such a recipe. This one comes from Batali's The Babbo Cookbook. (The Avon Library's copy has gone sadly missing, but you can request it from another library easily online or by calling our reference desk. If you want just this recipe, you can get it from epicurious.com, a great online resource for recipes that have appeared in Gourmet, Bon Apetit, and other food magazines.) 


I know, I know. This is very similar to dishes I've made before. But there really is nothing quite like fresh, homemade pasta noodles. They are thin and tender and just incredible. Cut into wide, floppy strips, they wrap around the sauce like little cozy blankets. They require some time, as I've mentioned. But they are undeniably worth it. We love Batali's spinach pasta, so we went with that recipe again.

The bolognese sauce is rich, full of flavor, and homey. It's also pretty simple. The basic sauce veggies (onion, celery, carrot, and garlic) are sauteed a bit, then the trio of meats (pancetta, veal, and pork) are added and cooked through. Next come the liquids (tomato paste, milk, wine, water) and some herbs, and it simmers for a few hours into a rich, meaty, hearty sauce. Finally, you boil the noodles quickly, and stir them into the bolognese. 

In many ways, it’s one of those just perfect recipes. You can enjoy it with friends at the dinner table with candles, or curled up on the couch next to your sweetheart. It’s comforting, easy going, saucy, and truly extraordinary. Just like Lisa.