Emergency Pasta Addendum

One of my (two) loyal readers posted these questions today. I’ll make a post of them:

>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)

Whole Wheat Pasta, and the Swiss Scoutmaster

“A watched pot never boils,” they say and, man, even when you’re not watching that shit takes forever.

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.

Ravioli Out the Wazoo

We’ve got ravioli coming out the wazoo. Five more dozen Sunday, this time Swiss chard with ricotta, *ricotta salata*, parsley, grana and eggs. This recipe ran out with at least 12 more’s worth of dough to go, maybe next time more ricotta and some hardboiled eggs.

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.

Dinner at Home- Finally

It’s nice to be home again. I haven’t posted much because the Agent and I have been averaging about 6 bags of trash per day since I got back. Throwing out old stuff, cleaning other stuff, unpacking my stuff, etc. About half of my dishes are out and gleaming. 3/4 or so the *batterie de cuisine* is out and about. Next week the butcher block table arrives. The 50 bottle wine fridge is in place. It’s a rental so I’m dealing with the stove. Otherwise, life is good.

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.