Toasted Ravioli-Filled Ravioli-Filled Ravioli

I got a job!

Just kidding, I haven’t gotten a job yet. I’m too happy waking up late every day, taking long walks, playing video games, and piledriving your mother in bed. Three sentences in and I’m already cracking yo’ momma (that’s the urban spelling of “your mother”) jokes; I think that’s a new Pizzle record. But seriously, she’s a really good sensual wrestler, especially when she’s absolutely doused in pizza sauce. Good thing those rubber bedsheets of mine have multiple uses.

In any case, just like on any selfish cooking blog, here’s the pointless intro story to start the post. On most cooking blogs, this story would involve dumb crying children or some backhanded memoir about a trip to a farmhouse in France for the writer to secretly say, “Hi, my life is better than yours, you sad peasant fuckface.“

My story is not very cool. A long time ago, I had my friends Kat and Ryan over for dinner, where I made fresh pasta. Kat had a silly idea where I should make ravioli filled with Chef Boyardee Ravioli. I thought it was genius, so I made an entire meal of it for the three of us. Chef Boyardee ravioli is actually something I enjoy, mostly because it costs a dollar a can and I can eat it cold while wasted, so I always have some on hand. That meal turned out okay (Kat and Ryan loved it), but I knew I could do more with it.

I was in Chinatown a few weeks ago and saw some of those Russian nesting dolls on a store shelf and I suddenly had a bright idea. “Dannis,” I thought, “How many raviolis could I fist into another ravioli?” Thus a terrible idea was born. The boiled version I did for Kat and Ryan was so mushy that your mother could gum it down with her dentures out, so I decided to make it even better.

Behold: The Toasted Ravioli-Filled Ravioli-Filled Ravioli.

Toasted ravioli comes from St. Louis, Missouri. It’s just ravioli that’s been breaded and deep fried, usually served with marinara sauce. Good job, St. Louis. Really good job. It’s not even actually toasted. It’s fried. Clowns.

Fresh pasta only has two main ingredients: flour and egg. For this recipe, I used a kind of flour known as “00” flour, which is a kind of flour from Italy that people use for their pasta. It has a super-fine grain and creates a pasta with a little extra bite to it. All-purpose flour works just fine too.

Many people insist that you need to mix the flour and eggs by hand, like an Italian grandmother. That’s horseshit. I’ve done that before and it takes like an hour and you end up sweating like crazy. When people say that pasta mixed by hand tastes better, that’s probably because your grandmother actually dropped sweat into it.

All you need to remember is that you need one egg per cup of flour and you’re done.

Let the food processor run until the pasta dough comes together into a ball. If your dough ends up looking like couscous, just add a little bit of water at a time until it balls up. Haha, balls. Don’t add too much water or you’ll ruin it.

Cover the ball tightly with plastic wrap and let it sit for 30 minutes. It needs to firm up otherwise your pasta will have a funny texture.

After the dough rests, it’s time to roll out the pasta. I received this hand-cranked pasta roller from a sweet friend of mine, so I busted it out. Do not get your testicles stuck in it, otherwise someone’s going to call you “Ol’ Pancake Balls.”

You can also use an old-fashioned rolling pin, but that takes like another hour of sweating. Italian grandmothers who roll their pasta by hand only do it because they are grandmothers who don’t have anything else to do aside from yell at you. I had an Italian grandmother once, but I’m Korean, so it turns out it was just your mother joshing around. Man, she’s old. So are these lame jokes.

Fill the pasta with Mini Chef Boyardee Ravioli. The big ravioli don’t fit very well. I got this tray from the same friend who bought me the roller. I have very nice friends. Otherwise this is a pain in the cock.

If you couldn’t figure out which part came next you probably shouldn’t be making ravioli. But yes, you’ll need to put another layer of pasta on the back.

The cool thing about these trays is that they come with raised borders, so to complete your pasta you just use a rolling pin to pinch the packets shut.

A cool fact is “ravioli” translated into English means “adorable ballsack.” Ask any Italian-speaking person, they’ll confirm that for you.

See? Isn’t that nice?

You’ve got ravioli-filled ravioli! But why stop there, dingus?

Next, you’ll need to cook these ravioli. I’ve already said “ravioli” like 239472394 times in this post. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. If you stare at that word enough, it loses all meaning. Don’t forget, it means “adorable ballsack.”

The reason why you need to cook these is because you’re stuffing them into another ravioli. They won’t cook through down to this layer, so they need to be parboiled. Boiling takes about 8 minutes.

But fisting ravioli into another ravioli is boring, so you need an extra layer of flavor. Drop them into a beaten egg, then dip them into Parmesan cheese. You can use cheap grated Parmesan cheese from a tub. Actually, you’re not going to make these anyway so who gives a shit?

The Parmesan-dipped ravioli will look like they have bad acne or cheese-based smallpox. Also, at this point, you’ll have lost a bunch of them due to poor craftsmanship. Don’t cry, it’s okay.

Now you’ll need to make another ravioli out of this ravioli-filled ravioli. I am now sick of the word ravioli. Fold over another layer of pasta onto this one and seal it with a fork. If the pasta doesn’t close properly, use egg wash and press it around the edges with a fork so it’s very pretty.

At this point, it’ll be huge. This ended up being as big as my child-sized hand. My small hands make me adept at pickpocketing, and fisting.

Paint these in another layer of egg and dip the pasta into breadcrumbs. Don’t worry, you’re almost finished. But you’ve already stopped reading at this point, because you’re a lazy dirtbag.

Bing bong, they’re ready to fry! Aren’t they cute, like a child? Don’t fry children.

I don’t have a thermometer. But I did have extra pasta, so I tested the oil with torn up pieces of pasta sheets. If the pasta fries into wonton-like chips, you’re good to go.

Fry the ravioli until they are golden brown and let them drain on a paper towel or some old pants. I prefer to drain mine on used adult diapers.

Check them out!

Aren’t they cool? Harvey and Mr. Bee both approve. Look at that grin on Mr. Bee’s face. He is very happy, unlike me. I want to drive off a cliff. Chicago does not have any cliffs, but it does have some pretty high parking garages.

Serve them with the pasty, mealy, and sweet Chef Boyardee sauce that I love so much. Some people like ranch dressing with their toasted ravioli because they have no dignity.

This is what they look like on the inside. They are very good to eat. The exterior of these toasted ravioli-filled ravioli-filled ravioli is crisp and crunchy, and the inner softer pasta adds a contrast in texture. There’s barely any shitty Chef Boyardee factory meat inside them, but whatever. While this recipe is an exercise in repetition, stupidity, and carbohydrates, the toasted ravioli-filled ravioli-filled ravioli are still delicious.

God, this was infernally stupid. This is like some shit you’d see at a Guy Fieri restaurant. That is the worst insult I could have flung at myself. I hurt my own feelings.

Toasted Ravioli-Filled Ravioli-Filled Ravioli

Pasta dough (Mario Batali’s recipe is fine)

1 can Chef Boyardee Mini Ravioli

1 egg, beaten like my face after a slapfight with Martha Stewart (spoiler alert, I lose)

Shitty Parmesan cheese

Shitty breadcrumbs

Shitty corn oil

Shitty life

Basically just cram a ravioli into another ravioli, then fist that into yet another giant ravioli. Dip in eggwash, breadcrumbs fry, serve with leftover Chef Boyardee sauce. Whatever.

Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli.

Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Ravioli. Penis.

[Oh, hey. I’ve seen some random Facebook friend requests come in recently. If you guys want to add me as a personal friend on there, that’s okay with me. If you don’t know me in person, just send me a personal message telling me who you are (I check my “Other” inbox regularly). All I ask is that you please don’t be creepy or mean. You will be rewarded with my cat photos.

Also, here’s my Twitter link. My email address is dennis at spacesbetween dot net.

You guys are the best.]