My Father's Lasagna

     My Dad was always fun to watch in the kitchen. He never used a printed recipe. He just sort of played it loose and fast and hoped for the best. One of his classics was lasagna. For whatever reason, he never used crumbled Italian sausage. Ever. It was always the links. In lasagna, he'd just slice it up and layer it in there. It was so good. He never actually taught me the recipe. I learned it by watching him, then tinkering with things until it was just right. It's not a terribly labor intensive recipe, but you need to be careful to not overcook the pasta before layering it. If you do, it's going to be a real bitch to work with. Try it and tell me it's not a great lasagna. Seriously, don't do that. I don't want your criticism.

My Father's Lasagna

Ingredients

• 1 box lasagna noodles
• 1 pound Italian sausage links(sweet or hot, doesn't matter)
• sliced pepperoni
• 1 lb ricotta cheese
• 8 ounces shredded mozzarella cheese
• pasta sauce of your choosing (we used home made from our Meatballs and Red Sauce recipe)

Directions

1. Brown the sausage and slice into 1/2" rounds. Set aside.
2. Cook the pasta a couple minutes less than the directions on the package.
3. Take a 9x13 Pyrex baking dish and spray it with nonstick cooking spray. Lay three noodles down the length of the pan, slightly overlapping.
4. Drop twelve tablespoons of ricotta at equal intervals (4 dollops on each noodle)
5.  Lay a slice of sausage on each dollop of ricotta. Cover with a thin layer of the shredded mozzarella. Spoon a thin layer of sauce over the entire layer.
6. Lay down another layer of pasta and another 12 dollops of ricotta. Instead of sausage, this time put down pepperoni. Put down another thin layer of mozzarella and a layer of sauce.
7. Repeat step 5.
8. Lay down a final layer of pasta. Over this, thinly spread a layer of ricotta. Lay alternating sausage and pepperoni over the top. Add a final layer of sauce. Finish with a healthy layer of mozzarella. 
9. Bake at 375F (190C, Gasmark 5) for 40-45 minutes or until the top is golden brown and bubble. Remove from oven and let sit for 10 minutes or so to let everything set up.

UPDATE: Here's the video for the recipe!

Good Times!

Thoughts on Chili

     I cook chili because of my father. He imparted a great deal of wisdom upon me during his time on Earth. One of his finest nuggets was that if someone did something particularly bad, that person did it "like a man with a paper rectum."

RECTUM? Damn near killed 'em!

     He went to his grave never having adequately explained what that meant. He also told me that being able to make good chili was a very important skill. That was clearly defined for me. The base of his recipe was a simple 1:1 ratio for meat, tomato sauce and beans. 1 pound of meat, 1 28oz can tomato sauce, 1 can kidney beans. He'd normally drag out his cauldron and drop in five pounds of ground beef.  Then he'd work the magic. Onions, green peppers, and the seasonings. My lord, the seasonings. Nothing was off limits. At the very least, a tin of regular chili powder and a tin of hot chili powder were going in. Possibly two of each. I never really got a handle on what all he was throwing in there. It was just enough to watch him go. His favorite thing to add was something called "Desert Dust." It was nothing more than powdered jalapeno.

     When he threw in enough of whatever he wanted to throw in, he'd set it to simmer for a couple hours. Then we'd have a bowl. No cheese. No sour cream. He felt those things were for the weak. He would always serve a loaf of garlic bread on the side. The chili had heat and flavor. It was wonderful. "It's better the next day," he would tell us. He was right. A night in the fridge would take it to another level entirely. We'd eat on that pot of chili for days on end without getting tired of it. He never had a solid recipe for chili. He just had that base and sort of winged it. It was a little different each time, but it never varied too far from the base flavor.  Certain things were off limits in chili for my dad. Cinnamon and chocolate were two things he would never put in chili. If it was served over anything, it was elbow macaroni.

If you don't love chili, you're probably a Communist.

      I love making chili. Over the years my recipe has drifted away from my father's. I add chorizo, take out the pepper, use cumin and liquid smoke.  I play with a lot more seasoning than my father did.  I make it hotter or more mild depending on my audience. I've made it so hot it's caused migraines and one unconfirmed death. I make it because it is a comfort food. Mostly I make it because it reminds me of my dad.

Good times!