Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 14, Episode 17 - Use Your Noodle IV: Lasagna - full transcript

You know, if there's a watchword
in 21st century marketing,

it isn't luxury or economy

or beauty or efficiency
or intelligence.

It's comfort--
don't believe me?

Well let's do a little channel
surfing, shall we?

(TV announcer)
"With your comfort steps on,
even workouts
are a piece of cake."

"The climate comfort system
will keep your feet toasty

"and your head cool--
or the other way around.

"It's up to you."

(TV announcer)
"So why not just slip into
a Snugglebug

"and baste in comfort."



and of course,
the comfort concept

extends to food,
as in "comfort food,"

which is defined,
since 1977 at least,

as foods consumed to achieve
some level of improved
emotional status,

whether to relieve negative
psychological effects,

or to increase the positives.

Consider...

(TV announcer)
"With gravy just like mom used
to make..."

"like mom used to serve..."

"like mom's only better..."

If comfort is indeed king,
then as a cook,

wouldn't you want to know
how to prepare the single most
comforting dish of all time,

a dish that, well,
that epitomizes the concept
of comfort?

Well I recently received
a grant to study just that,



and the winner was clear.

More comforting than a recliner,
a friend's shoulder to cry on--

more comforting than petting
cute little puppies,

or wearing those stinky,
old sneakers that you hid
from your mom for years

when she told you to
throw them out

is of course, lasagna--
the dish and the noodle

for which the dish is named.

And best of all, unlike
friends, recliners,
sneakers or puppies,

you'll be able to make it
yourself, after just
half an hour of...

♪♪

♪ Good
Eats ♪

♪♪

Let's examine some highlights
from lasagna history, shall we?

Now lasagna is one of
the oldest forms of pasta
known to man--

the word itself
is quite ancient--

it comes either from
the Arabic "lawzinaj,"

which means a thin, almond cake,

or the Greek "lasanon,"
meaning a chamber pot,

which then involved
into the Latin, "lasanum,"
or cooking pot,

which is considerably
more appetizing.

By the first century A.D.,
we know that it was
the popular noodle in Rome

because the gourmand
Marcus Apicius

wrote of thin, wide noodles
being fried in oil

and then being served
tossed with pepper
and the fermented fish sauce

known as garum--
probably explains the cats.

By the 13th century,
folks all around Europe

were boiling such noodles,

almost like dumplings,
and in England,

they were tossing
them with cream.

Perhaps an ancestor of
macaroni and cheese, hmm.

By the 16th century,
wide, flat noodles
were being cut,

fried, arranged in layers
with sauce, and then baked

in parts of northern Italy.

Now if you go just a few
centuries on down the line,

you can see this dish
migrated to a new land

called America--

which welcomed Italian cuisine
and its curious lasagne noodle,

because, of course,
it was delicious, economical,

and you could buy homemade wine

in little Italies,
even during prohibition.

Now, after World War II,
convenience became this
country's culinary cry

and the casserole
was its champion.

No casserole, of course,
was more beloved than lasagna.

Now this dish delivered just
all that modern Americans
find comforting,

including in no particular
order, ooey, gooey,
cheesy, fatty,

saucy and starchy.

Me, I find comfort in complex
stratas of flavor,

contrasting textures,
a heady aroma,

and above all,
culinary ease.

This means that the delight
I get from the dish

must not be negated by the fact
that it can often be

a big, fat pain to make.

Now I know a few Italian guys
who would tell you that

lasagna is not a pain
at all to make,

but I would remind you
that they have
a secret weapon...

(heavy Italian accent)
I hope and pray that
one day,

you have a kid
like you, eh.

Oh, momma.

You may have noticed
I am not Italian.

Nor do I have a feisty,
round woman in an apron

hanging around the kitchen
stirring pots of tomato sauce
all day.

(heavy Italian accent)
Why do you have to break
your momma's heart, eh?

What I do have, however,
is a slow cooker,
AKA, Crock-Pot.

This ubiquitous device
was conceived by
a revolutionary thinker

at Chicago's Naxon Utilities
Corporation back in the '60s

called the bean pot.

The device was little more than
a ceramic vessel

with a built-in, low wattage
electrical coil.

The appliance went all
but unnoticed

when the rival corporation
purchased Naxon in 1970,

primarily to get at their
lucrative sun lamp
and laundry equipment business.

But the head of Home Ec
at Rival saw something in this
diamond in the rough,

and the product was gussied up
and introduced to the market
in '71

as the Crock-Pot.

By 1975, sales were up to
90 million units a year

and no wedding registry
was complete without one.

Unfortunately, then came
the microwave,

and a new focus on culinary
speed and the noble Crock-Pot

was relegated to thrift stores
and garage sales.

Luckily, cooks are starting
to rediscover the long lost
ingredient that is time,

and the Crock-Pot is back
in action.

Although I have to say,
I much prefer the old school
analog models

to the modern programmable,
digital models,

for reasons which
will soon be revealed.

And now, finally,
it's time to introduce
the star of the show,

the lasagna itself,
which, like most pastas

is made from protein-laden
semolina wheat, water,

and not a whole lot else.

And by the way,
if it's a single noodle,
it ends in an "E," lasagne.

If it's plural,
then it's an "A," lasagna.

Um, although quality-fresh
lasagna is very,

you know, desirable
in some dishes,

I think that, uh, the dry,
factory-made version
is better for this dish--

but not all are alike.

Now I find that American
versions, whether flat
or frilly-edged

are very, very thick,
and produce too much chew.

Whereas Italian versions
tend to be thinner,
and more delicate.

There are also no-boil lasagnas,
or would that be lasagne,

which are pre-cooked
and dried so they can be added

to various applications
in their mummified state.

I've tried them,
and gosh darn it,
I don't like them.

So, let's begin with a pound
of the good imported stuff.

Having procured a top quality
lasagna product,

most recipes for lasagna--
the dish, not the noodles--

would call for these to be
cooked, typically in a big, old
cauldron of boiling water.

You know what?
I say, why bother?

After all, I don't need
them cooked, I just need
them flexible,

and that is a state easily
achieved with just
a quick soak

in hot water from the sink--
say about 100 degrees--

the soak should last
no less than 15 and no more
than 30 minutes,

which is plenty of time
to prep the rest of
the software.

As far as I'm concerned,
lasagna, the dish,

has relatively few components.

Okay, there's meat,
vegetables, noodles,

and sauce, which we'll get to
in a bit.

Now, for the first two,
I religiously observe
a three-to-three ratio,

meaning three meats
and three vegetables, all right?

Team vegetation will be played
by a trio of Italian classics.

We've got an average eggplant,
about 10 ounces,

about 10 ounces of zucchini,

and 2 Portobello mushroom caps.

As for the critter part
of the equation, we've got

one pound of sausage--that's
four links, 2 hot, 2 mild,

and 8 ounces, that's
1/2 pound of ground pork.

Now, these sausages
will have to come
out of their casings

and you can either unwrap them
candy bar style,

or you can just squeeze them out
like so much edible Play-Doh.

Now, as for the vegetation,

we will begin
with the mushrooms,

just slice those into
1/4 to 3/16 inch slices--

no reason to cut
them up any more than that--

we want them
long and noodle-like.

As for the eggplant
and the zucchini,

I basically want to turn them
into noodles,

say 3 millimeters thick,

and that is going to require
some technology,

in the way of a slicer,
or a mandolin.

Now this one just happens
to have a 3 millimeter setting,

an amazing coincidence.

So we begin on the zucchini,
just slice off a little
of the stem end,

and split down the middle.

Now, before you put this
to the mandolin, you want to don
some protection,

like this Kevlar glove,
which I like a lot,

and just run the pieces
through--

it does not have to be pretty,
and odds are it won't be.

There you go.

Now as far as dealing with
the eggplant, same routine.

Just slice off a little bit
of the stem end, it's a bit
on the woody side,

but instead of just halving,
go ahead and quarter--

it's gonna be a lot easier
to work with--

and run it through.

And work as quickly as you can
as these slices will turn brown
with oxidation

if you give 'em a chance.

There.

Now, for reasons that will
soon be revealed,

I want to get as much
excess moisture out of these
as possible.

Now I could just wring 'em out,

but that would probably mangle
them beyond usefulness,

so we will take advantage
of osmotic pressure,
and purge them,

a process that we
have undertaken
with both of these foods

in previous episodes.

Sprinkle the eggplant
and the zucchini
with 2 Tbsp of salt,

And allow to purge
for 20 minutes,
tossing after the first 10,

this will pull out
excess moisture,

which is our enemy in this case.

Consider this shocking
statistic...

87.3 percent of
all American-made lasagnas

are watery,
swampy messes--why?

Well most of them
are composed of

fully cooked lasagna noodles
that simply cannot drink up

anymore of the cooking liquid,
and they usually contain

a fair dose of flavorless
factory-made ricotta cheese,

which is like 10 percent gritty
and 90 percent water.

In restaurant environments,
the situation is exacerbated

by the use of two sauces--

a meaty, reddish,
bolognese ragu,

and a dairy-based besciamella,

which essentially
is a bechamel sauce.

Now the question that I have
for you today is this...

Can we get the flavors of
these sauces into our lasagna

without the additional liquid?

The answer, of course we can.

The only liquid that I am
going to add to my lasagna

will come out of a can.

This can--whole peeled
Italian tomatoes.

Now this is a 14.5 ounce can.

Odds are I'm only going to use
five, maybe six tomatoes

and a little of the juice--
now I know what you're thinking.

"What about the besciamella,
that's got milk in it, right?"

Well yeah, it does,
but you know what?

I've already got plenty of
moisture, I don't need
anymore of that,

and I've got plenty of fat
in the dish already.

All that I really, really need
are milk carbs
and milk proteins.

So why not use milk powder, huh?

I like goat milk powder because
it's got a little bit of funk
in the flavor,

but, really any powdered milk
will do because, again,

I'm after the carbs
and the proteins.

One ingredient to go.

Each year, I tend a little
herb patch out on my porch

consisting of oregano,
marjoram, thyme, rosemary,

basil and sage.

Some of it, I use fresh,
but a good bit of it,

I allow to dry and chop it up
in my food processor

to make my very own
Italian herb blend.

If you don't want to bother,
you could always just,

you know, buy an herb blend,
but it won't be nearly as good.

Now you're gonna need
2 teaspoons of this.

All right, time to rescue
our vegetation.

As you can see a lot of moisture
has been pulled out,

rendering floppy,
noodle-like strips.

We need to rinse away
the excess salt
and bitter compounds,

especially from the eggplant,
and the best way to dry it off

is the salad spinner--
just give that a few pumps
or pulls

depending on your
make and model.

There--stay.

Go ahead and pull the noodles
out of water and just lay them
out onto tea towels,

they don't have
to be bone-dry, there.

Now, if our calculations
are correct, we should have

just enough lasagna
to top the lasagna.

But enough talk, we build.

Begin by layering the walls
of the crock with the noodles.

It'll take a little bit
of pressure, but as long as
they're moist,

you'll be able to get them to
stick, and bring them
all the way up

to about 1/2 inch from the top.

Then, squeeze one of
the canned tomatoes
into the bottom,

juice and pulp and all,
and then break up
half of the sausage.

Top with 1/4 of the powdered
milk, 1/4 of the flour,

and 1/4 of the herb mixture.

Then on top of that comes
1/4 of the vegetation...

of course the mixed
zucchini/eggplant,
and 1/4 of the mushrooms.

Just lay it out
into a nice, even layer,

then you're gonna top that
with a layer of noodles.

That is level one and we're
going to repeat this
three more times.

I like to squeeze down each
level with a pot lid

just to make sure there are
no big air pockets, okay?

Repeat again with the tomatoes,
some of the meat,
some of the powders,

some of the vegetation,
and then of course,
another layer of noodles,

and repeat, alternating
the sausage with the pork.

I like to build so that
in the end,

my final layer
has the pork going into it,

rather than the sausage,
there it goes.

Last but not least,
the kind of lid of noodles

should always be moistened
with a little bit of
the canned tomato juice

just to keep things from drying.

Now, at this point,
we've got options.

You could stash this covered
in the fridge
for up to two days,

or we can move directly to
the cooking phase.

I am now ready to divulge
the secret ingredient,

the substance that allows
this lasagna to triumph.

It is...time.

Five hours of cooking time
and yes, your patience
will be rewarded.

Now I know what you're saying,
you're saying, "Hey, I'm gonna
be out of the house seven hours,

"I can't be there to babysit
this thing."

No problem.

Fancy-shmancy new digital
cookers typically have
delayed cook functions

and auto-off functions.

Me, I prefer to marry two
proven old school multi-taskers.

My analog-style
3-quart slow cooker,

and a standard lamp
or appliance timer.

Available at your
local hardware store,

this is the kind of device,
you plug a lamp into

in order to trick some burglar
into thinking you're home
when you're not.

I am simply going to set it
to begin cooking,
ah, say in an hour,

and then to discontinue
five hours later.

Activate the device
and just walk away.

Aah, just savor that aroma.

Oh, I'm sorry, you can't smell,
can you? Sorry.

Well let me assure you,
it's like being greeted by...

(heavy Italian accent)
You're a good boy.

Sometimes.

Who keeps lettin' her in? Ow!

Hmm, you know one of
the most common
lasagna-centric complaints

is that it can be greasy.

Well with all that sausage in
there, how could it not be?

Now it's a difficult issue
to wrangle with

when you're dealing with
a rectangular vessel.

Cooking deep and round like this
gives us a very effective
option, however.

Simply take a lid from
a 2-quart sauce pan

and press down like this.

Now the fat will gurgle up
over the sides

and into the top of the lid,
pretty as you please.

Now slowly lift off
and discard, or whatever
you want to do with it.

Now, you may have noticed
that so far, this lasagna
is completely, totally

devoid of cheese.

I, for one, have no issue
with this, whatsoever.

But, if cheesy, ooey-gooey
goodness is a prerequisite
for you and yours,

then go ahead and lay,
say, 4 ounces of standard
grocery store moz

right on top--
grated, of course,
would be best.

Replace the top
and allow residual heat
to do its thing,

melting the cheese--
should take about
10 to 15 minutes.

Then of course, you're gonna
want to brown the cheese,
aren't you?

For that you're gonna need
either a blow torch,
or a heat gun,

the kind that you buy
at the hardware store
and you use to strip paint.

It's pretty good at browning
cheese as well.

There, that looks finished.

Now I realize that this is not
your grandmother's lasagna--

even if you are Italian.

But the way I look at it,
with four distinct layers,

with all the meaty goodness
and the flavorful vegetation

and sauce to bind, and herbs,

who cares?

Hmm, I would say, in fact,

this is 9.5
on the comfort food meter.

Can we go to 10?

You haven't seen dessert yet.

This is a sphere,
in German, kugel,

which is also the name
of what many Yiddish cooks

would no doubt consider to be
Jewish lasagna.

Although savory kugels
are often made with layers
of potatoes and the like,

many Jews and Gentiles alike
would agree that the most
comforting kugel of them all

are lokshun kugel, noodle kugel.

And although fresh egg noodles
are, strictly speaking...

♪ tradition ♪

Lasagna, in my humble opinion,
does an even better job

when sweet kugel
are on the menu.

We begin by cooking 8 ounces
of dry lasagna noodles.

In about half a gallon
of boiling water,

until they just become
al dente.

They won't be mushy,
just kind of floppy,

like this, perfect.

Go ahead and drain those,

let them cool and then lay
them out on a cutting board

so that you can cut them.

Now I find that 1-inch strips
are easy to produce with
a pizza cutter,

a knife tends to get really
gummed up and when that happens,

somebody's gonna get hurt.

Put in a bowl and toss with
1 tablespoon of melted butter.

There, now, as far as
the baking vessel goes,

we want an 8x8 inch
glass dish, sprayed
with non-stick spray.

If you would prefer
a crunchier kugel,

you can go with
a 9x13 baking dish instead.

Now as for the custard,
into the carafe
of your blender goes

8 ounces of sour cream,
8 ounces of cream cheese

4 whole eggs,

3 tablespoons of melted butter,

1/3 cup of sugar,
1/2 teaspoon of Kosher salt,

1 teaspoon of vanilla extract.

Now, move that very carefully
to your blender

and blend on low or medium
until smooth.

Of course, if you're gonna stick
a camera down in the top of
your blender,

you want to be very careful
how you do this.

Now I know you're looking
at this mixture and thinking
that it's very, very fatty.

Well, as far as that goes...

I said it was comfort food,
I didn't say it was spa food.

There's no such thing
as comforting spa food.

When smooth, the mixture
goes onto the noodles.

Then comes the fruit,
6 ounces of dried apricots

coarsely chopped
and 4 ounces of golden raisins.

Stir to thoroughly combine
and then move to your
cooking vessel.

Top that with
2 tablespoons of sugar.

And a teaspoon of...

I never leave home without it...

That's right, nutmeg, friends,
finely grated.

Cover tightly with foil
and bake for 35 minutes
at 350 degrees.

At this point, remove the foil
and bake for another
15 to 20 minutes,

or until the custard
is thoroughly set,
and the noodles nicely browned.

Then...

serve to a thankful,
comforted world.

Indeed, kugel is the most
comforting dessert known to man,

and a most comfortable
culinary cohort

to the most comforting casserole
known to man,

composed, of course,
of the most comforting
ingredient of all time,

lasagna, of course.

If you want to keep
comfortable in your pants,

portion control
is highly recommended.

See ya next time on
comfortable...Good Eats.