Pasta, Made in Italy

In the kitchen of the average Roman of my generation you will likely find boxed pasta and jars of store bought pasta sauce. People are busy. They work, they fight the city's chaos to and from work, they have personal lives. Their mothers and some fathers may be excellent cooks, but a lot of this knowledge did not get passed along. The Slow Food Movement may have originated here in Italy, but in modern households, handmade pasta is quickly becoming a thing of the past.

Last week, the prospect of leaving Italy having made my own pasta only once started to weigh heavily on me. So I called nonna Elena. When she came over, I was already eagerly weighing the flour. I measured out 200 grams of grano duro (ground durum wheat flour), mounded it up, and made a crater into which I cracked two eggs - one then another.

With Elena supervising, I incorporated, kneaded, rolled, dried and cut the pasta. Then for the next three days straight, I did it all again.

Elena taught me this trick, where you roll the pasta as I'm showing here, folding both edges in towards the center. Then cut even strands of fettuccine and slide the knife carefully underneath the pasta.

When you lift up the knife, the long strands should unfold beautifully.

We ate ours with a typical Roman cacio e pepe. Sharp pecorino romano cheese and black pepper, toasted in the pan for extra heat. This is on the menu of virtually every Roman hostaria; however I must admit, I've never been able to eat an entire plate full. I find it overly strong, too heavy, and overwhelmingly salty. I prefer to make it at home so I can control the amount of cheese and make it more palatable to my taste.

Now I have graduated. I can go forth and make fresh pasta in the New World. Plates and plates of it. Friends, family, get ready!

Cacio e Pepe for spaghetti or fresh pasta

Adapted from Bon Appetit

For 2

The secret to releasing the flavor of the black pepper is to toast it in a dry pan first. Purists would probably serve their cacio e pepe with spaghetti, albeit from a box.

6 ounces of pasta (spaghetti, bucatini, tagliolini or other)

3 tablespoons unsalted butter (I used less butter and added a swig of olive oil.)

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or more, to taste

3/4 cup to 1 cup freshly grated pecorino romano cheese

Bring a large pot of water to boil for your pasta. When it starts to boil, add enough salt so that if you (bravely) dip your finger in, it tastes like the sea. Be sure to keep the pasta al dente.

Meanwhile, toast the black pepper in a dry sauté pan for about one minute. Add about 1/4 cup of your pasta water to stop the pepper from cooking, then add the butter and stir to melt. As soon as your pasta is cooked, add it to the sauté pan and turn off the heat. Coat the pasta with the butter and pepper and sprinkle in the cheese, mixing it all together gently. Add more pasta water if the sauce seems dry, and serve.

Corn and Quinoa Breadsticks

We're at the mad dash to the finish line, with just two weeks left in Rome. I'm filled with that bittersweet feeling I get before I leave a place. While I'm trying hard to empty my cupboards without wasting anything, I am also shopping for things I've never made, with some less common ingredients. On Friday I bought one small sheep's brain from the butcher. It looked so strangely cute and curiosity got the best of me. I shared half of it with my father in law who gobbled it down. I had to practically choke down my half because I'd hate to think that poor sheep gave his brain to be thrown out, but I was too grossed out to even wash the pan.

Then in the market last week I saw a man selling fresh black truffles and though I've had them in restaurants, I had never actually seen them for sale. Black truffles. Fresh pasta. Oil, garlic, hot red pepper, and the aromas of Umbria rose from the pan in a dizzying haze of aromatic steam.

And although the aroma blew me away, the taste did not. I followed the instructions of the man I'd purchased them from. Heat olive oil in a pan with garlic and hot pepper, shave in some of the truffle, remove garlic and hot pepper, cook pasta, toss in pan, shave over the rest of the truffle. When we sat down to eat, P took a taste and jokingly said "Maybe they were just rotten acorns" because the rich truffle taste we were so looking forward to took a distant back seat to the pecorino romano we sprinkled on top, that saved the day. I can accept a little disappointment when the fresh pasta is really good.

Another night we had risotto with zucchini flowers. Risotto is a regular at our dinner table, most frequently made with usually with porcini mushrooms. For two years I had been eyeing the zucchini blossoms and for some reason I had never purchased any. I grilled the guy at the store for ideas that did not involve frying. "You can also make them with pasta or risotto," he told me, the other Italians within hearing distance shaking their heads in agreement.

Beautiful little specks of orange, but for some reason, my risotto turned out less creamy than usual. Fine, I can deal with less than perfect.

The idea for these grissini (breadsticks) came from some that I purchased from a fair trade store here in Rome. They have quinoa flour, corn flour, sesame seeds. I'm always eager to try alternatives to white flour especially when it's something Roman might like to nibble on. So I found a simple breadstick recipe and went ahead at converting it to use the flours I wanted to use. The result was very close to what I had purchased and the flavor even better. The dough was sticky to roll out and I had to give up a good portion of the "control" I tend to like to exert over everything in my universe. This was a good exercise for me.

I guess the point of all this is that sometimes despite my best intentions, my best efforts, things come out just OK. Pretty good. Good enough. Edible. And I have to accept it and let it be. It's all still worth the effort and chances are, it will turn out better next time. No one's perfect, right?

Corn and Quinoa Breadsticks

Loosely based on this recipe from Food.com

Stored in an airtight container, these should keep for a few days, but mine were best once cooled out of the oven. These are full of iron (corn flour and quinoa are both high in iron.) And I love the unique flavor of the sesame seeds combined with these flours.

1/4 cup warm water

1 teaspoon yeast

a pinch of sugar

1 1/4 cup corn flour

1/2 cup quinoa flour (I ground quinoa in my coffee grinder)

1/2 cup unbleached flour (amount will vary)

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup sesame seeds

3/4 cup water

2 tablespoons olive oil

Dissolve the yeast in the warm water with the sugar and let sit for about 5 minutes until foamy. In a large bowl, combine the corn flour, quinoa flour and unbleached wheat flour along with the salt and 2 tablespoons of the sesame seeds. Add the yeast, the 3/4 cup warm water and the olive oil. Stir until combined and then turn out onto a floured board or countertop to knead. Add additional white flour if it is too sticky to work with your hands. (Mine was.) Knead until well incorporated. Oil your bowl and place the ball of dough in the bowl, covering it with saran wrap or a moist dish towel. Let this sit for about 2- 2 1/2 hours until it has tripled in size.

Turn the risen dough out onto your board again and divide it into six portions, then cut each portion into 4 or 5 pieces. Cover the unused portions with a dish towel to prevent drying.

Preheat the oven to 400 (f) and grease 2 baking sheets with olive oil. Place the remaining cup or so of sesame seeds in a plate with some additional salt. Work one piece at a time, rolling it on the countertop into a strand about 12- 14 inches long and place each one on the oiled baking sheets rolling to coat in the oil. When they are all made, one at a time, roll them in the sesame seeds. Bake for 10 minutes, then turn them over to brown on both sides.

Positano and Acqua Pazza

In April, we spent a weekend in the seaside town of Positano on Italy's Amalfi Coast. This charming, colorful town is still peaceful in the early Spring before the temperatures rise and sun worshippers descend upon it by the time Summer hits.

John Steinbeck wrote an essay about Positano in 1953 and I think he says it best, "Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn't quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone."

We spent the weekend playing with rocks on the beach and watching the town awaken from winter's repose. Roman followed the one small delivery truck around on the beachfront as it delivered seafood to all the restaurants.

We ate our fish grilled or in Acqua Pazza, (literally "crazy water") a simple Neapolitan way of preparing fish. I recreated the dish when we got home so our thoughts could linger in Positano a little longer.

On another note, today is the one year anniversary of this blog so I thought I'd introduce myself a bit better if you've been following me. You may have seen photos of Roman on the blog as he's grown from 8 months to his present 19 months. Aside from documenting our second year in Rome, part of the fun of this blog is that it has been a collaboration. I cook and set up for the photos and my husband shoots them. He is rewarded for his time in good meals. We'll soon be leaving Italy but the blog will continue as we explore new vistas. Hope you'll stick around to see what we create.

Pesce all'Acqua Pazza

You can use any fish you like for this recipe, whole or in filet. I used Mediterranean sea bass.

I have chosen to list the ingredients without quantities for this recipe because you are entirely free to add as much or as little as you want, and make it to your taste.

Olive oil

Garlic

(Optional onion, carrot, celery)

Cherry Tomatoes, cut in half

White wine

Water

(Optional anchovy and/or capers)

Sauté the chopped garlic in olive oil and add the cherry tomato and other vegetables if using as well as an anchovy (optional) and let it dissolve with the vegetables. Add white wine and water, place your fish in the sauce, cover the pan and cook until the fish is done. At this point, remove the fish to a platter and continue to simmer the sauce uncovered to reduce it. Pour the sauce over the fish and serve. Crusty bread works well for mopping up the sauce.

Fast and Slow- Rabbit Ragù and Wild Asparagus

Sometimes life goes so fast, a whole season can go by and looking back it's a complete blur. At times I'm thankful for that, if it's been a difficult period, at least in retrospect it's over quickly. But other times, things are so good I just want to savor them and I feel I'm wrestling with the hands of the clock to stop them from turning so quickly.

In the kitchen, I feel there have been months on end where I've rushed through meal preparation. There are times I barely chew my food and eat standing up in the kitchen. None of these behaviors are fitting of a person who loves to cook and eat. I'm working on changing, slowing down. I sing when I cook to make sure that love goes into the meals I make.

Yesterday I made a slow cook sauce for pasta or polenta with rabbit, white wine, rosemary and plenty of finely chopped onion, celery, garlic and carrot. Our apartment building smelled so good. I love it when such delicious scents emanate from my kitchen.

At the market, the "wild" (farmed) asparagus looked right at me and smiled, so I of course brought some home. With a main course that takes almost 3 hours to prepare, I was looking for a side dish that could be made in about 3 minutes, and these thin asparagus, sautéed quickly in olive oil, salt and pepper were the answer.

The recipe for the rabbit ragù is very similar to the Wild Boar Ragù I made several months ago. I served the sauce over egg pappardelle, the traditional pasta for ragù of this type. And although the name derives from the verb pappare, (to gobble up) I did my very best to slow down and enjoy every rich bite.

The sauce is even better the next day, so make ahead if you can, or hope that there are leftovers to enjoy. There were a handful of asparagus left that I ate cold with a squeeze of lemon juice and some marinated sardines on top. Now that's something to savor.

Rabbit Ragù

Based on the Wild Boar Recipe from Olives and Oranges

1 whole rabbit, cut into pieces

1 onion

3 cloves of garlic

2 carrots

1 stalk celery

leaves from 1 branch of rosemary

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1/2 bottle white wine

water

salt and pepper

If you're lucky enough to have a butcher, have him (or her) cut the rabbit into pieces.

In a food processor, finely chop the onion, garlic, carrot, celery and rosemary.

Heat a large sauce pan over medium heat and add the vegetables. Add some salt and cook for about five minutes. Add the tomato paste and stir well. Place the rabbit pieces in the pan. (Optional: brown the pieces before you start the vegetables; I did not.) Add the wine and enough water to cover the rabbit pieces. Set the kitchen timer for 2 hours. Simmer uncovered for the first hour, stirring and turning the rabbit pieces occasionally. After the first hour, cover the pan and check periodically. Use a wooden spoon to start to break up the pieces and separate the meat from the bone. After two hours, remove the rabbit and allow it to cool. Then shred the meat and put it back into the pan with all of the vegetables. When ready to serve, cook your pasta and serve the ragù with a sprinkling of pecorino romano cheese, if you have it.

Ricotta Mousse with Fragoline di Bosco

If there is one thing I love, it's indulging in a simple yet elegant dessert on a weeknight with an extra long spoon. This ricotta mousse took 10 minutes to prepare and will raise your spirits on a regular hum drum night, but is special enough to serve to guests.

Fragoline di bosco are "wild" strawberries that are cultivated in a town called Nemi about 30 minutes outside Rome in the Alban Hills. The strawberries are grown on the side of the lake which is actually a volcanic crater. We escaped the heat of Rome two summers ago to Nemi, as do many Romans when the heat gets unbearable. As we strolled through the streets of this tiny town, we stopped to enjoy some of these fresh berries.

Fragoline are popular this time of year in delicate fruit tarts and desserts. They are very fragile and must be consumed quickly. They cannot be washed or they practically dissolve. Like a lot of things that grow in the wild, they have also been used medicinally. These little beauties can alleviate digestive disturbances, and are also high in vitamin C, iodine, iron and calcium. All this in addition to their rustic charm.

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Mousse di Ricotta

This recipe was created by Cristiana from our favorite restaurant in Rome, Santa Lucia. She was kind enough to share the recipe with us. It makes enough for 4 small servings. The original recipe calls for Grand Marnier but I didn't want to buy a bottle so I used some lemon oil which adds just the right fresh, bright flavor I was looking for.

250 grams (1 cup) cows milk ricotta

2 soup spoons sugar

2 soup spoons Grand Marnier or substitute 1/4 teaspoon lemon or orange oil

3 soup spoons Whipped Cream

Beat the ricotta and the sugar for several minutes with an electric mixer until it becomes creamy. Add the Grand Marnier. Whip the cream (or use whipped cream from a can) and fold in with a spoon or spatula. Serve with wild strawberries, raspberries or blueberries.

Fava Bean Puree for pasta or crostini

Fava Beans are a sure sign of Spring in Italy and they are ubiquitous this time of year. They are a powerhouse bean, meaning they are full of protein, iron and fiber, and are sometimes called the "meat of the poor."

In Rome, fava beans are eaten as a rite of Spring in a special meal on May 1st when they are prepared in a salad with soft pecorino cheese as Romans head out to the countryside. Some people even carry a fava bean for good luck and it is believed that in doing so, one will never be without the essentials of life.

In a variation on the Roman recipe, I made a puree that can be eaten on crostini (toasted bread) or as a pasta sauce as I did today.

Fava Bean Puree

Widely adapted from Bonny Wolf (NPR's Kitchen Window Archive)

I suggest using a pasta with ridges that will hold the sauce well. I used cavatappi, which incidentally means corkscrew. Because I like to vary the types of grain we eat, this pasta was made with Kamut (read an interesting history of kamut here.) For a vegetarian dish, omit the pancetta but add additional pecorino cheese or some salt.

2 lbs (1 kilo) fresh fava beans (once shelled, this should render 2 cups.)

2 tablespoons crème fraîche

freshly ground pepper

1/4 cup pecorino romano cheese, plus more for sprinkling

1/2 cup pancetta, cubed

Remove the fava beans from their pods and set some water to boil. Boil the beans for 10 minutes and drain. While the beans are cooking, fry the pancetta until lightly browned and drain on paper towels. Put the hot beans into a food processor along with the crème fraîche, pepper and pecorino cheese. Blend until smooth. Combine the puree with the cooked pasta and sprinkle with pancetta and additional pecorino romano to serve.

This makes enough for 2 - 3 servings.

If making crostini, toast a high quality bread and spread with the puree, then sprinkle the pancetta on top.

Gnocchi alla Romana

For several months now, I've been cooking with Elena, my adopted Italian nonna. This week at my request, we made gnocchi alla romana. Unlike these gnocchi which are made from potato, Roman style gnocchi are made from semolina and baked. They have butter, milk and parmesan so they are not light in calories, but no one says you have to eat the whole batch.

Elena came over during Roman's nap so we could have the kitchen to ourselves. I had to lie down with him to get him to stay asleep at one point, and she continued on in the kitchen. From the dark bedroom I could hear her whisking away on the stove and I lay there thinking how nice it felt to have a grandma in my kitchen, even if she's not really "mine." To have a female companion at all in the kitchen is something that is pretty foreign to me. I could very well figure out all of these recipes on my own, but it's a cozy feeling to have an older woman spending time in my kitchen.

These are moments that are usually passed from grandmother to granddaughter, or mother to daughter. I'm lucky that Elena has taken a liking to me and seems to look forward to our Thursday meetings with even greater anticipation that I do. After all, her own busy family doesn't seem to have much time to spend with her.

Our conversation drifts from my weekend trips outside Rome to our upcoming move and then to family, and the past. She tells me that by the time she was 37, she had three kids and was suddenly alone with them when her husband died. She was very in love with him but they had a bad marriage, she says. He talked very little to her and she never understood why. This is why she says she never remarried, because although she loved him, she was skeptical that she would find a man who would be good company for her. She wonders out loud if solitudine is not better. I tell her we all feel alone sometimes, even if we are married. In the end, we are. It reassures me to see a woman who did not have an easy life but who is still upbeat and carries on with a good spirit.

I had never used semolina in a savory dish before. It occurs to me that we call this "cream of wheat" in the States and usually eat it as a hot breakfast cereal, which I love. Called semolino in Italian, this durum wheat is used to make factory bought pasta. Here in Italy (and other countries for that matter) it is also used in desserts, and I am eager to experiment with more recipes using it.

Gnocchi alla Romana

courtesy of Elena

You can serve these as a first course on their own so that you can enjoy their full flavor and texture. They are a distinct comfort food, with a slightly creamy yet savory flavor from the parmesan. The crispy exterior and firm but smooth interior gives them a uniqueness that should not be covered up with a sauce.

1 liter part skim or 2% milk (about 4 cups)

175 grams semolina (1 cup)

1 teaspoon salt (go sparingly and taste before proceeding to step 2.)

55 grams butter (1/4 cup)

1 egg yolk

85 grams parmesan (3 ounces)

freshly grated nutmeg, about 1/2 teaspoon

1. Heat the milk to luke warm in a heavy bottomed pan. Pour the semolina in slowly while whisking to avoid lumps. Add the salt and continue to stir with a whisk or wooden spoon as the milk comes to a light boil and the semolina is slightly stiff, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the butter, half the parmesan and egg yolk.

2. Spread the gnocchi mixture onto a flat surface (I used a jelly roll pan) into a layer about 1 1/2 cm thick and allow to cool completely.

3. Preheat the oven to 425 F (220 c). Cut rounds using an espresso cup or small biscuit or cookie cutter. Knead all the scraps together and use to make rounds so you don't waste any of the dough. Butter a baking dish at least 13 x 9 in size and place the rounds so they overlap slightly. Sprinkle with the remaining parmesan and then bake for 15-20 minutes until golden brown. Cool for about 5 minutes before serving.

If you are serving fewer than four people, I recommend freezing some of the gnocchi before baking. Then put them straight into the oven from the freezer without defrosting.