If You Dare: Hand-rolled Lobster Ravioli

You know you have confirmed an obsession when you spend several hours hand-rolling ravioli dough simply because you just haven't had the time to get a pasta roller and because homemade pasta tastes that much better than wonton wrappers. Is it a curse or a blessing? Neither I've decided, it's just a way of life.

I've been harboring this recipe for lobster ravioli in my mental catalogue of dishes to try for over a year now when it first piqued my interest viewed here. It never seemed to make sense to go through the trouble of securing a lobster, boiling it, grinding it, seasoning it, and sacrificing it to make raviolis until a fortuitous lobster sale at Ranch 99 offered the suckers for $7.99 a pound. Not bad for two (outstanding) meals (the first was lobster pad thai urgently prompted by Steve Almond's Death By Lobster Pad Thai. Anyhow, back to the raviolis, the texture of the claws and upper half of the body had been somewhat degraded by freezer storage while the tail was enjoyed fresh first. Perfect for churning into raviolis. (Add another step to the process, thawing).

I followed this recipe a little too precisely for my personal taste (reinforce note to self: go with your instincts, everyone's flavor preferences are different). The filling was a standard lobster and cream mousse to which chopped lobster meat, basil, and cilantro is added. No need for salt since there's plenty of ocean residue already. For the pasta dough I used a basic ratio of one egg + one yolk : one cup of 00 Caputo flour (extremely fine grind - it makes all the difference). Two cups of flour, two eggs, and two yolks for a total of eight decently large raviolis. Roll roll roll, fold, repeat until your arm workout compares to an afternoon spent at the rock wall. Two sauces - elaborate no? - both made with the lobster broth as a base. One, keeping with the Asian theme, is infused with lemongrass and coconut milk, while the other is more French with tarragon, carrots, tomato, and cream.



Improvements to consider:
1) only use the lobster mousse for the filling with maybe a touch of chopped basil (the additional meat does not add favorably to the texture)
2) separately reduce the lobster broth to a sauce
3) use cream for the base rather than the lobster broth) and infuse it with the flavorings. Also, stick to one sauce (I recommend the lemongrass coconut, keeping to just one continent)
3) boil the sauce down to a condensed, drizzle-consistency (these flavors are intense, a very little goes quite far)
4) oh, and invest in a pasta roller, even if it's just a hand crank one

All in all, it made for some tasty artwork and an accomplishment to bathe in for awhile. But I'm serious about the pasta roller, your ravioli sheets will be much finer and silkier.

Nassau, Bahamas - Paradise in a nutshell

Hello from the Island of Paradise...truly, it's called Paradise Island. Astonishingly, this 2 x 1/4 mile stretch of land is predominantly owned (80%) by the Atlantis Paradise Hotel I've been housed in for a few days. I was informed by our taxi driver that celebrities can stake out their piece of paradise from Atlantis for $8-9 million (the lowest rate). Paradise is starkly distinct from the main island Nassau (pronounced with the emphasis on the first rather than second syllable as I learned by confusing my airline attendant). The island represents all that Western culture has associated with "paradise" from the towering, thin palms and fresh in-shell coconut juice venders along the beach, to man made interpretations of the underwater city of Atlantis. From my 9th floor balcony, I have an open view of the Bahamian waters, aqua enough to rival the artificial blues of the 7 or 8 pools, lazy rivers, and water slides that are wound into the landscape of Atlantis.

Along with its grandeur visage, Atlantis charges a grandiose price. Nothing can be found below $1 in the hotel / casino / mini marts / restaurants, even the two packaged 50 cent stamps pass the mark at $1.25. I made my escape, following the enthusiastic if not slightly confusing directions of a hotel clerk, and made my way from mini Paradise back to the main island of Nassau. Along the underpass of the toll bridge into the city are stalls of local fishermen, colorful food shacks, and produce stands of fresh tubers, tomatoes, oranges, and bananas. A large juicy (navel?) set me back $1 and a few smiles; it nevertheless quenched the fresh fruit juice that I craved. Although the food is fresh and not difficult to find, few to zero tourists joined the native costumers. The prepared foods had yet to open by midmorning but I watched men scale the daily catch and shuck enormous fleshy conch from their pink shells.

Conch is a specialty of the island and can be prepared 12 different ways. My taxi driver to a local joint called the Fish Fry could only list off 4 methods: chilled salad, grilled salad, fried conch, and stew, but assured me that there were many more. The Fish Fry is where the natives enjoy hanging out and true to the description of my hotel informant we found groups casually clustered before a row of gaudily painted shacks (think of Jack the merchant of many trades from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles who likes his house painted with unfading eye-popping colors). Nearly all the shops serve nearly an identical version of fried conch, fresh snapper or grouper, fries, rice and beans, and mac and cheese. An impressive dinner platter of a whole fried and seasoned snapper, a mound of rice and peas (similar in style to fried or 'dirty' rice), a side of beets, and a hunk (like from a shovel) of mac and cheese casserole was well worth my $10 and the taxi fare. Simple, delicious, and filling. You can also walk the 7 miles from Paradise if you're starving (I think the locals exaggerate the distance actually, probably less than 5 miles).

More to chew on from the other side of the Atlantic.