Pasta

Here is a delicious pasta recipe, another example of the Roman affinity for offal. Whether tripe (trippa) or paiata (pasta sauce made with the stomach of a suckling lamb); or oxtails braised with tomatoes, celery and carrots (coda alla vaccinara), a true Roman meal is bound to include one of them. So what’s a little chicken liver with pasta, as in this dish? The Romans love it and have been enjoying it for centuries, so why shouldn’t you?

Here is a classic pasta, as delicious as it is simple and fast. But because it is such a minimalist creation, every ingredient is of utmost importance. Use a very good authentic pecorino, one produced in Lazio (the Italian region where Rome is located), Tuscany, or Sardinia. The cheese is at its best when aged only 8 to 10 months. And grind the black peppercorns just before making the dish—I like to crush the black pepper by hand in a mortar, into coarse bits that explode with flavor as I enjoy the pasta.

One would think that fresh pasta is a northern-Italian phenomenon, and in general northerners do eat more fresh pasta than dry, whereas southern Italians consume more dry. But the Roman tradition is to have freshly made tagliatelle as a Sunday treat. And in most cases it is served with cibreo—the giblets of a freshly killed chicken.

As with the preceding duck recipe, either a whole rabbit or rabbit pieces can be used for this sauce. If you’re getting a whole rabbit, ask the butcher to cut it into eight or ten pieces, or do it yourself, just cutting between the joints. (If you have my book Lidia’s Family Table, look at the photos on page 321 to see how to cut up a rabbit.) If you can find rabbit legs, hind and/or front, they would be even better for this recipe. As with the duck, the legs have more meat, are easier to handle, and cost less. Serve this sauce with pappardelle, following the procedures in the duck recipe, or with gnocchi, polenta, or dry pasta.

When duck is braised for sauce in Maremma, pappardelle is the pasta of choice. Therefore, I encourage you to make your own fresh pappardelle, following my recipe here. (Of course, the sauce will be delicious on other fresh pastas, gnocchi, or polenta; and pappardelle is great with other dressings too!) I also recommend using duck legs for this dish rather than a whole duck, as I think they’re tastier and make a better sauce. If you don’t see packaged duck legs, ask your butcher to special-order them for you.

Tortelli are ravioli by another name—a square, filled pasta. And though they vary greatly, like all pastas, tortelli often are filled with fresh ricotta and spinach or other greens, herbs, or vegetables. In Maremma, where carnivorous appetites rule, such a meatless approach is not typical. As you’ll find in this set of recipes, tortelli maremmani have meat inside and outside—and lots of it. Fried chopped chicken livers plump up the tortelli, in addition to ricotta and spinach. Once cooked, the tortelli are dressed with a typical ragù maremmano, made with three chopped meats slowly cooked in tomatoes. My friend Alma likes best boar, chicken, and pork, but here I call for veal, pork, and sausage, because I find that combination comes close to the complexity of the boar. Of course, if you can get boar, by all means use it. This is a great pasta, and worth all the stirring and stuffing. However, it is not necessary to make everything here and put the ingredients together in just one way. The components of tortelli maremmani give many options for delicious meals (and convenient advance preparation). For instance, it’s fine to make the filling and the pasta for the tortelli and leave the ragù for another day. You can sauce your tortelli simply with sage butter, pages 49–50, or just shower them with Tuscan olive oil and Pecorino Toscano. On the other hand, go right to the ragù recipe—skip the tortelli—and make this marvelous sauce to dress any pasta, fresh or dry, or polenta or gnocchi. Indeed, the ragù recipe makes enough for two or more meals. Toss a couple of cups of ragù with spaghetti for a fabulous (and fast) supper one night, and freeze the rest. It will still be perfect whenever you do get a chance to roll and fill those plump tortelli maremmani.

This skillet pasta is the epitome of good everyday Italian cooking. It is fast—everything, including the dried gramigna pasta, cooks in less than 10 minutes. The ingredients are right out of the pantry and fridge. And when you put them all together—the textures and tastes are in perfect balance. When dishes are so simple, every ingredient is very important. Here the feel and texture of curly gramigna pasta plays an important role, so do try to find it (see Sources, page 340). Other pastas, such as elbows, shells, or small pennette, will be delicious, but gramigna is used in Maremma, and I love it.

Agnolotti del plin, or agnolotti with a pinch, is the quintessential Piedmontese stuffed pasta, served in starred restaurants and the simplest of trattorias throughout the year. But if you happen to be in the Alba area in the late autumn, don’t fail to order the agnolotti, because every eating establishment will be shaving white truffle over them. And when blanketed with white Alba truffles, this always delicious dish is raised to an even greater height of flavor. In Piedmontese homes, agnolotti del plin is often made with small amounts of any roast-meat leftovers, whether beef or pork, poultry or game, chopped and seasoned to serve as an impromptu filling for golden tajarin dough. For big occasions (and in restaurants, of course), meat is roasted specifically for the filling, as in the recipe here. But if you happen to have one or more kinds of tasty leftover roast, by all means use it (you’ll need a couple of cups of shredded meat, trimmed of gristle, to make a full batch). And even if you don’t have a white truffle, a simple dressing of sage-infused butter is a lovely complement to the flavors of the meat filling and the rich egg pasta.

When you have a white truffle, enjoy it just as they do in Alba, with golden tajarin. If fresh truffle is unavailable, packaged truffle butter makes a nice dressing for the pasta too (see Sources, page 340). Should you have no truffle at all, tajarin with only butter and Grana Padano or Parmigiano-Reggiano will be simply luxurious, if not quite ethereal.

Thick and chewy, with the nuttiness of whole wheat, bigoli is the signature pasta of the Veneto. At Ristorante Celeste in Venegazzu, outside of Treviso, Giuliano Tonon taught me how to extrude fresh dough into strands with a torchio, the traditional hand press. But bigoli is not only a restaurant treat—most home cooks in the region have a torchio in the kitchen and make bigoli every week! Happily, this pleasure is now available to Americans since I have found a genuine torchio for sale on the Internet (see Sources, page 340). Bigoli can also be made with an electric pasta-extruder or a meat grinder. The two traditional sauces on the following pages are packed with flavor. With homemade bigoli, they each make a big, gutsy pasta, very worth the effort and very Venetian. (And if you can’t make your own bigoli, whole wheat spaghetti will be delicious with either sauce.)

Offelle are just like ravioli, but what encloses the filling is potato dough rather than pasta dough, which lends a special soft texture. Here’s how I coordinate the elements of this recipe so everything comes together perfectly. First I cook and rice the potatoes for the dough (as in the preceding recipe). While they’re cooling, I make the sausage-spinach filling and let it cool. Then I mix the dough, roll it out, and stuff it to form plump offelle.

Roast goose is a festive dish throughout all of northern Italy, but the Istrian tradition of serving goose with mlinzi reflects the culinary customs of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. And though roast goose by itself is utterly delicious, to have a forkful of mlinzi at the same time, drenched with sauce, is absolute bliss. Mlinzi are a simple form of homemade pasta, with an unusual distinction. After the fresh dough is rolled into thin sheets, it is baked in a low oven until crisp and toasted gold. The stiff sheets are later cracked into jagged shards and cooked like ordinary pasta. As a result, mlinzi are more porous and seem to drink up their dressing—in this dish, the richly flavored sauce made from the goose’s roasting juices. The baking also imparts a lovely nutty flavor to the pasta, which complements the dark meat deliciously. That’s why roast goose and mlinzi are a match made in heaven. This is a large, festive meal and does require considerable time and attention. It is best done in stages, the mlinzi prepared and baked a couple of days in advance (see page 20) so you can focus on roasting the goose and making the sauce.

This is typical of Istrian preparations for the abundance of fresh seafood that blesses the region—fast, simple, and full of flavor. The longest step is cutting the pasta dough into diamond-shaped pasutice, which can be done hours ahead or frozen way in advance. (And though pasutice is the optimal and traditional pasta, linguine would be a fine substitute.) For the sauce itself, the cooking takes just minutes. Use your widest skillet, so the shellfish sauté and caramelize quickly in the dry pan, then cook them only briefly in the liquid, or they will become rubbery.

This is a thoroughly traditional Istria-style pasta, the very best of its kind. The sauce, or sugo, is the kind of long-cooking sauce my grandmother made, patiently, from a tough courtyard hen, rooster, or rabbit. It would perk on the stove forever, or so it seemed: whenever I thought it was done, she would pour in a little more broth and let it cook longer. Finally, though, the sugo would be finished—velvety in texture, dense with meat, and rich with flavor. Then Nonna Rosa would use it to dress her handmade fuzi—little quill-like cylinders of fresh pasta. Though the sugo and fuzi would be delicious in other pairings, to me they are meant to go together, and that’s how I give them to you here. Today’s sugo will not take forever. With a smallish hen—organically raised and free-ranging, for the best flavor and nutrition—it takes only a couple of hours to make a thick, brothy sauce with concentrated flavor. For taste, texture, and convenience too, I recommend that you make the sugo the day before serving, so the flavor permeates the meat. The fuzi can be made a few hours ahead and kept at room temperature (or frozen long in advance, as detailed on page 20). If you want to make and serve everything in one day, mix the dough, start the sugo, then form the fuzi while the sauce is cooking.

Makaruni are traditional in Istria, a kind of pasta made when there was no time to roll, cut, and shape it. Rolling little pieces of dough between the palms of one’s hands was quick and effective. My grandmother and other women of her generation were expert makaruni-makers. In no time, they would take a big batch of pasta dough and turn it into slim little noodles. Instead of rolling the bits of dough back and forth for a second or two, my grandmother could compress and stretch a piece of dough into a perfect makaruni with one swipe of her hands—and flick it right onto her floured tray in the same movement. Forming makaruni is truly simple, and once you start rolling, you’ll quickly become proficient. Today, as when I was a child, the whole process is fun, so get the family to help and the makaruni will be done fast. And in a few minutes you’ll enjoy the great taste and texture of your handiwork. This delicious sauce is traditionally made with gallinacci, or chanterelles, though other mushrooms can be used. Makaruni are also wonderful with the amatriciana sauce of tomato and bacon on page 228.

If there is a comfort food for teens, it’s mac and cheese. Spenser and Shelbi absolutely love it! These little mac-and-cheese cups are both fun to make and great to eat. Adding panko bread crumbs creates a nice crunch that will satisfy adults as well.