Make-it-up-as-we-go Manicotti

Oh, pasta, where would we be without you?  A silly question, I suppose, but I know that I grew up eating a lot of pasta.  It's cheap, it's quick, it's easy.  It goes with just about anything.  You can leave a 10-year-old to make it herself, "just follow the directions on the box and be careful not to burn yourself."  (Assuming the 10-year-old in question has spent a lot of time helping and/or getting underfoot in the kitchen.)   It's an excellent go-to when one has no plans for dinner/forgot to thaw the meat.  Which is how my mother and I wound up making manicotti recently.
There are a lot of manicotti recipes out there.  There's usually one printed on the side of the box.  My mom has a vague idea what her mom used to put inside those noodles, so after frowning at the side of the box for a while, "There's no egg listed here.  My mother always used egg," she decided to improvise, and I somehow wound up in the kitchen with my camera and my 2 cents to put in.  In the recipe below, my mom is responsible for the almost obscene amount of basil.  We have a very large, healthy basil plant in our herb garden; Mom must've pruned the thing.  I swear, she brought in enough to make pesto.  (Pesto-topped manicotti strikes me as a cool idea, actually, but I don't think she was feeling that experimental.)  I decided to sauté the onion and garlic so they'd have a milder flavor. We got to work, and this is what we came up with.

Basil Lover's Manicotti

1 box manicotti noodles (check to make sure they aren't broken)

1 container (16-ish oz?) ricotta cheese

1/3 C grated mozzarella

1/4 grated parmesan 

Salt and Pepper

1/4 C Onion, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

2 Tbsp Olive oil

Fresh Basil, about 1/4 cup chopped 

1 Egg

Tomato Sauce

Preheat the oven to 350 Fahrenheit. 

Boil the manicotti in salted water, referring to the box for the correct cook time.  

Meanwhile, combine the ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan.  Briefly sauté the onion and garlic in 1 Tbsp olive oil, until they are just barely starting to brown.  Add that to the cheese mixture, along with most of the basil (reserve about 1 Tbsp for later).  Season to taste with salt and pepper, then add the egg.  (I do try to minimize the amount of raw egg I consume.)  

Grease a wide, shallow pan (a 9x13 baking pan or a gratin pan if you have one) with the remaining Tbsp of olive oil.  

When your noodles are done cooking, drain them, and immediately rinse them with cold water.  This prevents them from sticking to each other, and cools them to a temperature that your fingers can handle.  Stuff each noodle with the cheese mixture.  I like using my fingers for this, because I feel that I have more control that way.  If you're a utensil-user (not everyone likes having dirty fingers, I get it), my mom recommends using a fork rather than a spoon.  It's easier to detach the filling from a fork.  Arrange the stuffed noodles in a single layer in the greased pan.  I usually wind up with a leftover noodle or two, which makes me happy, because for whatever reason, I absolutely love eating manicotti noodles plain.  Or you can put slightly less filling in each noodle, and probably arrange them a little tighter, but I wouldn't want to do that.  Cover the noodles with tomato sauce.  You can drown them if you like, but all you really have to do is make sure each noodle gets its fair share.  Sprinkle the remaining basil over top, and bake for about 40 minutes.

It was pretty good.  You have to like basil, for sure, but fortunately, my family members all do.  Manicotti is great because it is moist and, when done right, flavorful.  This recipe was no exception.  If I were to make it again, I would probably incorporate a finished pesto, and probably use more mozzarella, because I love the gooey, stretchy texture that cheese has.