29 June 2013

Ravioli Adventures

I had a sudden craving for ravioli in a delicious tomato sauce.

(In case you're wondering, this is not a post about autism or disability, or in fact, any kind of activism or social justice. Sorry. I'm just telling you now in case that's what you were looking for so you won't be disappointed after reading all of this and not finding anything relevant to the usual topics.)

So after about an hour of serious sensory aversion to getting my hands moist and icky and covered in yuck-yuck (otherwise known as very wet flour and eggs embarking on the slow journey to the magical land of Dough), I had finally produced a nice good lump suitable for things like lobbing at strangers' heads, kissing, or turning into food.

Only problem was the lack of a rolling pin to make the dough flat and stretchy and otherwise manageable.

Welp, that's what knives are for -- their handles, which are nicely curved, anyway.

So this is what I produced:

Image description: A bird's eye view of part of a round table with a oak wood design on a vinyl cover, with an abnormally shaped flat piece of dough stretched over the surface, covering most of the visible area in the picture.

After one bowl of water spilled onto my phone, the floor, and me, guesstimated spice measurements, and gleeful yet haphazard chopping at cheese and spices, I finally started cutting dough into rectangular shapes that I hoped would be of about the same size or something close, and then arranging cheese yum goodness there.

So here's how ravioli are supposed to work:
1. You put your filling in a little mound in the middle of your dough slice.
2. You cover the mound with another dough slice about the same size as the one on bottom.
3. You seal the edges shut with water and maybe a fork if you're like me and enjoy the possibility of stabbing yourself on the tines.

Note that I said "supposed" to work.

In my case, what ended up happening was the production of several leaky ravioli followed by my frantic attempts to save their lives and rescue them from the horrible fate of "back to the bowl, sucker."

Anyway, I eventually ended up with a nice plate of these little guys nestled together:

Image description: A bird's eye view of a plastic plate with an orange, blue, and green design in a vaguely mosaic-like faded pattern with cream-colored swirlies sits on a gray countertop over wooden cabinets with silver handles. On the plate are several uncooked ravioli, looking kinda floppy, and several of them kinda misshapen and a bit mangled. But they definitely look like ravioli.

Didn't notice until I started to transfer them into the pot of boiling water that some of them decided to fall in love and attach to each other until they'd begun to MERGE -- OH GOD EVERYONE RUN IT'S COMING FOR US. Kidding.

Note that on that plate, some of those are kinda misshapen and a bit mangled.
(That's 'cause I'm not actually a professional cook, just a starving college student desperate to sate a craving.)

If you're actually still reading and for some reason you're curious even minimally about what I put inside these, here's the list:
- Provolone, chopped beyond recognition by me
- Mozzarella, chopped beyond recognition by me
- Parmesan, chopped beyond recognition and then crushed by me
- Romano, chopped beyond recognition by me
- Garlic powder, tossed liberally
- Parsley flakes
- Basil leaves, the dried kind in a jar

I don't know how long I left those for so I guessed. Anyway, when I figured they were done cooking, I eventually ended up with this:

Image description: A bird's eye view of a plastic plate with an orange, blue, and green design in a vaguely mosaic-like faded pattern with cream-colored swirlies sits on a round  table with a oak wood design on a vinyl cover. On the plate there are several ravioli draped liberally in a red tomato sauce, with fresh parsley flakes and stringy looking shredded parmesan on top, and a silver fork sticking into the plate as if to viciously STAB a ravioli as revenge for some culinary misfortune. Maybe I shouldn't be writing image descriptions late on a Friday night.

And yes, they are delicious.


(And craving has been sated.)


  1. You cook like I do. Recipe? Who needs a recipe? Don't have the right tool? Who cares? Use something else that works.

  2. Lydia, your ravioli look just as delicious (and, dare I say, much more "visually appealing") than what I've had in restaurants. I'm Italian myself, and make a mean homemade tomato sauce, but have never dared try pasta. Hoping all is well with you otherwise; it's been a busy semester but I'm looking forward to catching up on your recent accomplishments.


  3. Very ambitious! They look great.


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