LET’S GET NAKED, BABY

NUDI RAVIOLIS

“Come on baby, let’s get naked…..”

Man oh man, if I had a dollar for every time I heard those words throughout the course of my life! I once got partially naked in a restaurant in Puerto Vallarta. Tequila, of course, was involved, the accomplice so to speak, and my boyfriend at the time was my quasi-Svengali. The table we were dining at became my stage, the other guests in the restaurant my audience and the men hired to serenade all of us my back up band. As they stumbled through their version of “Mustang Sally,” I stumbled through my impromptu strip tease for the object of my desire. When it came to the pivotal moment where I might actually strip all the way down to my birthday suit, I was struck with a moment of clarity. I thought about how the executives at a network I was currently under contract to would feel about finding me splashed across the pages of The National Enquirer buck naked. Hmmm, I thought to myself, probably not the best career move. I still got a standing ovation and the title, “Goddess of The Tabletops,” by my thoroughly entertained boyfriend.

Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary defines naked as: without clothing or covering, bare of any covering; defenseless; exposed to view or plainly revealed; without the customary covering, container, or protection. There they sat, plump, almost sexy in their appearance and naked, naked as Italian Jay birds. Brightly green with flecks of white, swimming in a pool of butter and sage they seemed to glimmer, sparkle almost. The waiter interrupted my saliva glands by asking me if I would like some freshly grated parmesan cheese or ground pepper. I was transfixed, mesmerized, by these little pillows of Heaven that lay before me, but I found my voice. “What are they?” I asked in a whisper.

“Naked ravioli,” my waiter responded.

I was on my honeymoon in Florence and needless to say, ravenous, caused, no doubt, by the amount of calories being burned by normal honeymoon activity. I gently slid the tiny green treasure into my mouth, closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose. There are meals and there are special meals and then there are meals that transcend everything you’ve ever experienced. This was one of those rising, out of body, I cannot believe somebody had the imagination to create this “green thing” moments. I have never actually licked a plate clean, well, not in public anyway, but I came very close that night.

When I returned home from Italy and settled back into the real world of work and auditions, home and family, that meal would pop into my head from time to time. I thought to myself, “Perhaps those succulent little pillows of delectable green poof tasted so delicious because of the setting: Florence, love, honeymoon, David.”

The owner, Massimo, had been kind enough to give me the recipe which I had safely placed inside my recipe folder upon returning home. I made them one night as the first course for a dinner party I was having for some close friends. They were, needless to say, a huge hit! Naked raviolis or “pillows of heaven” as my children like to call them, have become my daughter Siena’s favorite special occasion meal and are well worth the time it takes to make them.

OK, maybe I didn’t get naked all those years ago in Mexico, maybe I did kind of chicken out, and maybe, at times, I regret that I didn’t.   After all you only have the body of a 25 year old while you are actually 25 and if you’re lucky, for a few years longer.  As a self-effacing replacement, I found a minute, green, naked ravioli swimming sensuously in a pool of sage and browned butter and this, after all, is the most delectable “naked” of all.

The Ravioli Who Dared to Be Bare

or

The Ravioli that has No Qualms about Getting Naked

15 ounces fresh ricotta cheese (about 2 cups)

3 pounds fresh spinach stems removed

3 cups freshly grated parmesan cheese

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground white pepper

½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

5 large egg yolks

1 cup flour

12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 cube plus 4 tablespoons)

10 sage leaves

1. Spoon ricotta into a strainer lined with cheese cloth or a large coffee filter, drain for at least 1 hour.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, add the spinach, cook for about 10 minutes, then drain in a colander and cool under cold running water. Drain the spinach thoroughly. In small batches squeeze the spinach in paper towels or clean dish towels until very dry, (the ravioli mixture will not hold together if the spinach is too wet.) Finely chop the spinach.
3. In a large bowl combine the spinach, ricotta, and 2 cups of the parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, mix well. Add the egg yolks and stir until evenly combined.
4. Spread the flour on a plate or in a wide low rimmed bowl. Form level tablespoons of the mixture into balls or an oval shape, (Siena likes the ovals.) Roll them lightly in the flour until evenly coated. Place them on a lightly floured baking sheet.
5. Melt 4 tablespoons of the butter in a medium saucepan and pour into the bottom of a large warmed baking dish and keep warm near the stove.
6. Working in batches, gently drop about 1/3 of the balls into the water making sure the water is not at a full boil but a low gentle boil. The ravioli will fall apart if the water is boiling too rapidly! Cook just until they rise to the surface, then remove with a slotted spoon or wire skimmer (my preference) and place into the baking dish in a single layer. Cook the remaining balls and while the last batch is cooking melt the remaining 8 tablespoons of butter in the saucepan with the sage leaves and sauté until the butter is colored. Pour the butter and sage leaves over the raviolis, and sprinkle with as much of the remaining Parmesan cheese as you like. Enjoy!

Just waiting for the sage butter!

Slathered!

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