by Ari LeVaux

If a famous chef hands you a caviar’d cracker, it doesn’t prove anything. Like, of course it tastes good. It’s freakin’ caviar. 

True culinary brilliance is revealed by the creation of extraordinary food from the most humble of building blocks. For example, the butternut squash ravioli that stole the show at the Whitefish Food and Wine Festival last month. Nothing more than flour, egg, cream, squash, almonds and Parmesan (of which the chef noted you can never have too much), those succulent and nubile stuffed noodles, frosted with brown butter foam, were arguably more delicious than the wagyu meatballs drenched in wagyu demi-glace at the adjoining serving table. 

I am pop food culture illiterate. I haven’t watched food TV since Julia was on, in my teens. I had maybe heard the name Todd English, but would not have guessed Italian to be his specialty. Without being prepped by his rep, I was able to meet the guy with no preformed opinions. I’d yet to even sample his ravioli. 

A server handed me a small plate of wild mushrooms on polenta, and suddenly I could feel the chef behind me. Not as much Chef English as the bubble of fanboys and girls that drifted into my personal space as he made his way past me to the polenta. 

I turned around to see a man who appeared unlike the East Coast fancy pants Englishman flown in to preside over the inaugural convening of this festival, and more like redneck who just crawled out of an out building in Hungry Horse. In other words, someone I wanted to party with. His cheffing done for the day, English wore a pair of greasy jeans and what appeared to be a buckskin vest. 

I introduced myself and told him that I hoped to nerd out about food. Gravely, arms folded across his barrel chest, he nodded in agreement. Then he motioned the server to add more balsamic reduction to my chanterelles. 

English, an Italian master of the Irish Goodbye, quickly vanished, leaving me to contemplate how perfectly the balsamic reduction enhanced the chanterelles. I felt like I was eating music.  Then I sauntered over to the wagyu meatball table, where, after washing down some tender orbs with the closest glass of red I could find, I concluded it doesn’t get any better than this. And then I met the ravioli that changed my life.

In my first bites of those fragrant clouds, my weekend peaked. Possibly my life. At the very least, I should have retired from eating right then, while I was at the top. Because nothing that has followed compares to those plump, fluffy, creamy squares. 

Later that evening I cornered the Chef at the bar, where we proceeded to nerd out. “Music is just noise until it hits your brain,” he said. “It’s your brain that perceives all of those sounds together as music. And it’s the same with food. When it lands on our palate, our brain translates it into a symphony of flavors.” 

“I love a good symphony, with cellos and violins and clarinets. But I also like a simple quartet, be it classical or….” He trailed off. 

I was waiting for him to say “AC/DC,” obviously, but just then his sensors tripped. He pushed away the glasses on the bar in front of him as two pizza pies were set down. The Chef grabbed the red meaty one and absconded. 

The night was young, as was the long weekend of total wine and food-fueled debauchery. A 12-course brunch seemed to include every type of sugar, fat, amino acid and alcohol known to man. Several local mammals were served nose to tail in their own juices, including lamb and wagyu, and there was a mountaintop caviar and champagne tasting.  Yet still those ravioli remained a singular highlight. 

The last time I saw The Toddfather was in the ski lodge atop Big Mountain. Like a true Montanan, he was grumbling about not being able to find any ranch dressing. His vision was to use ranch to bind caviar onto some onion rings, and as soon as the ranch appeared he got to work. The fanboys and girls lined up like geese waiting to have their livers fattened, and one by one the famous chef placed a ranch’d, caviar’d onion ring into our mouths. It turns out that when a famous chef hands you some caviar, sometimes it does prove something. 

Weeks later, when the wine-stains had long dried, my son Remy and I recreated that ridiculous ravioli, following the recipe that English had so generously given me. With a pasta roller attachment to the Kitchenaid, we rolled out sheets of fresh pasta and filled the ravioli with a regal mixture that was more intoxicating than the contents of any bottle at the festival. Those ravioli are a true symphony, created from the simplest of notes. Possibly discordant until they reached my brain, where the array of flavors was understood to be a masterpiece.  I will never look at a squash the same way again. 

Butternut Squash Ravioli a la Todd English

I only have space to discuss the filling and browned butter sauce. Follow the ravioli rolling and shaping recipe of your choice. The artistry here is in the filling and sauce.   

Filling

2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

6 c. butternut squash (or Hubbard or kabocha squash)

1/2 c. ground amaretti cookies (or crushed almonds)

1/2 c. fresh bread crumbs

1/2 c. finely grated Parmesan cheese

1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg

1 1/2 tsp. kosher salt

1/4 tsp. Freshly ground black pepper

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat and add the butternut squash. Cook until the squash is just starting to caramelize and becomes golden brown — about 10 minutes. Add water to cover and cook until squash is tender, about 20 minutes. Transfer squash to a food processor with a fitted blade. Add the amaretti, bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Blend until smooth.

Brown Butter Sauce

1/4 pound butter

1/8 pound Parmesan grated

1 cup heavy cream

1/4 tsp salt

Fresh sage leaves

Heat some olive oil and fry the sage leaves on medium-high heat until crisp but not burnt. Meanwhile, melt the butter in pot, reduce heat to medium, whisk until milk solids cook to a golden brown. Add cream bring to simmer. Add grated Parmesan. Strain through fine mesh sieve. Whip with emulsion blender, spoon foam over top of pasta. Garnish with crispy sage leaves and serve.