The Lasagna Chronicles

Today was the day: I made my first-ever lasagna. The results? Mixed, a little tough around the middle, and somewhat sloppy. I guess that's what happens when one gets a little too cocky too soon, self-declares oneself a cook, and decides to wing a recipe one has never attempted before. I'm afraid I'll have to call this attempt a learning experience and move on . . . at least after we've finished working our way through it, which will surely take a couple of days.

The Experiment. I chopped up three garlic cloves, one medium onion, and half a leftover yellow bell pepper (hey, I'm a gourmand on a budget). I heated up olive oil in a large, deep skillet, sautéed the garlic, and added the diced onion and bell pepper. As the vegetables cooked, I prepared roughly 1 1/3 pounds of ground turkey, sprinkling it generously with pepper, cumin, coriander, dried oregano and basil, and pinches of salt and red pepper flakes. We do like our condiments, and turkey needs all the help it can get. I stirred the vegetables in the pan over to the perimeter of the pan and added the seasoned ground turkey, turning up the gas accordingly. (South Beach cooks on gas stoves, by the way. Cheap, tasty, and efficient, if a wee bit hazardous.) After breaking up the ground turkey into smaller and smaller bits, and continuing to stir it often, I seasoned some 6 ounces of part-skim ricotta cheese with oregano and basil. A few indulgent pinches of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and small chunks of fresh, water-packed Bocconcini mozzarella were added to the ricotta mixture, and the whole thing was stored in the refrigerator to await its turn at layering. Once the turkey was cooked through, I stirred in the (no longer) peripheral vegetables and added one large chopped beefsteak tomato to the mix. A can of Publix-brand tomato sauce (I know, I know, a real cook would've made the sauce from scratch -- gimme a break, I'm an amateur), a shot of white wine vinegar, and a couple of tablespoonfuls of brown sugar later, my meat sauce was bubbling its way to success. I let the sauce simmer for about 30 minutes while dealing with dirty dishes, unchecked e-mail, and various pending items, and then anxiously returned to put together my lasagna. And this is where the soufflé deflates, as it were.

If I haven't mentioned this before, my boyfriend and I live in a very small studio apartment with a very small -- though thankfully occupying a separate room -- kitchen featuring very limited counter and storage space. It follows, then, that we have precious little room for pots, pans, and, god forbid, cooking tools and gadgets. So for the lasagna, I used an 8" x 5" glass loaf pan inherited from my parents, which proved entirely too small. I sprayed the pan with Pam, a laughable concession to the fat and calories to come, and ladled some of the meat sauce to cover the bottom. I laid four overlapping sheets of wheat pasta over the sauce, ladled some more sauce over those, and spooned a layer of the cheese mixture on top. Layer one, and the pan was filled to the brim! I scanned the back of the pasta box for guidance: sure enough, I should have been getting four layers out of this deal. Oops. It was too late to part the oozy layers and start over, so I ventured bravely forth, placing four new sheets of pasta on the cheese layer and topping them off with the remaining sauce and cheese. I put my volcanic concoction in the oven, which I'd preheated to 400°F, set the time for 45 minutes (mistake number two, I believe), and hoped for the best.

In the meantime, Brad had come home from work, and we left briefly to run an errand at Radio Shack. When we returned a short while later, the ominous smell of burning food greeted us as soon as we'd opened the front door. I ran to the oven and discovered that the volcano had erupted, in the form of cheesy bits and saucy rivulets that had collected and charred at the bottom of the oven. Brad freaked out, worried the dripping cheese would start a fire, so I calmly poured a couple of cupfuls of water on the offenders, which accomplished absolutely nothing but made the both of us feel useful. Minutes later, the timer went off, and I decided it would be too much of a fire hazard to continue cooking the lasagna much longer. It was time to prepare the topper, the triumphant crust of broiled cheese that ultimately makes or breaks the lasagna, and so, after removing my molten pan from the oven, I coated the top of the lasagna with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, chunks of mozzarella, and pats of butter. Ten minutes of broiling time later, the lasagna was screaming for release, coughing up these alarming yet insanely cool puffs of steam from its inner layers (or, more accurately, inner layer, singular). We let the lasagna sit for a few minutes while we tossed a couple of green salads and grilled some slices of sourdough five-grain bread on the George Foreman grill, also known as the studio-dweller's culinary savior, and hereafter referred to simply as "the George." Finally, and with pathetically subpar serving tools (a knife and spatula), we dug up two pieces of lasagna for our dinner, and got to the anticipated task of eating.

The meat sauce was subtly spicy, dense, and juicy, and the mixture of seasoned cheeses lively to the palate. I was about to declare my photographically-unworthy creation redeemed when Brad asked if the noodles were supposed to be crunchy. Uh oh. Indeed, the top layer of noodles was seriously undercooked towards the middle of the lasagna. The pasta box did instruct not to boil the noodles before layering, so the mistake was obviously mine, probably in undercooking the lasagna, or perhaps in skimping on the top layer of meat sauce. So we ended up having to eat around the undercooked noodles, which was pretty depressing. Still, Brad had a second helping, so noodles aside, it was pretty good. Better luck next time.

Quick sidenote. I'm lucky to work a four-day, forty-hour workweek, and today was my day off, so I went walking around Lincoln Road. Ultimate destination: Williams-Sonoma, where I picked up this adorable mortar and pestle set. I have to say I had my sights on this one, but at $16, my mini was the obvious winner. I will be crushing spices and thereby inaugurating the mini later on this week, so stay tuned if you like.

Also, let it be known that tips on lasagna-making and empathy with noodle-overcooking are always welcome, and much appreciated.