In honor of a recent visit from a distinguished out-of-town guest, aka my dad, I decided to prepare a veritable locavore’s delight to give him a little taste of what the Seattle surroundings have to offer.  If you’ve read my blog before, surely you know that I can’t resist an esoteric egg.  So tell me then, with what willpower was I supposed to refrain from purchasing Banty hen eggs when they practically begged me to take them home? That’s right, I was meant to buy them; and the amazing green-hued eggs from the Araucana hen that were sitting right next to them, too. I’m dreaming up something funky to do with those too, but for the time being please note the full splendor and beauty of the beholden Banty egg.

The size is quite nice, actually, smaller than a typical chicken egg, but larger than a quail egg.  I figured dolloping two atop each portion of pasta would just about do it, though two normal chicken eggs would have been too much. One duck egg might have done the trick, but damn, these Banty eggs are just so fresh and good I’m happy I used them.  I put the eggs in shell in a sous vide bath for one hour at 144° and they came out with the white just hardened enough to keep the yolk from spilling all over everything, but just runny enough to make a perfect custardy-carbonara-esque sauce for the handcut tagliatelle. 

On to the next ingredient du jour: fiddlehead ferns.  If I was a true locavore worth my SEA id I would have foraged these babies myself; in fact Jonas and I headed out to the yard where we typically have them growing this time of year, but sadly they were too mature. 

Spring came early in the Pacific Northwest, though it seems to be persisting indefinitely.  What that translates to in terms of flora and fauna is that things are blooming and hatching ahead of schedule.  Someone somewhere found some fiddleheads, though, as I was able to source them at the Pike Place Market along with some meaty morels.  I threw in some asparagus tips since I plan to make a puree of the stalks soon, and called it a good blend to top my tagliatelle. 

While I was rolling out the pasta dough I boiled the fiddleheads and asparagus for five minutes, then shocked in cold water to stop the cooking.  Once the pasta was rolled, cut, rested and ready, I boiled the noodles. Meanwhile I sautéed some green garlic in a nonstick frying pan and added the asparagus and fiddleheads.  I added ¼ c white wine and tossed in halved morels toward the end.  I seasoned simply with salt and pepper, preferring to let the flavors of the ingredients take the center stage to spices.  To assemble the dish I tossed the noodles into the morel mixture, plated it with a generous shaving of Parmigiano Reggiano, and topped each portion with two banty eggs that I gently coaxed out of their shells so as not to break the white.  Both native and non-native Seattleites will lust after the creamy woodsy nutty flavors in this dish. The added bonus: if eggs aren’t on the taboo list it’s totally vegetarian too.

I’m on a bit of a pasta kick these days that involves putting the egg on the inside.  A few months back I made a duck egg raviolo appetizer that complemented the fresh white Alba truffle I shaved over it perfectly.  Now that the Alba truffle season is passed and my inner foodie snob will not allow me to substitute domestics or French blacks, I’m forced to pair my eggs with such exotic ingredients as bacon (really going out on an adventurous limb here, I know).  Now when you think bacon, egg and pasta, what comes to mind? You got it, carbonara- the Emilia-Romagna or Lazio- originated comfort food quite popular amongst noi Americani because we sure do love our bacon.  But I can never make it that simple.  No, there always has to be a culinary twist, and in this case I decided to make the eggs quail, the pasta giant ravioli called raviolone, and cook the eggs inside the pasta instead of cracked over the top upon tossing. 

A quail egg is the perfect size to work with to fill a raviolo.  It gently bursts from its mottled shell into the waiting mote of ricotta in a faultless decisive moment.   Cooked al dente in its raviolone package, the yolk oozes forth like a particularly lively poached egg.  After this lengthy Pollyanna intro, you would think everything in my kitchen was coming up sugar and spice and everything nice.  You would be wrong.  You see, I have an 18 month old boy named Bentley Danger.  Why oh why did I give him the middle name Danger? People live up to their names, and in his case it couldn’t be truer.  What is it they say about little boys? Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails? Well we haven’t gotten there yet, but we will.  He’s smart as a whip but so mischievous and curious I can’t fathom what the terrible twos have in store. 

While I was elbow deep rolling out pasta sheets on the island in my kitchen, Bentley decided to open the floor-height wine refrigerator.  The locking mechanism broke last week and Jonas and I have been scratching our heads on how to somehow baby proof the fridge while not adult proofing it at the same time, since we do require ready access.  Bentley is completely aware of this development, and I’ve had to blockade the fridge numerous times in the last week.  Somehow intuitively knowing that I would be engrossed in my pasta mass and therefore unable to retaliate, he managed to lift a bottle out of the fridge (starting early, I know).  The really bad part? He proceeded to drop it whereupon it shattered upon contact with the floor.  I jumped to action and lifted him away from any danger, coating him in a mixture of duck egg and semolina in the process.  I put him in his crib and went back to survey the scene. The really really bad part? It wasn’t just any bottle- it was an ’01 Barbaresco worth a pretty penny in economic value, but even more sentimentally speaking, as we picked it up in Italy during our wedding festivities a few years ago.  I guess you can’t fault the boy for good taste, right?  In any case, all is well now, Jonas managed to repair the lock, and I decided that after smelling all that good wine during the cleanup I needed to open a bottle to finish my pasta and drown my sorrows. 

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