Introduction

If you lean in and really listen to the Baron, you’d swear he was getting drunk. I’ve seen the transformation before, when textbook Italian starts to ebb into marble-mouthed dialect, the linguistic synapse of a storyteller traveling back in time. First it was only a word of dialect here and there as we discussed the dishes of his childhood, but the last hour has had me squinting and hanging onto his every word, the way you might really grip the steering wheel while driving through a really thick fog.

‘Before there was so little, so very, very little’, he says, he eyes beginning to tear. ‘We always had just enough but those in the community struggled in ways that I think would be difficult to really imagine today. Unless you know real hunger, I mean real, real hunger- and for years at time- I don’t think the food down here is readily obvious. At least not from outside looking in anyway.’

I pour myself some more wine and disagree with him, at least in theory. I run a cooking school here in the Salento and those that come love the food of the region, for its pure flavours, never needing any of the back story to access the dishes on their own merit. The Baron falls silent for a moment and cocks his head to the side and eats a forkful of his Cecamariti, the way you might half-heartedly attempt to study a picture of your own mother, trying to forget who she is.

‘It’s good’, he says. ‘But I don’t think I can really taste it without also tasting the doorway back.’ He smacks his lips and takes another bite, holding his head low, as if he were in church.

I’ve decided to start my blog about the food of the Salento with the Baron because I believe that you, the reader, believe that the traditional food of the South of Italy is still being made by the poor, the uneducated, the rural and those that many of us would be tempted to call ‘peasants’. ‘Every morning in Italy, all the little old ladies wake up and begin to make everything fresh from scratch’. 

The opposite is more often the truth.

Traditional food in Italy is the process of flip-flopping, where the real luxury today is finding the time to make things from scratch for those you love. Traditional food is being kept alive by those that know enough to love it, that understand that there is always something more to any dish, beyond a list of its ingredients.  And that was what was really happening inside the Baron's mouth as he chewed. 

lunedì 28 aprile 2008

Spaghetti With Clams.


Gli spaghetti con le vongole.

I’m almost embarrassed to include this recipe but I’m asked for it so often that it clearly belongs here, all the same. It’s actually a master recipe again, able to be adapted to so many dishes that it tears at the walls of being a recipe at all.

But it’s also a lesson in producing a factory pasta dish as good as any you’ll find in Italy. First, start with excellent base ingredients: good oil, plenty of water for the pasta, fresh parsley, freshly dried chillis (as opposed to your spice rack left over from college). Then just follow basic Pan-Italian principles. Don’t break the pasta. Don’t add oil. Stir it a lot the first minute. Use plenty of water. Really, really salt it. Pull the pasta early, add it to the ‘rue’. Pull it when it’s properly cooked. If it has fish or shell fish in the sauce, don’t add cheese. Keep it simple, think ‘perfect and less’, versus ‘confused but more’.

Keep in mind that pasta is a textural thing, so anything that changes that will destroy the dish. 30 seconds too long in the water produces sadness as certain as humid crackers or overly-cooked fresh tuna.

Do any of that wrong and you’ll soon have the crime and punishment conveniently located in the same dish. But do it right and you’ll have the world’s most perfect food, a dish so transcendent as to make you feel the height of cleverness each time you sit down to a plate of it.

A good quality pasta, such as spaghetti. I buy mine with the longest cooking time available. (Don’t assume anything : Barilla might be Italy’s number one brand but the stuff sold in the States is made in Wisconsin and it always comes out mushy, etc. Pasta in England and Ireland also cooks up mushy. Spain is the worst. Also, before you trust any of the consumer-based test kitchens, really, really read what they were testing for: often they fixate on the opposite qualities sought after here in Italy, such a ‘bite’ and firmness.

Salt. Don’t use expensive sea salt. Use the cheapest, so that you won’t skimp. Most of it goes down the drain all the same.
Fresh garlic.
Best olive oil possible
Dry white wine.
Dried chilli flakes (more to pass at table, and/or your homemade chilli oil)
Fresh clams (or shrimp, mussels, cockles, sea snails, scampi, etc).


Place covered large pot of water over biggest hob (burner) and bring to a boil. Decide how much garlic flavour you’d like, keeping in mind that shellfish tends towards the delicate (and isn’t cheap, either) so you don’t want to cover up the subtler flavours. Put large sauté pan over hob and coat bottom with oil. Add 10, whole peeled garlic cloves (remembering that counterintuitive nugget that the larger the piece, the subtler the flavour), and bring up to a sizzle and turn off (You want to flavour the oil, not cook the garlic, so ‘sauteing’ isn’t really the case here).
Place a large handful of salt into the pasta water, drop the pasta (when in doubt, have the person who dunks the pasta also salt the water, to avoid any confusion).

Relight the sauté pan’s burner. Drop in the pasta and stir every 10 seconds or so for the first minute. Add the clams and giggle the pan every so often. Add some chilli peppers, less versus more. The clams should take about 4 minutes to open, depending on size and species. Test pasta. You’re looking to see that the white core just starts to fade, or about two minutes less than the package says. Add a cup of white wine, to the clams, it should sizzle. Dump pasta water, but don’t turn off hob and return pasta to pot. Pour clam mixture over pasta, add a glug of raw oil and keep stirring until the pasta tastes perfect, careful not to let it stick to the bottom of the pan. Should be about a minute total. Make sure everyone is at the table, waiting for the pasta (never the other way around). Remove from heat and add a generous handful of parsley and then add some more (it disappears over the pasta). Using tongs, pile pasta onto serving plate, followed by the clams at the end. You want the seafood to be on top and obvious. Do not add cheese. Serve immediately.

Serve with a high-acid white, the colder the better.


Ps. If you prefer cappelletti or ‘Angel’s hair’ pasta, disregard this recipe completely. You’d hate the outcome.

1 commento:

lindamay ha detto...

Silvestro I've put your blog straight into my 'favourites' already and I shall be a loyal reader! So nice to hear from you -and your lovely recipes transport me straight back to beautiful Lecce xx