>Hello, Joe–

>I was looking for a recipe for whole wheat pappardelle– or better yet,
I’m looking for a pasta brand that makes pappardelle from whole wheat
flour, so I don’t have to make it myself.

>Any clue if it’s out there?

>Thanks,

>Leanne

Leanne,

I’m away from my library for a few weeks, but the recipe I usually use for whole wheat pasta is some variation on the recipe in Lidia Bastianich’s book Lidia’s Family Table, which is an excellent book for many, many reasons, but especially a very thorough and well-tested section on pastas made from all sorts of things, from chickpeas to almonds. And they’re not just recipes, either, it’s a comprehensive guide to making pasta with a zillion full color photographs. I recommend that recipe and that book. Also, you could take most any pasta recipe and subsitute half the flour (by volume) for whole wheat flour, and maybe increase the amont of water slightly (by a teaspoon or so for a pound of pasta).

As for buying whole wheat pasta, I don’t recommend it unless you have a pastaficio in your neighborhood (a place you can buy fresh pasta). The overwhelming majority of pasta you will find to buy is not “fresh pasta” (*pasta fresca*), but “dry pasta” (*pasta asciutta*). What’s the difference? Well, fresh pasta hasn’t been dried, duh, but it’s also made with a softer kind of wheat and with eggs (usually), which temper its texture. Dry pasta is made with durum wheat- a very hard type of wheat- and with water. Add whole wheat to that combination and you have a grainy, unpleasant strand of pasta in your mouth that resembles a cross between sandpaper and unhulled sunflower seeds. Even the whole wheat dry pasta from saintly Barilla sucks as far as I am concerned, and I wouldn’t wish it on you.

Pick up Lidia’s book and make the pasta yourself. Make a whole bunch some weekend and freeze it in 12-ounce nests so you have it when you want it. It’s worth the effort, believe me.

Listening: “Close (to the Edit)” Art of Noise (Who’s Afraid of?) The Art of Noise!

You’d be amazed at what Italian people don’t put on pasta.

What I mean by that is good pasta requires something more like decoration than a sauce in the franco-american ideology. Basically, pasta dressing falls into one of two categories: salse and condimenti. Salsa is the familiar beast: tomato sauce, alfredo sauce (a mainly American animal) or pesto. These things, although appropriate, should be used sparingly. You might be skeptical to hear that I wouldn’t put more than three or four tablespoons of tomato sauce on a serving of pasta, less of pesto. These things should meld into the pasta, co-mingle in the fabric of the noodle, and hide in the ridges, cracks and tunnels you have gone to such pains to choose. These often, but not always, fall into the alla category: alla bolognese (Bologna), alla cacciatore (hunter), alla prostituta (like it sounds, aka puttanesca).

More common, though, is the condimento. This is, usually, one or two ingredients, cut somewhat small with some seasoning, moistened with pasta cooking water and served, distinct from but harmonious with the pasta that surrounds it. The names of these dishes usually invoke con (with): pasta con patate (potatoes), con piselli (peas), con cicireddu (bait fish), con limone (lemon), yes lemon. Very often, these things have a ladleful of tomato sauce thrown in them, but that has as much to do with the ubiquity of a simmering pot of pumaruoru (tomato sauce) as anything else.

As you can see in the picture in the previous post, these condimenti are barely there, secondary to the glory of the pasta. As an added bonus, if you’re cooking store-bought dry pastasciutta, you can assemble 90% of condimenti tradizionale in the time it takes for the water to boil and the pasta to cook. I use the word “assemble” intentionally; many of these sauces don’t really cook at all: some minced anchovies and olive oil from the can stirred in the bottom of the serving bowl will warm up nicely when the hot-off-the-presses pasta and clinging pasta water are dropped on top and mixed together. Soft butter and grated parmiggiano or romano cheese will do likewise. Pasta all’estate (in the summer) is a raw tomato sauce: fresh tomatoes, basil, oregano and some chopped red onion are warmed only by the heat from the pasta.

I don’t speak Italian well enough to know the hows and whys of the use of the word con in these dishes. Indeed, pasta al burro (with butter) or alla panna (with cream) uses a, yet it’s con broccoli. Is this because broccoli is solid? If anyone knows, please comment.

Here are some traditional dishes, then I have to drive to Philly. The dishes with 2 names have the sicilian name and the italian name. I’m feeling instructional.

First the classic: Pasta all’aglio e olio. I know, that’s a lot of Is ad Ls together. A Tuscan might pronounce that “al AHL-yo eh OH-lee-o,” but I’ve never heard it pronounced anything other than “EYE yoy” or “EYE YOY-yo.” This is olive oil with very thinly sliced garlic, just barely caramel colored around the edges, NEVER brown. Herbs can be added to this (like parsley, a classic Sicilian “aô pitrusinu” (prezzemolo)), or whole small fish “con cicireddu” or anything you have lying around the fridge. In a lot of Italian-American households, this last dish is known as “alla frigidaire.” No kidding.

Pasta con patate: Potatoes, anchovies and capers

Pasta con vruccoli (broccoli): Broccoli blanched, then sauteed with oil and garlic, sometimes served as a very thick soup

Pasta con sparaceddu (cavolofiore): Cauliflower, boiled, then sauteed with onions, tomato sauce, pine nuts and currants (halfway between a salsa and a condimento)

Pasta con sfrizzoli: Pork or chicken skin, rendered and fried until crisp, then perfumed with a small amount of garlic (cracklings with garlic)

Pasta con piselli: Butter, cheese and a handful of freshly blanched or defrosted frozen peas. Before you go all apeshit, remember that when peas are picked they immediately begin to convert their sugar to starch, so unless you can get crazy-fresh peas from the market, frozen is the way to go. I have never gotten an edible fresh pea from the supermarket.

Listening: In a bizarre moment of iTunes random, 10,000 Maniacs was followed by Persian Ghazal, then the decidedly Jewish Klezmatics. World peace brought to you by Apple.

10,000 Maniacs “Hey Jack Kerouac” In My Tribe
Ghazal “Between Dawn and a New Truth” As Night Falls on the Silk Road
The Klezmatics “Russian Shers” Shvaygn Egel Toyt (Silence Equals Death)

All the elements of the dish have more than enough heat to melt the cheese and meld together, but sometimes you see *pizzocheri* covered with breadcrumbs and baked in the oven. That might be ok with *pasta asciutta* (the stuff that comes in a box), but I think fresh pasta is too delicate to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to enjoy it.

**Rye Pasta *alla Valtellina***
Serves 6 amply

5 oz rye flour
5 oz semolina flour
(about 1 cup of each)
1 egg
2-1/2 ounces water (by weight or volume- the weight of 1 ounce is the weight of 1 fluid ounce of water)

1 tbsn olive oil or other cooking oil
2 slices bacon, cut crosswise into strips
1 onion, chopped
1 head red cabbage, outer leaves removed, cut into eights, cored and shredded ¼” wide
salt and black pepper
2 whole cloves or one large pinch ground cloves
1 bay leaf
1 cup red wine
3 tbsn red wine vinegar
2 tsp caraway seeds

8 ounces fontina cheese, cut into ¾” cubes

**1** Stir together the rye and semolina in a bowl and make a well in the center. Add the egg and some of the water to the well and beat with a fork, taking some of the flour into the egg as you go. Sprinkle the rest of the water over the flour and stir with a fork until a dough starts to form. Reach into the bowl and alternately squeeze and push at the dough until it is mostly together and place on a work surface. Take any doughy bits left in the bowl and press them into the dough. Knead for a few minutes until the dough is smooth and uniform.

It is normal for the dough- any dough made with semolina- to be moist to the touch at first, although it will lose this surface moisture as you knead and the semolina hydrates. If the dough remains sticky, though, sprinkle it with any flour left in the bottom of the bowl, or with some rye flour, or even white flour.

Wrap the dough in plastic and set it aside at room temperature while you prepare the cabbage. It should rest at least an hour before rolling so the semolina has time to hydrate.

**2** Heat the oil over medium heat and add the bacon. Yes, it seems strange to cook the bacon in oil, but this amount of bacon won’t render enough fat to cook the onions and cabbage.

When the bacon is beginning to brown, add the onions. Sweat the onions for a few minutes until they are softened. Increase the heat to high, add the cabbage and stir to coat with fat. Season the cabbage with salt, pepper, cloves and bay leaf and stir. Add the wine and vinegar and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium to medium low, so that the liquid simmers excitedly, but doesn’t boil. Cover and cook for thirty minutes, stirring occasionally.
**3** Meanwhile, toast the caraway seeds in a dry pan for a minute or two, tossing constantly, until fragrant. Transfer to a dish or bowl and set aside.

**4** Set a large pot of salted water to boil. The water should taste as salty as seawater, probably saltier than you think it should be. That’s ok, just do it.

Working with ¼ of the pasta dough at a time, roll it out into a rectangle about as thin as a dime. When in doubt, go thinner. If using a pasta machine, roll it to the next-to-thinnest setting.

Let the sheets of dough dry for a minute or two, then sprinkle with flour, roll up loosely and cut into 3/8” wide tagliatelle. Even if using a pasta machine, I would advise you to cut the pasta by hand; the irregularity of hand cutting feels good in your mouth.

**5** Add the caraway seeds to the cabbage and continue to simmer until the cabbage is quite tender, then turn heat to low.

Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook through, a minute or two if using freshly made pasta.

Meanwhile, put the cabbage mixture in the bottom of a large bowl and stud with the cheese. Drain pasta when ready and add to the bowl. Let the bowl stand without mixing for one minute (to melt cheese), toss and serve immediately.

Whaddaya think?

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.

>Hey Joe — I’m so glad you put up a post about rolled pasta. I’m going to venture into my absolute first-time pasta foray today…. And I’m not going to hand-roll, I have to confess. I just received a gift of a pasta-rolling and cutting attachment for my KitchenAid mixer, so I’ll try the modern convenience, at least for my first time out.

>I know that I want a fettucine/tagliatelle noodle, which my cutters can make — and I know how I want to sauce them, with fresh market vegetables and herbs and a tangy sheep’s milk cheese — but I confess, I’m a tad nervous.
>What’s your favorite basic egg pasta recipe? the best ratio of flour to eggs? Should I use 00 flour? I have it, I can. What tips do I need to know? Resting time, storage of uncooked pasta….

Dear Julie,
Well, don’t sweat the hand-rolling part. You can always roll it to the 2nd or 3rd thinnest setting, then pass the rolling pin over it to get a similar *dente forzu* effect. I will, however, counsel you to cut them by hand. First of all, until you get your water proportions perfect, the pasta likely won’t cut properly in a roller-cutter, and second, the natural, random nature of hand-cut pasta is more pleasing to the eye, and bite. Sprinkle the dough with flour, roll it up, and slice away.

Cutting Pasta

As far as your nerves are concerned, relax. I’m working on a post about this, now, actually. The first time you make something, odds are it won’t be perfect. That doesn’t mean it won’t be edible, but it’s an adventure. My first ravioli? *Che bel piombetti!* my father said (“what nice little pieces of lead!”). It’s food. The people who eat it will love and appreciate what you have done for them, and if they don’t, maybe you need different friends. As far as the sauce, there are a hundred traditional sauces like it, and most are served with ricotta salata or fresh (3 months old or less) pecorino sardo, but you’ll have to go to Murray’s to get that, probably. Ricotta salata is a safe bet.

As far as the recipe is concerned, I admit I use a different one almost every time I make pasta. Unless I’m encountering a grain I don’t work with every day, I just make it work, depending on what I’m using it for. More eggs for more delicate noodles, more water for strength and stretch. Think of it as a scale with tajarin (all yolk noodles, usually served with butter and truffles) at one end, and tortellini at the other. Also, I vacillate on the subjects of salt and oil, so I live in a state of constant experiment and comparison. I also admit I have shifted in my view of the food processor: it’s actually wonderful for pasta. It mixes, hydrates and does 80% of the kneading in 30-40 seconds. That said, I used a well-tested recipe for the whole wheat pasta, and still I had to knead in another ½-2/3 cup of flour. As you may be aware, anything with flour in it varies dramatically throughout the year, depending on temperature and atmospheric conditions. The summer, in New York at least, provides the most dramatic variation, usually towards the dough being wetter.

I highly recommend the recipes and method in Lidia Bastianich’s latest book, Lidia’s Family Table, they are smaller, more manageable and better-tested than most. Trust me; a lot of people’s pasta recipes are merely lists of things to have in front of you. Here is her basic proportion with water:
2 cups flour
2 large eggs
1/4 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons water

If you find yourself mixing, though, especially by hand, and you’re certain your dough is too dry, **a spray-bottle is the most forgiving way to get some water into that dough**. Resting time is like 10 minutes, maybe 15, unless you have really made a mess of it. Then, there’s nothing an hour won’t cure. Wrap it in plastic wrap, **let it rest at room temperature** and when depressions from you finger don’t bounce back, she’s ready.

Spreading out pappardelle

Storage? Well, some people swear by drying. They also swear by resting the pasta covered with a towel. It’s because they are living in the past. Fresh pasta’s character is dramatically different when it’s been dried. It’s not bad, but it’s different. The best way to preserve the fresh-pasta taste is freezing. Make nests of noodles on floured towels on a sheet pan (smooth towels, not linty ones), or for wider noodles, lay them out flat. It’s a pain, but it makes a big difference.

I would skip the 00 flour for the maiden voyage. It’s a finer grind than AP flour, which doesn’t affect the protein content (contrary to popular belief), but it does dramatically affect how the gluten behaves and- most importantly- how it absorbs water. When your hands know how the dough is supposed to feel, bombs away with the 00 flour. For now, though, what you want is **unbleached** all purpose flour. I recommend King Arthur, Gold Medal and Hecker’s, in that order (at least, for flour you’ll find in the supermarket).

Nothing else pops into my head at the moment, but please post a comment and let us know how it went. Sorry this became kind of a question and answer, but my first post was scratched when I hit the BACK button. Grrr. This post is being safely written in a word processing program.

Listening: [A Prairie Home Companion](http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/?refid=6)

When you start making fresh pasta regularly, you’ll soon have the process down to about 15 minutes. It takes seventeen hours to boil 6 quarts of water. That’s what it seems like, anyway. Lesson? When you make pasta often, **put the water on to boil before you begin rolling**.

All this talk about doughs and alternate flours has gotten my juices flowing. Did you know that showing people delicious foods increases their [dopamine]( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dopamine) levels? Just by looking at it. Nora Volkow was on [Fresh Air](http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=11847222) the other day. Imagine what my not-so-subtle imagination has done to *my* dopamine level.

Whole Wheat Pasta Dough

I once drove three and a half hours into Switzerland after being invited to dinner at an acquaintance from work’s house. He was a sweet, shy man who lived with his mother at the age of 36, whom I know for a fact made about sixty thousand dollars a year. I’m just saying. At any rate, he had invited me and few of the other Americans there for dinner on a Sunday.

The smell from the house was noticeable 60 feet out the front door. It was intense. We were ushered in, handed glasses of wine, and sent back outside, despite the nip in the air, to enjoy the view and the jars and crocks of [*giardiniera*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giardiniera) on the picnic table. Angelo, our host, came out in a surreally thick turtleneck to give us the geological highlights of the view. I snuck back inside to peek in on the kitchen.

It was an old, old house, with a fully functional fireplace that had a hook with a real kettle and something *actually* bubbling away in it. The wall with the fireplace was all stone, and I realized the door above the hearth was a bread oven, with guess-what baking in it. Olfactory layer number one. The kettle had stock in it, bones protruding from the surface here and there. There was a cheesecloth bag in it, too. *Riso,* Angelina explained, rice. I looked at it quizzically, still amazed by the hearth. “Oh,” she said, looking slightly sad, “*ne parle pas de francais*” in the worst French accent I’d heard since high school. I laughed, and told her, in Italian, that I understood her perfectly well, but I was left speechless by her super wicked bread oven.

I was officially over her shoulder for the rest of the meal. She was working at a big wooden table, covered with what looked like a sheet of dark canvas. It seemed she was making canvas ravioli. “Farina integrale?” -whole wheat- I asked, genuinely clueless as to what she was making. “No, no,” she said, “la pasta e fatto di segale.” Segale? What the hell is that? “Qual’e, singora?” “Segale,” she said, puzzled, “e segale.” Asking Angelo, who was **not** pleased that I was hanging out with his mother, only turned up more questions, since he didn’t know what *segale* was in English, and I didn’t know what it was in Italian, or French. Finally, we had some bread, and it all became clear.

Whole Wheat Pappardelle

“Holy shit,” I said, ever the ambassador, “This is the best rye bread I ever had!” Angelina lit up, “Segale!” And we had our answer.

Rye pasta ravioli stuffed with meat and nettles and sauced with cabbage. I’m a white kid from the suburbs; talk about a culture shock.

I didn’t have any rye flour lying around last night, but I had whole wheat, so I made *pappardelle*, one inch wide noodles, with *farina integrale*. They won’t roll as thin as regular pasta, none of those types of grains will, so get over it. They’re not as elastic, either, since they don’t have as much gluten. It’s ok, you’ll live, just handle the dough carefully. Besides, these are handmade, it’s not like they’re out of a box; they’re *supposed* to be snowflakes. I also had some tomato sauce I had made for the [gnocchi](http://omnivorousfish.com/node/199), so I was set to go.

I reduced some half and half with a little butter and a splash of brandy, then, when it was getting close to being able to coat a spoon, I dropped the pasta in the (finally) boiling water, added the tomato sauce and some pasta water to the sauce.

Before you ask, this is not *Salsa Aurora,* or Dawn Sauce. There is a famous Italian pink sauce so named, but it’s made out of mayonnaise and served with fish. Among Italians, something like this is usually called ‘salsa rosa.’

I took the just barely undercooked noodles out of the water, and dropped them straight into the sauce: no colander. A big skimmer, a fork or some tongs and a little chutzpah is all you need. Since I rolled the pasta by hand, with a wooden dowel on a wooden board, the sauce adhered to the pasta quite well. The sauce was a little “tight,” or thick, though, so I splashed a little of that magic pasta water into the sauce, and- skiddoo- onto plates, grated cheese and done.

I’ve been talking about pasta a lot lately, because I’ve been making pasta a lot lately. Why? I don’t know, but I’m not complaining.

Listening: Nickel Creek “When You Come Back Down” Nickel Creek
T-minus 9 days to [Falcon Ridge Folk Festival](http://falconridgefolk.com/). I am stoked.

If you wanted green or red pasta, you could blanch and mince a large handful of green or red chard and substitute it for half or one of the eggs. With the pumpkin ravioli, I often make them an almost violet shade of brown with a little cocoa powder. It’s pretty and if you make more than one kind, it’s easy to tell them apart in the freezer.

I took pictures this time, but I’m not in the mood to deal with Drupal Image right now. Look for photos soon.

The other day, the Agent came home from work and I cooked dinner for him. It sounds easy, doesn’t it? Well, in our world it’s not. It’s not easy when you’re living with the roommate from hell who thinks the kitchen should be cleaned no less than once a year. It’s hard when I’m on the road. It’s hard when he gets done work at 6:30 and I leave for work at 6:15. It’s hard when your whole life is in boxes. But for right now, it’s easy- and it’s nice.

Let’s talk about cranberry beans. They may or may not be botanically identical to Italian borlotti beans, but in the US, borlotti usually refers to a dried bean. There is also an American [heirloom breed](http://www.slowfoodusa.org/ark/cranberry_bean.html) called “true cranberry” and “red cranberry” beans. Apparently this variety is native to the Northeast, specifically Vermont, which is nice for them, although botanically they are only related to standard cranberry beans as shell beans. They’re those pods- if you don’t know- that you might have seen in the supermarket or farmstand that look like they’re moving at light speed: streaked with white, red, fuchsia, magenta and pink. Cranberry Bean Pods
When you shell them, they’re just as vibrant, spotted with all the colors of their pods. They’re easy to shell, too; just tear off the strings and the beans fall right out. If the photo gives you any indication, these are the most muted lot of cranberry beans I have ever seen. Cranberry Beans
This may or may not have to do with it being the end of the shell bean season. If anyone knows, please email me.

Beans and squash have a long history in Italian cooking. Everything from favas with early zucchini to cannellini beans with padana; they’re in it together. When I went to the market, I was hoping to pick up a cheese pumpkin, but it’s still a little too early and Stokes Farm had fantastic young butternut squashes, so here we are.

We drank a Bastianich Tocai Friulano 2004, a crisp, affordable white (it’s also the bar wine at Becco) and had some [Ciao Bello](http://www.ciaobellagelato.com/) pistachio gelato for dessert. It’s an easy two-pan midweek meal, Don’t forget to save your pasta water; it’s like good advice when you’re drunk: hazy, but important, though you might not know why.

(I’M NOT SURE WHY I FELT THE NEED TO TYPE THE INGREDIENTS IN ALL CAPS, BUT I’M NOT CHANGING IT NOW.)

Orecchiette With Cranberry Beans and Squash

Serves 2 as a main course, 3 or 4 as a first course.

1 SMALL BUTTERNUT SQUASH (or part of a sugar pie or cheese pumpkin or hubbard squash) PEELED, CUT INTO 1/2″ PIECES (2 TO 2-1/2 CUPS)
1-2 TBSN EXTRA VIRGIN OLIVE OIL
SALT
FRESHLY GROUND WHITE PEPPER
PINCH HERBES DE PROVENCE

1-1/2 CUP SHELLED CRANBERRY BEANS (FROM 3/4 POUND IN THE POD)
2 BAY LEAVES

8 OZ ORECCHIETTE
3 TBSN BUTTER
1/2-1 CUP PASTA WATER
3/4 CUP PECORINO ROMANO, PLUS MORE FOR SERVING
FRESHLY GROUND BLACK PEPPER

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Toss squash pieces in barely enough olive oil to coat them and sprinkle with salt, white pepper and a tiny pinch of herbes de provence. Place in the oven and roast for 25-45 minutes- stirring once or twice- until squash is caramelized all over and is just getting dark around the edges. Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

Bring two or three quarts of water to the boil in a saucepan. Add bay leaves and the beans and boil gently for 12-20 minutes, depending on the size of your beans and the time of the year. Drain them when they are just tender. Their color will fade while cooking.

Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. How much salt? I don’t know. I have heard the figure 1 tablespoon per quart, I have heard one tablespoon for two quarts. I look at how the salt disperses in the water, then I taste it. It should be almost as salty as seawater, just without the sewage. I will, however, come up with a figure for you at some point.

When your water is at a rolling boil, add the pasta and stir immediately. Cook the pasta, stirring frequently, until it is barely *al dente*, which means “to the tooth,” not “toothsome” as some people who shall remain nameless have put forth. It should yield to the bite, but be neither crunchy nor mushy. And remember, unless you are cooking fresh pasta or reheating previously cooked pasta *the only way to know if it is done is to taste it*, and frequently. If you have to err, err on the crunchy side; the pasta will continue to cook as you assemble the sauce.

Dip a pyrex or metal cup into the pasta pot and reserve 1 cup or more pasta water and drain the pasta. Return the pasta to the now dry pot and set over low heat. Add the butter and cheese, stirringly constantly, moving the pot on and off the heat if necessary so the pasta doesn’t stick. Add pasta water as needed or desired to make a saucy consistency. Stir in the beans and squash. Serve in hot bowls and grind black pepper over the top, and serve immediately with additional cheese on the side.