Baby Steps

I’m intimidated by homemade ravioli. They look so pretty and dainty on other people’s blogs, and if you know me at all, you know that pretty and dainty aren’t really my forte. Rolling out dough of any kind is liable to induce a barrage of cursing and possibly crying.

That’s why I’ve been avoiding making these ravioli since October. However, I’ve managed to be on call for the past 3 days without being called in for an excruciating 8 hour Dachshund disc surgery or to extract socks from a Labrador’s bowels, so I had some time on my hands for the first time in months.

These were far less tedious than I anticipated and more delicious than expected. There wasn’t even any swearing involved, promise! (Except when a horrid choral version of “The 12 Days of Christmas” interrupted my instrumental Pandora station).

P.S Bragging about not getting called in is the surest way to hear your phone ring. Get rid of your metal lawn edging, people. It slices up your dog, and then I get called in to sweat in the OR instead of sipping eggnog on Christmas.

Pumpkin Ricotta Ravioli with Sage Brown Butter Sauce
Barely adapted from savorysimple.net

This recipe made 20 large ravioli with leftover filling. You can either double the pasta, roll it thinner than I managed, or save the remaining filling for another meal.

Filling:
1 tablespoon butter
1 shallot, diced
2 cups pumpkin puree
1 cup ricotta
1/2 teaspoon salt (3/4 tsp if your ricotta is really low sodium)
1/4 teaspoon dried sage (I added 2 T of fresh as well)
fresh grated nutmeg
pinch of cayenne

Fresh Pasta:
up to 2 cups all purpose or cake flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 tablespoon olive oil

Sage Brown butter sauce:
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup chicken stock
1 T chopped fresh sage
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Make the filling:

• Sweat diced shallot in butter until soft. 
• Combine all ingredients in a bowl. 

Make the pasta:

• Make a well with 1 cup of the flour and salt. 
• Beat the eggs and olive oil in the well with a fork and begin slowly incorporating the flour with a swirling motion. Start forming a ball with your hand and squeeze the dough together with your fingers. You want the dough to be a bit "tacky.” You don't want it too dry. Add flour as needed, up to 2 cups total. 
• Once the dough is formed, wrap it in plastic and allow it to rest in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. 
• If you don't have a pasta machine, you can use a rolling pin, but a machine will make the job easier. I rolled my dough by hand, like a boss. 
• Sprinkle some flour onto a cutting board to prevent the pasta from sticking while assembling the ravioli. 

Assemble the ravioli:

• Egg wash one sheet of pasta. Drop filling by tablespoon, evenly spaced on pasta sheet. 
• Bring a second sheet of pasta over the first, slowly pressing the dough around the filling and removing the air. 
• Cut ravioli to desired shape with a knife or cookie cutter. Hand press or fork press the edges, and allow to dry for a bit before cooking. 
• Drop into simmering water for 2-5 minutes, depending on size. 

Make the sauce:

• In a saucepan over medium-low heat, melt butter and then slowly brown the milk solids. This will take about 5 minutes. 
• Once the milk solids begin to brown, add the chicken stock and reduce the heat, allowing the sauce to simmer and thicken a bit. 
• Add sage and salt and pepper to taste

Breathing fear

As I step out of the teaching hospital into the crisp night air, I contemplate how long I’ve been afraid of the dark.

I live in the darkness this time of year. Get up in the dark, run in the dark, bike in the dark, stay sequestered under artificial light indoors all day, and contemplate my career choice in the dark while shoveling in some nutrients before tripping into a dark bedroom to sleep.

The motivational signs on the bike paths (you can do it!), for whatever reason, have recently morphed into lurking rapists.

That, coupled with my extreme fatigue, has been motivating me to drive more frequently. Trouble is, I don’t have a parking pass. I park on a road about a ¼ mile from the teaching hospital, so I’ve taken to running to my car. I tell myself that it’s to get home more quickly, but truthfully, it’s because I’m scared.

Clutching my car keys splayed out like brass knuckles, I shoot out the barn door, around the flower beds of the diagnostic lab, through the parking lot for richers with parking passes, across an unlit road and bridge, through the unlit university tennis court parking, across the rotting plank spanning the gully entering the field, and faster through the field until I finally pop out on the lighted road parking.

My wobbly platformed Dansko shoes occasionally betray my ankles. My heavily laden messenger bag flops painfully against my ribs. But when I reach the light, I smooth my crumpled up clinic smock and pretend I’m a normal person. One who doesn’t work 12 hour days and 80 hour weeks for no pay. One who doesn’t cry in the bathroom when her equine patients tear themselves apart in the recovery stall. One who isn’t eating white rice for dinner, again! One who remembers what it is to stand in the light of day.

I don’t consider myself to be an especially fearful person, but I’ll admit that I tend to become especially preoccupied by my fears. As much as I try to play this routine off as a casual jaunt, there’s no denying my breath is unusually quickened, and my ticker is rhythmically pulsing on my sternum.

Yet by the time I reach the field, a subtle shift has occurred. My fist unclenches, my vital signs return to this atmosphere, and my arthritic jaw pops back into its rightful locale.  As soon as I allow the fear to wash over me, I am able to embrace it as an ally.

By the time I reach my car, I’ve forgotten what all the fuss was about and wish my car were miles away, so that I might continue to level my head.