Layer Slayers
Sometimes the best bites are between sheets
This week, we reflect on the joys of food created by piling, laminating, and stacking. We also welcome Guest Gulletier Derya Altan to the table.
My Life In Lasagna: A Love Story
Meat Cute, Age 3
“I don't care what you say you are; this kid is Italian! She loves Italian food like I’ve never seen.” my elderly neighbor says to my parents and hands me a stuffed orange tiger cat wearing a white puffy hat and a bib. The bib says, “I LOVE LASAGNA.” The cat is named Garfield. He and I share the same love, the love of lasagna. I bring him to the table when my mom makes her own version of the dish. An immigrant from a Muslim-majority country, she uses a recipe she found on a Prince Spaghetti ad but substitutes ground beef sautéed with onions for Italian sausage. I always eat a lot of lasagna but today, I eat maybe too much. I don’t feel well. I start to moan and then start to cry.
“Kizim? What’s wrong?” I grab hold of Garfield and hug him tight as my face turns green and I am rushed to the bathroom. I throw up from having had too much gooey mozzarella, creamy ricotta, sharp parmesan, floppy wide noodles, and meat sauce with its salty, sweet tomato base. Garf and I stumble back to the dining room table. I demand more lasagna. I beg, “MORE. PLEASE. NOW.” I plead, “I WANT. I LOVE. I LOVE LASAGNA!”
The Art of Lasagna, Age 27
Graduate school in Michigan is next level cold, gray and frozen. One of the few ways I’ve found to warm up is by going out of my way to talk to my crush. A dreamy dude in the print-making department tells me he is reading about relational aesthetics, and I start scheming a way to get him to hang out. In the spirit of Rirkrit Tiravanija’s Thai food served in an art gallery, I look up recipes for a hearty, stick-to-your-ribs meal and invite people from all around school. I shove everyone in my attic apartment and feed them from two turkey trays full of veggie lasagna.
It’s a hit! The apartment windows steam up, people from all different departments arrive: sculpture, photo, print media, and 2D design. My crush never does. We are warm. We are cozy. We are some type of community eating melted cheese and previously frozen spinach doused in tomato sauce off paper plates. Lasagna night happens a few more times, and I make friends instead of making out with some guy.
Layer Me Softly, Age 42
I have not had lasagna in over ten years. It turns out a lot of Italian food is more often than not, not halal. Adding insult to injury, lasagna has since become my most forbidden food. To keep a chronic illness from flaring up, I am not supposed to have gluten, dairy, or beef as these all abet inflammation. Eye roll. I am recently dumped, more recently laid off from my dream job, and 42 is looking pretty sad.
I come home one day to find one of my roommates pulling something out of our much-neglected oven. “I had this vivid dream last night where I made such a random but specific dish. So after work, I went and got all the ingredients and made this. Will you try it?” She shoves a Pyrex dish full of gleaming red and cream and cracked beauty towards me. My favorite, beloved, precious, forbidden lasagna. “Don’t worry, there’s no pork in the meat sauce!” How can I resist?
One taste and I am transported back to being tiny and doing a little dance in my chair after one bite. It’s exactly like how my mom used to make it. A little sweet thanks to the nutmeg, a little salty thanks to the cheese blend, and a little umami thanks to the onions and garlic. I enthusiastically lose my mind in a way my roommate has not seen in a long time. I spill my guts over my love of lasagna. I find a pic of my former tablemate Garfield for her on eBay. I tell her about going back for seconds no matter what. I tell her about trying to hit on someone with warm melted cheese and noodles and how homemade meals really do create meaningful bonds. My roommate stares and says, “Wow, I had no idea you loved lasagna so much.” I helped myself to another serving, and some more, and then just a little bit more.
Flash forward a few weeks. It’s my birthday. It’s January. It is freezing and dark outside. The world is currently terrible and conflict-ridden. I am even more sad over my lack of love life and job and I am in no mood to celebrate. But my roommate wanted to make me a lasagna and host two dear friends who love me despite my depression. Before we sit down to eat, they insist I open a gift wrapped in two brown paper bags taped to one another. I tentatively tear the package open and see the peak of a floppy white chef's hat, then an orange fuzzy ear. If I weren’t so heavily medicated, I would be bawling. I am reunited with my long-lost comrade and favorite dinner companion. I squeal in delight. I turn him towards my friends to reveal the bib around Garfield’s neck emblazoned with the words “I LOVE LASAGNA”
“I love you guys! I love life! LET’S EAT!”
The Verdict: A layered life-affirming win.
Name drops: Prince Old Fashioned Lasagna Recipe
We Need to Talk About Nachos
By Kitty
I’m afraid that the novelty of sharing restaurant nachos loses its luster in adulthood, the same way that sleepover parties do. They’re good fun, but at the end of the day, you miss your own pillow.
Why haven’t restaurants figured it out yet? Their nacho dishes are top-heavy and slap on labels like “ultimate,” “loaded,” or “super,” all while charging three dollars extra for a thimble of pre-packaged guacamole. As a slow grazer (and dinner-time chatterbox), my frustrations begin when the plate hits the table. All hands descend upon the chips at once, digging into the pile like it’s a damn free for all. By the time I’m ready for a bite, I’m left with soggy tortillas dripping in pinto bean sludge. There’s got to be a better way.
Enter Double Layer Skillet Nachos. I can’t call this a recipe2, as I’m simply assembling stuff, but let me tell you about my at-home stack. The double-layer process ensures that you’ll never end up with a naked chip. I’ll take these over restaurant nachos any day.
From the bottom up:
Cast Iron Skillet (This is just for aesthetics. It comes straight from the oven to my coffee table. I could lie to you and tell you I set it on a trivet, but sometimes it’s a bath towel.)
Tortilla Chips (I like TORTIYAHS, for both substance and sass.)
Ground turkey that you’ve browned in taco seasoning.
Black beans or refried beans (It depends on whether or not you’re in the mood for mush.)
Shredded cheddar jack cheese.
Repeat layers 2-5.
Black olives.
Trader Joe’s Hot and Sweet Jalapeños (A non-negotiable.)
Intermission: Bake at 375 degrees until everything looks crispy and melted.
Diced avocado.
Diced tomatoes.
Dollops of sour cream (One per person. Get away from my side of the skillet!)
End scene.
Add as many layers and toppings as your heart desires, and remember, the comfort of your own couch (nachos in hand) is sometimes right where you belong.
The verdict: Good to the last chip.
Name Drops: Lodge, Trader Joe’s Hot and Sweet Jalapeños
Croissant 5k
By Greg
On Thursday, I received a red-hot text alert from Derya (this week’s Guest Gulletier) about an amazing chocolate pretzel croissant at her new favorite bakery, Sea & Soil Co-op. When my eyes opened on Friday morning, I knew I needed that croissant, and I needed it now. I Google mapped it to find that it was a 45-minute walk, which seemed like an eternity for this baked good to reach my mouth. I called Derya to ask if she wanted to fuck one up with me, threw on my gym shorts and sneakers, and ran there. Mid-run, it occurred to me that they might not offer them every day, and after firing up their Insta, I saw I was correct. I panicked. I sent a shameful DM: “Do you have chocolate pretzel croissants today?”. A response appeared within moments. “Yes, do you want us to hold one for you?” Did I.
The idea that these puppies might be going fast made me want them even more. When I burst into the cafe dripping with sweat, they knew I was there to collect. “Chocolate pretzel croissant?” a kind soul behind the counter asked. My face flushed hot with embarrassment. “That’s me! Mr. Croissant!” I cringed. Could I hate myself more?
I couldn’t even wait for Derya to arrive before ripping into the goods. I did the GBBO3 tear-in-half and saw that each buttery layer was accounted for. It steamed, and the fresh, doughy pastry aroma was more than I could resist. I took a nibble. It was fucking delicious. Perfectly flaky. The chocolate was evenly distributed (it never is!). The pretzel saltiness was coming through in just the right ratio.
When Derya arrived, I bowed, curtsied, and kissed her hand, thanking her for the introduction. A gorgeous morning unfolded as we sat outside between two trash cans, devouring divine baked goods and watching the good people of Gowanus pick up their dog’s shit. After finishing mine, I ventured back inside and purchased a bag full to distribute to friends I was meeting later that day. The wealth must be shared. If these beauties were waiting at the end of a marathon, I knew I could croissant the finish line.
The verdict: Don’t walk, run.
Name Drops: Sea + Soil Co-op
A special thank you to this week’s illustrator, Xin Huang4! See her work here.
If you’d like to be a Guest Gulletier or illustrator, drop us a note at putitinthegullet@gmail.com
Derya Hanife Altan is a multidisciplinary designer, artist, and maker. She received her MFA in Fiber from Cranbrook Academy of Art, and her BFA from Parsons School of Design. Currently, she lives and works in Brooklyn.
Here at The Gullet, we're not in the business of recipes, but we can provide instructions on getting food from plate to piehole.
The Great British Bake Off (sorry). You know, when Paul Hollywood’s bear paws bisect a pastry, and he inspects to see if the bake’s layers have shown up for class.
Xin Huang is an illustrator from China who graduated from SVA in 2023. She currently resides in both New York City and Los Angeles. She loves to use her work to express her feelings for every unforgettable moment in life. For drawing and painting, Xin mostly uses Artstudio and Procreate, and she also uses Photoshop for adjusting hand-drawn works