Recipes for Life (4 page)

Mama had serious complications and the doctors said it was a miracle she survived. It was months before she came home from the hospital. Daddy died shortly after.

It took a long time, but some sweetness started to come back into our lives when our step-grandfather, Tony Vergoti, moved in with us after our grandmother passed away. He was the only grandfather we ever knew and we loved him dearly.

Grandpa Tony was also in show business, so to speak. He worked at Desilu Studios. One year, when I was in my early teens, he took me to the annual wrap party for
I Love Lucy,
which was being held at a little park near the studio.

At the end of the day, Lucy signed autographs. By the time I found out, I was at the back of an incredibly long line. It was getting late, so I was desperately hoping she wouldn’t leave before I reached her. But even after dark, Lucy stayed on until she had given everyone, including me, her autograph. That experience meant so much that I’ve always tried to remember it anytime fans take the time to wait for me.

Grandpa Tony had been a cook in the merchant marines and then later in New York, in small restaurants. It was heavenly to come home to the smell of garlic and tomatoes when he cooked for us. This recipe is a tribute to him.

1 pound penne pasta

3 tablespoons olive oil, divided

8 large Roma tomatoes, peeled and diced (page 56)

¼ pound large spinach leaves, washed, stems removed

    (I prefer prewashed leaves)

¼ cup (½ stick) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

1 garlic clove, minced (or 1 to 2 more if you don’t use the chili-garlic paste below)

1 pound raw large shrimp, shelled and cleaned, tails removed

1 tablespoon Chinese chili-garlic paste (I like Lan Chi brand), optional, to taste

Cook the penne according to manufacturer’s directions.

While the pasta is boiling, heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the tomatoes and cook until the juice begins to run, about 5 minutes. Add the spinach and cook until slightly wilted. Turn heat to low and stir in butter, a piece at a time, until melted. Add the salt, then remove the pan from the heat, cover and keep warm.

Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil in another skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic, sautéing until just lightly golden. Then add the shrimp and the chili paste, if using. Toss the shrimp to coat it in the sauce and sauté a few minutes, just until the shrimp turns pink and opaque. Remove from heat and add to the tomato-butter sauce.

In a large bowl combine the pasta and the tomato sauce and toss to coat. Divide the pasta among six plates, then spoon a portion of shrimp onto each plate.

Enjoy!

E
VEN AS A
little girl, I believed in God, and more so, in the love of God. So it came as a shock when I heard one day in church that my Protestant girlfriend couldn’t go to heaven because she wasn’t Catholic. No part of my eight-year-old brain could comprehend how that could be true.

For a while, I stopped going to church, but I missed my connection with God. So I found a compromise: When I was fifteen, I worked as an usherette at the Paramount Theater in Hollywood, and I often spent my dinner hour in a nearby church around the corner. No service. No people. No words. Just God and me, hanging out together. I realize now that it was the beginning of a spiritual quest that would become the greatest journey of my life, one that would actually take me back along the path where my spiritual journey had started. Years later, surrounded by family and friends, I was presented with my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame—in front of the Paramount Theater.

Ursula and John help this usherette celebrate her star.

I always look forward to summer because I can make this amazing dish with fresh peaches. As a sweet tribute to my spiritual journey and the “heaven” I was in when I earned my star, here’s one of my favorite desserts.

Although the instructions call for broiling the sugar topping, this is the ideal recipe for using a crème brûlée torch if you have one!

2 pounds peaches

1½ cups whipping cream

1½ tablespoons vanilla extract

1½ cups dark brown sugar (or more as needed)

Bring a large pot of water to the boil. Working in batches, drop the peaches in the boiling water and blanch for about 60 seconds (the skin on a super-ripe peach may burst in as little as 30 seconds, so watch them). Use a slotted spoon to transfer the peaches to a bowl of ice water. Remove the skins, which will now slip off easily under your fingers. Slice the peaches into ½-inch segments and arrange them in an 11 x 8-inch ovenproof dish (they should go about halfway up the sides of the dish).

Beat the cream and vanilla with an electric mixer on high until soft peaks form. (If it’s a warm day, it speeds the whipping to chill the empty bowl and the metal beaters in the freezer for a few minutes before starting.) Spread the cream over the peaches and freeze for 2 hours. (Do not freeze for longer than 2 hours, because the peaches will be too frozen to serve right away.)

To serve, preheat the broiler.

Take the dish out of the freezer and sprinkle the brown sugar on the top, coating the entire surface of the cream heavily with sugar, about ¼-inch thick. (I press the brown sugar through a sieve to remove any lumps and allow it to sprinkle more evenly.) If you need a little more sugar to cover the entire surface of the cream, or if your peaches aren’t at the height of summer sweetness, feel free to add a little more sugar.

Place the dish under the broiler and broil about 4 minutes. Watch it constantly because it can burn very easily. You may need to turn your pan so it cooks evenly. When the sugar has melted and just starts to bubble, and when the cream starts showing through, it’s done. Serve at once.

T
HE FIRST TRULY
elegant dinner I ever attended was when I was sixteen. I was dating a young man named William Keck. His family was in “oil.” He invited me over to dinner to meet his parents, and on the menu that night was an amazing beef dish, a meal that I, growing up on limited funds, had never had. But that wasn’t going to be all that was different about dining with this family and mine.

I never knew people needed more than one fork, knife, and spoon to eat. The table was set with—what seemed to me at the time—dozens of each, and all gold. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, when the butler brought the tray over to me, I didn’t know how to use the serving pieces to get the food onto my plate.

There I was, horrified, not realizing
yet
that every nightmare has a blessing. There are no mistakes in the universe! Years later, when I was playing Krystle Carrington on
Dynasty
, it was easy for me to relate to Krystle’s discomfort trying to adjust to the “rich life.” Now that I think of it, I may owe the Kecks for my Golden Globe Award.

M
Y MOTHER WASN
’
T
really surprised when my junior high school English teacher told her I was so shy that I wouldn’t get up in class to give my book report, and that it was time I overcame it. Her suggestion: Take drama class or flunk English. Sometimes you are dragged into destiny.

The family joke is that my first acting part was Sleeping Beauty, a break for me since I slept through most of the play. Somehow I survived junior high drama class, but I still didn’t like getting up in front of people.

When I was fifteen and in high school, my friend Carol Wells asked me to keep her company while she waited to audition for a national commercial. Carol had already done a number of commercials, so she knew how long these “cattle calls” could take.

When we arrived, there were over fifty girls waiting to interview and we ended up waiting for hours. Finally, when there were only six girls left in the room, the director came out and pointed at me, telling me to come in.

Confused, I said, “I’m just here visiting with my friend.”

Carol was then invited in. When she came out, she said, “He wants you.”

Reluctantly I went in and the director told me he wanted me for the commercial. I tried to explain that I wasn’t an actress.

“Can you sit on a carousel, next to a boy, and drink a bottle of ginger ale?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “But I would never do that to my friend.”

He promised me that if I accepted the part he would give Carol another commercial. In a town of broken promises, he kept his word. His name was Gerald Schnitzer. Not only did he give my girlfriend the part he’d promised, he gave me several more. Even though I was scared to death, I knew I had to accept this amazing gift (with Carol’s blessing and encouragement), especially as it would allow me to contribute and help ease the tight budget we were on at home. I didn’t understand at the time the magic life was weaving for me.

If there’s one thing all three of us girls remember it’s Mom’s macaroni and cheese. What we don’t remember is exactly how she made it, and we all have our variations on it. I like it with sharp cheddar, Charlie with medium.

1½ pounds large elbow macaroni

2¼ pounds cheddar cheese, grated

5 ounces (1¼ sticks) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes