Tuna (And Artichoke) Noodle Casserole
When we were on Martha Stewart radio a few weeks ago, Betsy Karetnick, the host, was on a tear about tuna noodle casserole. She was asking people to call in to try to sell her on the whole idea.
Now I ask you, Betsy: what's tuna noodle casserole done to you? Too many Lutheran church socials? A couple Methodist funerals thrown in the mix?
It all got me thinking about how much I wanted some for dinner. And soon. After all, one host's horror is another man's comfort.
No, Bruce and I don't use cream of mushroom soup (aka, Midwestern food fix-it, guaranteed to smooth over any mistakes). And no, we don't crumble potato chips over the thing before baking. But we do cut the fat quite a bit. And we put artichokes in it. A green vegetable. It's sort of healthy. It's definitely real food.
So start out with about 9 baby artichokes and cut them down to their hearts. If you need help on what that looks like, check this out. These little babies need to be blanched in advance or they'll still be too prickly in the casserole. Quarter them, put them in a large saucepan with lots of water, and bring to a simmer over high heat--then reduce the heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Drain in a colander set in the sink.
Meanwhile, cook 12 ounces no-yolk flat noodles in a large saucepan of water of high heat until tender. Drain in a colander in the sink as well, right on top of the artichoke hearts if you want.
Position the rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350F.
Heat 3 tablespoons unsalted butter or olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Bruce prefers olive oil--cleaner, brighter. I'm all for butter. Because it's a beverage.
Add 1 minced large shallot. Cook, stirring all the while, until softened, about 2 minutes. Then sprinkle 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour over the mixture. Cook just until the flour has combined with the shallots and fat in the pan.
Now whisk in 3 cups fat-free milk in a slow, steady stream. Keep whisking until the mixture comes to a simmer, then whisk in 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard, 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce, 2 teaspoons dried thyme, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper.
Whisk in 1 cup dry white wine or dry vermouth and bring the sauce back to a simmer. Finally, stir in 5 ounces shredded low-fat mozzarella, 3 ounces shredded Jarlsberg Lite, and 2 ounces finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the cooked noodles, the blanched artichoke heart quarters, and 12 ounces drained, canned, solid white tuna packed in water. Pour the whole mixture into a 9 x 13-inch baking pan and top with another ounce of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.
Then bake. About 25 minutes. Until the top has browned a bit and the sauce around the noodles is bubbling. Some people let the thing go until it becomes one block. We like it a little looser, so that the sauce is still sort of liquid-ish around the noodles.
And serve it up. There's not much more to it. Oh, a tossed salad on the side, of course. And if you're in for a penny, you might as well be in for a pound--so make it an iceberg lettuce wedge, drizzled with your favorite dressing. Now I ask you: how can anyone be horrified at such comfort?
Midwestern fix-it, casserole, comfort food, pasta, tuna
Reader Comments (4)
Ha! You used fat-free milk! This, after berating me for using skim in a milkshake. Pot calling the kettle black, my friend, pot calling the kettle black. For what's a casserole but essentially a milkshake in solid form (with fish, thistles, and noodles).
The artichokes, by the way, are an inspired addition.
Cheryl: Totally a hypocrite. Listen, you gotta shave the calories where you can--so you can have more milk shakes.
A milk shake in solid form. I'm dying laughing.
For years, my mother has made tuna macaroni bake--she got a recipe from one of those "promotional" recipe booklets from Chicken of the Sea. No canned soup at all--it has a white sauce made with milk, flour, and cheddar cheese (Mom always used Kraft Extra Sharp). She'd bake it in one of those square Corning Ware casserole dishes and top it with a quartered tomato.
Stephanie: I've heard from so many people who said their mothers put slices of tomatoes on the casserole. And if your mother was making it with milk and flour--then hurray! She was doing the real thing, sort of like we did. It's just such comfort food. Ridiculous. (I had the last slice of this casserole today for lunch, heated up in the microwave, alongside a glass of iced tea. Or as we would have said in the South, "ice tea.")