Savory Biscotti

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The cookbook by Martha Stewart, called Martha Stewart’s Hors D’Oeuvres Handbook, was published in 1999, pretty soon after I started my catering business.

It’s a beautiful book, even if you’re not a Martha Stewart fan. Her ideas for hors d’oeuvres are, not surprisingly, creative and unique. Sometimes they’re on the crazy end of the spectrum – completely impractical and unreasonable.

One thing always got my attention – savory biscotti. She served them like fun crackers, but they could be used for canapés.

When I think of biscotti, I always think sweet, like my Christmas biscotti. But these are savory varieties, and include ingredients like nuts, seeds, cheese, olives, and other goodies. I imagined them to be really good served alongside cheese, with prosecco or rosé.

I decided it was time to make a variety of savory biscotti for a fun get-together, to have something unique on hand!

The following recipe is the base recipe. What I actually used in my savory biscotti is below.

Savory Biscotti
by Martha Stewart
printable recipe below

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/3 teaspoon kosher salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled, cut into 8 pieces
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon olive oil, divided
2 large eggs
1/2 cup milk

Place the flour, pepper, baking powder, and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Combine on low speed.

Add the butter and beat until the mixture resembles coarse meal.

In a small bowl, whisk together the 2 tablespoons of olive oil, the eggs, and milk. Gradually pour the milk mixture into the dough and mix just until combined.

This is the base dough for savory biscotti. Before chilling the dough and proceeding with baking, add various combinations of savory items and make sure they’re well distributed.

I kneaded the dough a bit before folding in my add-ins, which are listed below, along with Martha’s suggestions.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a baking sheet with the remaining olive oil and set aside.

Divide the dough into 4 equal parts. (I halved the dough to make 2 logs.)

Roll each piece into a log measuring 1 1/2″ thick and about 7″ long. (I formed a log about 12″ long, then flattened it to about 1/2″ thick. (I am pretty sure MS meant 1 1/2″ wide, not thick.)

Transfer the logs to the prepared baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate until chilled, about 30 minutes.

Brush each log with an egg wash (1 large egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water and a pinch of salt). I didn’t do this. I did make sure there was a bit of grated cheese on the top of the biscotti, however.

Bake until the logs are light brown and feel firm to the touch, about 30-40 minutes. Reduce the oven to 250 degrees F.

Using a serrated knife, slice the logs crosswise on a long diagonal into 1/4″ thick slices that are 3-4″ long. Arrange the slices cut-side down on a wire rack set over a baking sheet and bake, turning the biscotti halfway through cooking time for even browning, until crisp, about 40 minutes.

Cool completely and store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 1 week.

These biscotti really are fabulous, and perfect on a cheese platter. Charcuterie would be a fabulous addition.

Today I simply paired them with Cambazola, but they’d be crazy good with a soft goat cheese or any spreadable herbed cheese.

You can really go crazy with all of the ingredient choices. Martha Stewart’s orange zest suggestion was really tempting but I didn’t have any oranges on this day.

Instead of all olive oil, you could use a flavored or infused oil, or even a little truffle oil.

I’ll definitely be making these again, and will enjoy switching up the ingredients.

Ingredients I used in addition to the above recipe:
Dried parsley
Garlic powder
White pepper
About 3 ounces coarsely chopped walnuts
About 3 ounces pitted Kalamata olives, sliced lengthwise
Grated Grana Padana, about 1 1/2 ounces

Martha Stewart’s savory biscotti suggestions:
Lemon zest, capers, parsley, and browned butter instead of olive oil
Orange zest, pistachios, and black olives
Parmesan, fennel seeds, and golden raisins

Olive Bread

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My first experience with yeast was not using it, even though I was supposed to. I’d followed a recipe in the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls cookbook, except not really. It was my thing to do when I was 11-12 years old, to get up early on Sundays and bake some kind of coffee cake.

I chose a recipe for yeasted cinnamon buns that morning, but when it came time to the yeast, being that I didn’t know what is was, I ignored it. I also noticed this kneading thing, which seemed like it would take too long, so a win-win for me.

Until my mother came downstairs and I proudly announced that I’d made these buns, and would she do the honors of removing them from the oven. Well she almost dropped that baking dish. What should have been cinnamon buns were round, heavy bricks. And then I learned about yeast.

When I started teaching myself to cook, I learned how to bake bread by following recipes. When you do it on your own, there’s no fear, even though I have memories of my mother not even letting us walk through the kitchen if she had bread rising. Heck, we were hardly allowed to exhale.

But it seemed pretty easy to me, a few ingredients, some kneading, and I even walked around my kitchen while my breads rose. It’s just not hard to bake bread.

Then a cookbook entered my life called Supper Club chez Martha Rose, which was published in 1988. This book wasn’t extraordinary by any means, but it was a fun read, because it was Martha Rose Schulman’s actual experience with her supper club in Paris that she started in 1983 after she moved to France from Austin, Texas.

Her supper club menus are organized by months, which I love. Some menus reflect her love of Texas, but most all as a Francophile, a lover of Mediterranean flavors. But what got my attention was what she did with her yeasted breads. She added stuff to them!

I’d always made whole-grain bread, because I believe that bread should be nourishing, not just pretty. But when I first saw pesto bread in her cookbook, it was my Hallelujah moment! It was Martha Rose Schulman that changed my life with bread baking. And I’ve never looked back.

So for all the years my husband required bread, for all of the years I catered, and was a private chef, I put stuff into the breads I baked. It could be nuts, it could be grated zucchini, tomato paste, onions and cheese, or chili powder.

Ms. Schulman also had country bread with olives in her cookbook, and today I’m making my version of olive bread for you.

Olive Bread

2 ounces warm water
2 teaspoons yeast
1/2 teaspoon white sugar
8 ounces whole milk, warmed
1 cup white flour
1 cup whole-wheat flour
Extra white flour, for kneading
5 ounces mixed olives, drained

Place the water in a large, warmed bowl and add the yeast and sugar. After the yeast softens stir the liquid, then set aside.


After the yeast bubbles up, about 5 minutes, add the warm milk. Then add 1 cup of white flour and whisk well.

Cover the bowl and place in a warm place for one hour. Meanwhile, chop the olives coarsely and make sure they’re free of any liquid; set aside.

Add one cup of whole wheat flour to the slurry, and whisk or stir in well.

Place a generous amount of white flour where you’re going to knead, and remove the dough from the bowl. Begin kneading the bread, using only as much flour as needed. Knead for about 5 minutes. The dough should be smooth.

Grease the bottom of a large clean bowl, put the dough in it, then turn the dough over so the top is coated in the grease. Place this bowl, covered with a towel, in the warm place for 45 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Place the chopped olives where you knead, then “pour” the dough over the top. Using only a little flour as necessary, gently force the olives into the dough until they’re evenly incorporated.


Form a ball with the dough and place it on a greased cookie sheet. Set it in a warm place for 15 minutes, then put it in the oven.

Bake the bread for at least 25 minutes. Times and ovens vary. If you want to check on the internal temperature using a thermometer it should be at 195 degrees F. Anything much less than that and the bread will be doughy on the inside.

Let the bread cool for at least 30 minutes before slicing.

I served the bread with a soft goat cheese; the slices can also be toasted first before serving.

If you love olives, this is a great bread. And it goes so well with cheese and charcuterie.

Chorizo and Scallop Skewers

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My mother gave me the cookbook Charcuterie for my birthday. She knows me so well!
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The book is mostly recipes, but also contains a chapter on making charcuterie from scratch. I’m in awe of people who make prosciutto and pancetta, but I live in too humid of a region in the U.S. to hang hams in my basement.

The recipes are wonderful, mostly focusing on Spanish, French, and Italian cured meats. The first recipe that caught my attention was a simple skewer of scallops and chorizo. Simple yet total perfection!

If you can’t get your hands on Spanish chorizo, check out my favorite website, La Tienda, for chorizo and all other Spanish foods. If you scroll through chorizo, and you will discover so many different varieties – some for slicing, some for cooking, some for grilling.

The recipe in the book just referred to cubes of chorizo, but I got carried away and purchased Ibérico de Bellota Butifarra Sausage because it intrigued me.

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It is sausage made from Iberian pigs, which are supposedly fed acorns as babies. This raw sausage wasn’t quite firm enough to cube, and not red like authentic chorizo, but it was really good!

When we were in Spain many years, my husband and I would order both jamon Serrano and Ibérico (similar to Prosciutto) and we could not tell the difference. Maybe they just knew we were Americans and didn’t bother giving us the real stuff, I don’t know! But we gave up after a few tries, and stuck to the fabulous but much less expensive Serrano.

In any case, in spite of not having used real chorizo, these scallop and sausage skewers were wonderful. I will paraphrase the recipe from Charcuterie because it’s so simple.

Chorizo and Scallop Skewers

12 – 1″ cubes chorizo or firm spicy sausage
12 scallops, approximately the same size
Olive oil
Ground paprika
Coarsely ground pepper

Heat a small amount of oil in a cast-iron or other heavy skillet. Brown the cubes or slices of sausage on all sides, then lower the heat and cook thoroughly. Place them on paper towels to drain.

Using the same fat from the olive oil and sausage, sear the scallops in the hot oil, then lower the heat to cook through. Place the scallops on paper towels to drain.

Let the chorizo and scallops cool, then skewer them together, with the scallop first, followed by the chorizo.
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Sprinkle on a generous amount of paprika and ground pepper.


I used a mixed peppercorn combination.
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These hors d’oeuvres are best served warm. They could be prepared ahead of time if they were gently re-heated so as not to overcook the scallops and dry out the chorizo or sausage.
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I will definitely be making these again with real chorizo, but I can really see the scallop pairing with just about any kind of sausage!

note: For a handy comparison chart on Spanish vs. Mexican chorizo, check out this website.

Growing Up Foodie

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With my grandmother at her home in Charmes-la-Côte, France

With my grandmother at her home in Charmes-la-Côte, France

Growing up, I lived an interesting foodie life, without realizing it. I didn’t love much of anything in the early years; it took years to cultivate my taste buds. But compared to other American youngsters, the gastronomic history of my life is fairly unique.

One reason why my upbringing was different than others born in the 50’s is that my mother is French. She came to the U.S. a couple of years before I was born, bringing with her a cultured palate, kitchen savvy, and a great knowledge of growing and harvesting.

During my early years, when we lived in Carmel, California, my mother taught French to American students for some extra money. One student rewarded her with a giant, hardback Betty Crocker cookbook. I doubt she opened it up more than once. Understandably, she didn’t have much of an appreciation for American cooking or for its measurement system. This was at a time when Americans were making some major changes in the way they prepared and presented food. This was also the beginning of the frozen dinner and fast food phase, which fortunately my mother never embraced.

Being that my mother is a bit on the stubborn side, she did not change her ways. She cooked how she was taught to cook, and how she wanted to feed us. Being that it was California, fresh produce was fortunately abundant, and my mother’s garden flourished.

I remember fresh artichokes, avocados, persimmons, and pomegranates at a young age. And I picked oranges, lemons, and kumquats right off of our trees.

Plus, Carmel had a wonderful deli called Mediterranean Market right on Ocean Avenue, and so we never lacked for various charcuterie, German sausages, and stinky cheeses.

Then we moved to north central California. Occasional day trips to San Francisco piqued my mother’s curiosity about Asian cuisines. She loved Chinatown, and would bring home Chinese candies that were gelatinous cubes wrapped in plastic. When you put them in your mouth, the plastic would dissolve! There were also pastel-colored plastic chips, that when deep fried, would bubble up similar to Cheetos, except that they were fishy. And, addicting.

But her fascination with all things Asian was why my mother got a little crazy when we moved to Seattle, Washington. Somehow she became good friends with Mrs. Chin, who had a grocery store at the famous Pike’s Place market. (I loved going to Mrs. Chin’s place because it was right next door to a German deli where I’d always get a slice of black forest cake.)

Mrs. Chin was tiny, adorably chubby, and I couldn’t understand a word she said. But she and my mother were two peas in a pod.

Soon after moving to Seattle my mother became a certified scuba diver. So she and Mrs. Chin struck up a deal. In exchange for cooking lessons, my mother supplied Mrs. Chin with sea cucumbers. They are a Chinese delicacy, so this was quite a coup for Mrs. Chin.

My mother and I both tasted one once. The texture was that of a shoe sole, but I don’t remember the flavor. Figuring as I was about ten or so, I probably spat it out and made a big fuss. But I remember that my Mom was not very fond of it, either. Here’s a picture of one on the sea floor. They’re not very attractive.

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So my mother collected these sea animals in the Puget Sound for Mrs. Chin, and took cooking lessons. Mind you, these lessons were not about stir-frying meat and vegetables and putting them all together over rice with a little soy sauce. This was intense, authentic Chinese cooking.

Mrs. Chin had published a cookbook, as well. My mother collected woks, spoons, bowls, sieves, steamers, cleavers… but then we moved again.

We left the Northwest and moved to the Northeast – Long Island, to be specific. We lived in a somewhat rural area across the bay from Cold Spring Harbor. The beach was pretty there on one end, but of course to my mother, it was an opportunity to catch fish and shellfish on the walled end of the bay. She built her own crab trap, of course.

One day, Mom came home with a giant eel. By this time I was about 13, and I was mortified just seeing it. Without thinking, my mother chopped the head off and stuck the neck of the eel in a vice grip. Mind you, it was still wiggling. I’m pretty sure it was about 6 feet long, without its head. My mother propped one foot on the counter next to the vice grip, and with pliers, proceeded to skin this monstrous thing. And, we had eel for dinner. Tasted like chicken.

During the summer months on Long Island my mother foraged the nearby river and local hills for anything edible. We called her our “Euell Gibbons,” who probably no one remembers except Americans my age or older.

My mother picked different species of mushrooms for fabulous omelets, harvested watercress from the river for salads, made shakes from wild strawberries, picked dandelions for making wine, and countless other things – some of which I’ve probably blocked from my memory. She also stirred up interesting herbal concoctions that cured everything from rashes to stomach aches.

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The worst experience for me, however, was when she cooked Tiger Lilies – yes, the flower. This was one of her Asian dishes. I can still remember the texture of them. To this day, I can’t look at Tiger Lilies. I won’t even plant them. And, I’ve never had a zucchini blossom as a result. I know, they’re a delicacy, but so were tiger lilies, supposedly. That’s the last weird thing my mother ever cooked. (My husband has a different story to tell!)

Interspersed throughout my formative years were times I spent in France. My food memories from there are vivid. I loved “Les Petits Suisses,” and the fabulous bread and real butter. I remember the sweetness of just picked cherries and Mirabelles and the smell of wild onions in the woods. I remember walking to the little shops with my grandmother – first buying bread, then buying cream and cheese, then buying chocolate. It was the daily ritual.

The French unpasteurized milk from back in the day also had an impact on me – it’s one of the reasons why I love canned evaporated milk – they smell exactly the same. It’s probably also why I fell in love with cafe au lait.

The first beer I ever drank was in France. (I was older then.) It was called Champigneule, or something like that. I later learned it was the Budweiser of French beer, but I had it with a crusty baguette with le jambon et beurre, while waiting for a train, and it was delicious. It was years before I drank a beer again. Needless to say I didn’t attend college keg parties. But American beer just didn’t taste the same. Just like that incredible wine that you have on a picnic, that doesn’t taste as good in your dining room a week later. Someone I knew once called this “experiential wine.” It’s not just the flavor of the wine you’re tasting, but the whole experience. That was my beer.

Speaking of wine, I also drank my first glass of wine in France. My mother never kept beer and wine from us, it’s just that no one was a big drinker in my family. I personally didn’t like the taste of anything alcoholic.

My mother used to make Baba au Rum, and Crepes Suzettes, which are incredible French desserts, but I couldn’t eat them. She also loved to make brandied fruit in her Rumtopf pot and serve it over ice cream, but that also was too strong for me.

But it was during dinner at my mother’s family home in France where I had my first glass of wine! I announced that it was very good, and my aunt got mad because I had accidentally drunk the everyday wine – le vin du maison – instead of the wine for guests. I can’t even imagine how good that must have been! I still remember the meal. There was a first course, a choice of meat and fish entrée, followed by the salad, and then the cheese platter. The meal lasted what seemed like days to me. Now I treasure leisurely meals, of course!

When I was in high school we moved west to Utah. My mother once again kicked into high gear, resurrecting her love of all things Chinese. Our kitchen smelled like an Asian grocery store, and my mother began testing all of her Chinese culinary expertise on us. Me, with my yet undeveloped palate, my sister with a more sophisticated palate but much less patience as she was older, and my step-father who wanted nothing more than to leave the table and not talk to anyone.

But what I got to experience were unforgettable dishes. Wintermelon soup, steamed buns with pork filling, whole cooked fish with vegetables, chicken in fermented black bean sauce, and so much more.

The Chinese hot pot nights were really fun. My mother had a heat-proof table custom made just so we could hot pot! A hot pot is essentially an angel food cake pan over a bed of coals. The seasoned broth goes into the angel food pan, and the hole in the middle serves as the chimney for the coals. This thing got hot. Here’s a picture of one.

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My mother would put out serving platters of thinly sliced meats, fish, and seafood. There were whisked eggs, veggies, green onions, and sauces. You used special bamboo tongs to collect what you want to eat and place it in a sieve, then place the sieve in the boiling broth. You’d put what you wanted into the bowl of broth in front of you, like some egg and a sauce, then empty the sieve into your bowl. You would add more goodies, season more, eat, and do it all over again. It was like fondue, only Chinese.

During these years when I was still at home, my mother would also cook a different country’s cuisine often. She explored Indian food, Ethiopian food, even Russian food. I thought everyone ate Coulibiac and Doro Wat, and Rojan Josh.

At 17 I went off to college, and had to make my way feeding myself. It would be way easier to say that my French mother had taught me how to cook, but she really didn’t. I knew how to make crepes, I’d helped make brioche and croissants, and I knew how to clean shrimp, but that’s about all. My mother always chased us out of the kitchen while she was cooking. She needed to concentrate.

The most important thing I learned from my mother, however, is that no matter what you’re cooking, use the best, freshest, and highest-quality ingredients. My mother never ever took shortcuts. There was no onion dip powder, cake mix, no bottled or canned this or that. This probably explains why I have to make everything from scratch.

Once I got married, I taught myself how to cook. Without realizing it at the time, all of the years of being introduced to different foods from around the world definitely benefited me. I knew what good food tasted like, even if I hadn’t cooked it yet. And I was familiar with a lot of non-traditional ingredients.

I’m not nearly the cook my mother once was. I don’t have the patience, for one thing, and I don’t have the artistic flair. She was also a perfectionist in the kitchen. My mother would never add a tomato to a salad without first peeling it. And if I have company, I’d much rather throw something together before-hand and have fun with my guests than be in the kitchen fretting. That’s just me.

But looking back at my childhood at all of my foodie experiences, and at all of our travels, I lived quite a food-rich life. It’s no wonder I am and always will be obsessed with great food. But I must honor my mother for introducing me to all of that lovely food along the way, and for all of her hard work in the kitchen. All of my experiences growing up inspired me to be the best home cook I could be.

Sausage Making

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To be honest, I’ve only made real sausages from scratch one time before. They came out so fabulously that I’ve been wanting to recreate them for years. I don’t know what stopped me, or at least, made me procrastinate. Somehow in the back of my mind I must have thought it was so taxing, that I dreaded the thought of doing it again. Sort of like childbirth.

But alas, I did it again, and I don’t know what all my fuss was about. It’s truly easy to make sausages. It does take a little time. But with proper footwear and favorite music on the IPOD, it makes for a fun afternoon. And what you get for all of your hard work? Sausages! Delicious, flavorful sausages with no preservatives or any of that other terrible stuff that’s probably in store-bought sausages.

The first thing you need is an electric meat grinder. Mine looks very much like this although it is an ancient model.
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A meat grinder is a very useful tool in the kitchen, especially if you like making terrines. I’ve also ground up brisket meat for fresh hamburgers, which has a perfect fat-to-meat ratio. Really, if you have any desire to cook with ground meat, like make meatballs, for example, it’s just so straight forward to use the meat grinder and grind up your own meat. That way, you can mix it up – chicken, and pork, for example. And this way, you’re not paying someone else to do the grinding for you.

The machine is quite noisy, which is my only complaint.

The meat grinder comes with two different sized attachments for making sausages.
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It had been so long since I’d made sausages that I almost didn’t find them in my kitchen… but I did. Phew!

For the sausage today I’m using a popular book as a reference for an Italian sausage recipe – Charcuterie, by Michael Ruhlman.

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For my first sausage-making experience I used a book called Home Sausage Making, but I think the book is trapped in the bookshelf behind our live Christmas tree. It’s been too cold to plant the thing outside, but hopefully it will be gone soon and I can reclaim some of my cookbooks!

note: The Christmas tree is gone. This post was written in the early part of January!

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The book is a very good primer on how to make sausages, including all of the necessary ingredients, the casings, storing, cooking, and so forth. I highly recommend it if you want to make sausage for the very first time.

Home-Made Italian Sausage
adapted from Charcuterie

1 – 7 pound pork shoulder, cut up, bone removed
3 tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons fennel seeds, toasted
1 tablespoons coriander seeds, toasted
3 tablespoons Hungarian paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
3 tablespoons dried oregano
3 tablespoons dried sweet basil
2 tablespoons crushed red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon ground black pepper

3/4 cup chilled water
1/4 cup chilled red wine vinegar

To begin, grind all of the meat, about 5 pounds, plus any fat attached, using the largest holed grinder plate.
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Place all of the seasoning ingredients in a large bowl, then give them a stir.
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Then add them to the ground pork.
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Using gloved hands, if desired, stir the pork together well, mixing in the spices and herbs until they’re evenly distributed. Then add the chilled water and vinegar and mix well. Set aside the ground sausage mixture.
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The next step is to prepare the casings.
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I’ve owned this container of casings since the last time I made sausages, which is maybe 8 or 9 years back. They keep well refrigerated, but before you use them they need to be rinsed well because of the brine in which they’re stored.
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Place a good handful of the casings in a large bowl. You probably have pulled out too many lengths, like I did, but they’re just no way to judge. Better to have too many than not enough and have to do over this step.

Once the casings are in the bowl, give them many rinses of cold water.

One note: they stink. I think it’s mostly because we’re dealing with intestinal linings here. The smell is expectedly not pleasant. It does, however, get more pleasant after they’re rinsed. So don’t be discouraged.

Then, it’s important to open up the casings and rinse out the insides as well. I couldn’t get a photo, with only two hands, but you can see the casing that I’ve filled with water in the bowl. Repeat as many times as you find casing lengths to make sure they’re all rinsed out.

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So now you have your sausage meat ready to go, as well as the casings. Clean up the meat grinder and the work area. All you need to do is install the medium-holed grinder blade and the sausage attachment to the meat grinder. For the Italian sausages, I’m using the sausage filler with a 3/4″ opening.

Then grab a length of casing (you can shorten them as you like) and place it on the sausage filler attachment. Yes, we all know what this looks like.

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Tie an end at the casing, just like you would a balloon.
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Then turn on the loud machine and begin adding the sausage. Fortunately, it’s pretty easy to control the speed of the sausage coming through the machine, so one person can do this job easily. Allow the casing to fill with the sausage, but not overfill, for fear of the casing splitting open. This has actually never happened to me; they seem pretty sturdy.

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Allow the sausage to fill the casing, and when they’re about the right length, give the sausage a twist, and repeat. Today my sausages were turning out a bit on the squatty side, but it really doesn’t matter. It does help that they’re even-sized for cooking purposes, but that takes a bit more practice I’m afraid. I shouldn’t wait another 8 years to make sausage again!

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When you’re done with a length of casing, add a new casing, and make more sausages.
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Continue with the remaining sausage meat.
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I placed my lengths of sausage in a pan with a little oil drizzled on the bottom. I plan on saving half of the batch to use immediately, and freezing the second half.
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For any of you interested, we enjoyed the Italian sausages as is, once served with lentils, another time served alongside pasta with pesto.

For lunch one day I cooked up some black barley, added some cabbage, peas, chickpeas, and celery, tossed everything with olive oil and lemon juice, added sliced Italian sausage that was left over, and enjoyed a fabulous meal, shown in the photos.

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note: Fat is typically added to sausages when you make them from scratch. I can’t bring myself to do this. The original Michael Ruhlman recipe included fat, but I ignored it. However, what it does mean is that you absolutely cannot overcook the sausages or they will be dry. The fattiness keeps them nice and moist. And honesty, the fattier, the better. But for me, making them at home, I just can’t bring myself to add fat. To cook the sausages, I used a decent amount of oil in a skillet, browned them, lowered the heat, put on a lid, and cooked them through for about 5 minutes. And they were done. And moist. Alternatively, add fat to the pork, and no matter what you do to the little buggers, they will remain moist.