Making Pasta
Hands up if you’re sick of hearing about pasta!
Ok, let’s see… nobody. Good.
I’m locked in the kitchen in lovely Long Beach, CA trying to come up with a few *actual* pasta recipes. Fool’s errand? Maybe, but I’m trying. Today I bought two dozen eggs, ten pounds of King Arthur AP, and smaller quantities of semolina, rye and whole wheat flours. I’m taking copious notes, weighing everything carefully and gridding out things in Excel as I go.
I really should put some plastic wrap over the keyboard.
So far I’ve made semolina pasta, rye pasta, egg pasta and- new to me- semolina pasta made with just semolina and water (which is what comes in the box). I thought it might be tricky, but it was actually very easy. I’ll let you know how it was to work with (it’s resting now).
As I’ve mentioned in the past, I have vacillated on the subjects of oil and salt. I have never been a big advocate of oil, especially in egg pastas; salt has been the larger existential struggle (not to be confused with an eggsistential struggle- I’m here all week, try the veal!).
What do these controversial elements contribute, you may ask? Well, let’s start with the simpler one: oil. Olive oil has been added to pasta probably about as long as flour, and, in small quantities, contributes little more than flavor. 1 teaspoon of extra-virgin olive oil (good stuff, not that crap that looks like machine oil gone jaundiced) can add a delicate olive flavor to one pound of pasta. It’s true. Larger quantities, however, will add body- especially in the absence of eggs- and make the dough, well, oily, so it doesn’t stick without being dry. This is the desired result for *pici*, for example, which are like a hand-formed, very thick spaghetti. Some people lean on this aspect heavily when making doughs with less glutinous elements, like buckwheat. I however, am not a fan either of the taste of olive oil in pasta, nor of the texture it creates. If I need to prop up a low-gluten element in pasta, I’ll make the dough with semolina rather than white flour, since semolina was probably used in early rubber bands. That stuff is bad-ass.
Salt is in one sense a much more complicated matter, but in another, very simple. [I’ve talked before](http://omnivorousfish.com/node/202) about [hygroscopy](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hygroscopy) in dough, but basically it’s the concept that salt in suspension in the dough will attract water to the interior of the pasta, making it fall apart.
It’s true that flavor is the only thing that salt contributes; its structure is unchanged with or without it, but here’s what I’ve realized: if you’re cooking pasta properly it’s being cooked in very salty water, water that should taste as salty as the sea, probably saltier than you think it should be. When the pasta intermingles with the water, excess starch is released and water is taken in: salty water. Here’s the difference: when salt and water are taken into the pasta, the fundamental elements remain the same, only wetter. When there’s salt in the pasta to begin with, it’s part and parcel with the structure of the pasta, and its dissolution affects that structure. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. Point being: I’m no longer putting salt or oil in pasta dough. The water- if salted properly- is more than enough to flavor the pasta with salt.
On Sunday, we had a bunch of people at the house, so naturally I started cooking. With pasta on the brain, I thought of a simple crowd-pleaser: a *rotolo* of pasta. It’s a large sheet of pasta, rolled out in one piece, filled with cheese, herbs, vegetables, meats or whatever you’d like, rolled up and poached like a salmon. Very often, it’s then sliced and baked with a sauce.
Like most Italian dishes, it can either be a grand special occasion preparation, or an efficient way to deal with leftovers. The one I made is more or less traditional, and the spinach could become chard, dandelions, escarole or some combination of any of them. Herbs are also nice in the filling, if you have them. A little chopped oregano or marjoram would be nice, but certainly not necessary
This dish seems complicated, and there are a lot of steps, but they’re all very simple. The only tricky thing is making the pasta, which you’re becoming an expert at anyway, right?
Oh, and remember, if you have bleached flour in your house, make cakes until it’s gone, and never buy it again.
***Rotolo* of pasta with spinach and cheese**
Serves 6-8
*for the pasta*
AP Flour 2 cups
large eggs 2
tepid water as needed
*for the filling*
ricotta cheese 2 lbs
fresh spinach 1-1/2 lbs
small onion, chopped 1 (about 2/3 cup)
extra-virgin olive oil 2 tbsn
large eggs 2
egg yolks 1
grated pecorino, grana or parmiggiano cheese ¾ cup
chopped parsely ½ cup
nutmeg to taste
salt and white and black pepper
*for the sauce*
light cream 2 cups
gorgonzola cheese, crumbled 4-6 oz
(do **not** use that garbage they sweep up off the floor called “Stinkfinger Cheese Crumbles.” Buy a **whole piece** of gorgonzola cheese, put it in a bowl and break it up with a fork.)
sage leaves 3 or 4, optional
grated pecorino, grana or parmiggiano cheese 1/2 cup
salt and black pepper
**Start the filling.** As far in advance as you can remember to do it (this time I did it as soon as I got home from the store, which is to say about 10 minutes before I made the pasta) put the cheese in a sieve or in a colander lined with cheesecloth set over a bowl to drain.
Wash the spinach by placing it in a sinkful or bowlful of cool water. Agitate it slightly, and allow it to sit for a minute or two, then lift the spinach out, leaving behind sand, rocks, flies, memories. Repeat until you’re left with clean water. **You bought that prewashed spinach? That’s nice, so did I.** Do you want me to tell you what I found in the bottom of *my* water? I didn’t think so.
Dry the spinach in a salad spinner, if you have one, but don’t go crazy. Some water is good for steaming the spinach, but you want to have as little water as possible when you’re done cooking it. Chop the spinach coarsely.
Heat the olive oil in a wide pan over medium heat and add the onion. Sweat it until softened, but not brown (this is what is meant by sweating). When the onion is soft, raise the heat to medium-high and add the spinach. Cover. If all the spinach won’t fit, don’t smush it in; wait until what’s in the pan has wilted, then add more. Season with salt, pepper and nutmeg. Cover partially and cook for 5 minutes or until the spinach is thoroughly wilted and dark green. If there seems like there is a lot of water, uncover the pan and raise the heat to cook away as much of it as possible. When it’s cooked, turn the spinach out into a colander set over a bowl and allow to cool and drain while preparing the pasta.
**Make the pasta.** Mound the flour on the counter (or a bowl if you’re skittish) and make a well in the center. Beat the eggs together with 1 tablespoon plus one teaspoon (four teaspoons) of water and pour into the well. Stir the eggs into the flour, working outward as more flour is absorbed. When it’s too thick to stir, knead the dough until smooth and uniform, sprinkling with flour if it’s too wet. In the unlikely event it is too dry, flatten the dough out and sprinkle with a teaspoon of water, then start kneading again. When the dough is smooth, uniform and supple, cover it with plastic wrap and rest at room temperature while you finish the filling.
**Finish the filling and make the sauce.** Set several inches of salted water to boil in a salmon poacher or as wide a pot as you have (like a big Le Creuset pot or stockpot).
Put the drained cheese in a bowl, add the eggs and yolk, parsley, cheese, salt and pepper and beat until smooth. Grate some nutmeg over the mixture, add the cooled spinach, squeezing the water out by handfuls, and stir it in.
Heat the half and half (or light cream or heavy cream if you want) over medium heat and add the sage leaves if using. Allow it to come to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon until it has thickened enough to coat said spoon, maybe 10 minutes. Discard the sage and add the gorgonzola. Cook the sauce over low heat until all the elements are melded together. Season with salt and black pepper.
**Roll the pasta.** While the sauce simmers away, roll the pasta out in a single sheet until it’s thin enough to read the newspaper through. Some people say the thinness of a dime; I think that may be too thick. Don’t roll much in the center of the dough- the dough will stretch itself in the center as you roll out the edges. Try and keep the sheet somewhat square.
When you have the dough rolled, lay a clean kitchen towel or long piece of cheesecloth out so that it is partly underneath the edge of the pasta furthest away from you.
Spread the filling out over the pasta into an even layer, leaving an inch border on either side and a 3 inch border on the edge furthest from you. When all the filling is evenly spread out, roll the pasta as tightly as you can away from you, until it is rolled up like a jelly roll [*I had originally said "giant burrito" but it's not like a burrito since it rolls up inside itself, not just around the filling, like a burrito -jf 8/8/07*] and sitting on the towel. Twist the ends and fold under, then roll up the pasta tightly in the towel. Tie the bundle tightly at the end, and half-hitch your way up its length every three inches or so, and tie up the other end. Or- if you’re not familiar with roast-tying- tie the ends tightly then tie the roll every two or three inches along its length to keep its shape. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
When the water is boiling, lower it in and adjust the heat so it boils gently. If you’re using a round pan, lower in the center, then lay in the sides around the perimeter of the pan. Poach the roll for 25 minutes.
About the water- you might want to have a slightly lower water level than you’ll need, plus a kettle of boiling water. Once the roll is in the water, you can add more boiling water to cover it, so there’s less danger of it overflowing and sending scalding hot water all over you and your kitchen.
When cooked, take the roll out and let it cool for five minutes or so, so you can handle it. Cut the strings and unroll it, being careful to avoid the steam. Cut off the doughy end, then slice the roll into 1-1/2 to 2 inch slices (you’ll get around 12-16).
Spread 1/3 of the sauce over the bottom of a 9×13” baking dish. Lay in the slices of pasta roll on their sides (spiral up), then pour over the rest of the sauce and sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Cover loosely with wax paper (to prevent the cheese from browning) and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the sauce is thickened and bubbly. Serve immediately.
Listening: Jake the Dog, doing his thing.
