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creamy mushroom pasta – carbs are back

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creamy mushroom pasta

creamy mushroom pasta

Well, guess what I read recently…? Carbs are back. Apparently high-carb foods thank to ‘resistant starch’ are actually good and can even help you loose wait.

To celebrate the news everyone should have carbs. I’m going to have pasta. I love pasta. I have pasta almost every day. Luckily Boyfriend loves pasta too, otherwise we would have a tricky situation. The household could turn into scenes from the film ‘The War of the Roses’…

It’s not that I ever cared about carbs anyway. I eat what I like and have never been on a diet. As my ex flatmate told me – I’m not fat but I’m not exactly skinny either. Well, I told him he is not stupid but not exactly bright either though…My bitchiness burns off most of my calories intake.

Creamy mushroom pasta (quick recipe, it takes only 20 minutes)

Gnocchetti pasta

400 g of mushrooms (button or any you fancy)

2 tablespoons of olive oil

2 tablespoons of cream cheese or pack of goat cheese

150 ml of cream (less if you are calorie conscious, you need some to melt cheese, but it’s up to you if you want it extra creamy. I think extra creamy is the best. You can replace it with soya cream, less calories, perfect for vegans)

parmesan

salt and freshly ground pepper

chopped parsley or chives

1. Boil water for pasta with a pinch of salt.

2. You can use any pasta you want but in my opinion gniocchetti tastes the best.

3. Chop or slice mushrooms.

4. Warm olive oil in a pot, add mushrooms. Cover and fry for a few minutes.

5. If the water for pasta is boiling, add your gnocchetti, stir, cover and leave for 4 minutes.

6. When your mushrooms start to get soft and the liquid evaporates a bit, add cream (and again, it can be double or single, I use anything I can find in the fridge) and then cream cheese or goats cheese, or both. Sometimes I add a splash of white wine for added flavour or if I’m left with an open bottle and have to get rid of it before it goes bad.

7. Lower the temperature and stir until cheese starts to melt.

8. Grate some parmesan and add to your cheesy sauce.

9. Pre-warm plates.

10. Drain your pasta ( you can leave some starchy water, pasta doesn’t have to be drained completely)

11. Add pasta to your sauce, add some salt and fresh pepper, mix carefully.

12. Serve with chopped parsley, chives or even basil. This one is perfect with white wine, yumm!

 

 

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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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