One of my dear friends came over to cook last week and left me speechless as she explained to me "the right way" to make lasagna. It turns out I’ve been doing it wrong all these years. My family hasn’t seemed to notice, though. After I seemed so startled, she said we’d make two: one my way, one her way.
If I understood her correctly, the main difference was that I layer the noodles in amongst the fillings in a rotation. In "the perfect" lasagna — and she referenced a restaurant known for making lasagna — they do not allow the cheese and the red sauce to touch. This creates a nice, creamy layer of cheese in the middle, surrounded by pasta and then surrounded by sauce.
Today I baked her lasagna. Drat. It was really good. I never pulled out my entire cookbook of lasagna recipes, or mentioned that there are dozens of recipes for lasagna, and I’m glad I didn’t. Hers is prettier than mine.
Of course, they both vanished just as fast around the males of my household. I wonder if I should confess that I’ve been doing it "wrong" all these years?
I don’t actually believe that food has a right and a wrong way of being put together. Well, ok, food poisoning would be WRONG. If it doesn’t poison you and it gets eaten, then it qualifies as "right" in my book. Experimenting with the ingredients, rearranging layers, tweaking proportions…all of that falls under the category of "art" to me. Some people like modern art. Some people like classical art.
I think it is time to dig out my most prized lasagna recipe — a green and white one with NO red sauce whatsoever. Let’s see what she thinks when she sees THAT one. Or maybe I should pull out the apple lasagna…naaa…I’ll save that one for Fall when the apples are fresh.
