Your Italian Grandmother

Did I remember to mention that I have tonight's dinner all planned out for you? Well, I do! Now, if you are partial to take-out or restaurant adventures on Friday nights, by all means, go right ahead. You can store this little gem in your arsenal and whip it out on an unsuspecting weeknight. Ha! We'll show you, you sneaky little weeknight! We'll make the best darn weeknight supper, and you'll see who the sly, clever one is around here! Just you wait and see.

If you are the type who has always wished for an Italian grandmother (and, really, who hasn't?), then this is the meal plan for you. It contains two important parts. While most Italian grandmothers are good at cooking and serving up lots of traditional fare, like braciole and zabaglione and stracciatelli (don't worry, I've never made any of those things, either), the thing that I really wanted an Italian grandmother for was the pasta. If you've seen in real life or on the television (um, that's real life, too, right?!) an Italian woman hand-crafting pasta, bent over a worn and loved chopping block or farmhouse table, expertly rolling out piece after piece of perfectly matching pasta, yellow with egg yolk and smooth as the moon, then you know. You know what it is you want. You want to be the little girl, standing between her grandmother's apron and the rounded table edge, small hands on the rolling pin ends, with those kitchen-wise hands cupped around yours, rolling together, with the lull of avanti e indietro, avanti e indietro, reminding you what is most important in life. After the rolling, then the cut-shape-toss, cut-shape-toss of the just-born pasta onto the pan that has been in the family for at least thirty-two generations, the little shapes all begging for a scalding bath and a new warm coat of rich, shining scarlet.

If you have ever wished to be this child (or even, for that matter, the non-Italian who marries into the Italian family) then you understand. If you are a boy or a man, or even in between, then I am sorry that you probably haven't seen too many Italian grandfathers and fathers shaping pasta, leading by example. But this, then, is to remind you that you, too, can do it. It's never too late. Ever. I am here because I want to tell you that you can make pasta. Yes, you. Without an Italian grandmother. Without special equipment. Without Italy, its rolling, lush green fields sweeping you up and the panna cotta calling your name. Without being the Italian granddaughter, or grandson, or son or daughter. In fact, this method is so simple, the process so undeniably fluid, that if you are even just a regular old American housecat with a dream, you can do it.

I didn't make pasta for a long time because I thought I needed (besides an Italian grandmother) lots of special equipment, metal rolling parts and cranks and special clips to hang it from the ceiling to dry. That is, until about four years ago, when I read an article in a magazine about handmade pasta, the kind that requires no more than a few simple ingredients and a few common kitchen vessels. I was sold! If it could be this easy (oh, and it IS) then my life would change forever!

I'm not sure that my whole life changed when I started making pasta, but I will tell you that every time I learn how to do something new, something on my own, I feel stronger and wiser and more prepared for the world. And this, I think, is what makes us better people -- the every day learning, the little (and big) pieces of ourselves that we pick up throughout the day and take home to sort out, like smooth stones or sea glass. This, plus, when I taught myself how to make pasta, I fulfilled a dream, and it felt like I had found one more piece of myself, one more smooth stone had found its way into my pocket. After all, I suppose that there's no way to get to our big-dreams if we don't make the little-dream steps. So, here we go. Here is your little dream, your piccolo sogno.

Come with me.

Okay, okay, first a disclaimer, before you get nervous about making pasta on a weeknight. I assure you that that last thing I want to do on most weeknights or Friday nights is make pasta. When I get home, and it's cold and already dark out, and I'm not sure that I even have it in me to crack an egg, let alone 10 of them, all I want to do is have something simple, and the crinkle of plastic as I open the gemelli or spaghetti is the best sound ever. But what I do want on these sorts of night is sauce. Good sauce. And I love things that can go into the pot, simmering away, while I go off and go something way more important, like, um, take pictures of it cooking, or have a glass of wine, or watch some Bones episode for the ninth time.

So, first I will tell you about this sauce, because it is easy and amazing. It will knock your socks off. You will serve it with any kind of pasta you like. If it is a weeknight, you may opt for a package of something (I've been partial lately to the long, thin tubes called bucatini, "little holed ones" -- there is also a wider version called perciatelli, from perciare, or, "to hollow"). The perciatelli is what's pictured above at the top. Most chain grocery stores carry so many kinds of pasta these days that it's usually not necessary to visit an Italian market, unless you want the artisanal stuff. If it is a weekend, you will feel more like making the pasta. If you make a few batches of the pasta, you can freeze it in plastic freezer bags, and then use that on your weeknight pasta night. Ha! Sounds like victory to me.

Perfect Red Sauce
adapted from various recipes from all the folks out there who adapted it from someone else's recipe (Still with me? Good.)

Okay. What you'll need to do now is either go to the grocery store or not. Confirm that you have the following five items:

+salt
+one small yellow onion or half of a medium one
+6 tablespoons of butter (unsalted or not)
+one 32-oz. can of good tomatoes (crushed, pureed, chopped, minced, whole -- whatever you like best)
+a pot that fits all these ingredients

By "good tomatoes" I mean that you should just like the flavor of the tomatoes straight out of the can. If they are good before they are cooked, they will be even better when they are cooked. If they start out bad, they will get worse. Some say that you should only use canned Italian tomatoes, but I think that's a bunch of hullabaloo. Sure, a lot of Italian canned tomatoes are really amazingly delicious, but there are also a lot of canned-in-America tomatoes that are just as good. (I like Dei Fratelli, which they usually have at the local Jewel.) Plus, there are some kinds of canned "Italian" tomatoes that are only parading as Italian tomatoes, and are actually produced in the U.S.! Oh, dear! Some varieties of canned "San Marzano" tomatoes are these sorts of imposters, so read your label, unless you don't mind being fooled, which is fine with me!

Now that you have these items, do this:
Empty the can of tomatoes into the pot. Peel the onion and cut it in half. Add it to the pot. (One entire medium size onion is perfect for onion-lovers. If you like the onion flavor to be a little milder, use either a small onion or half a medium onion. You could also probably use a red or white onion without any problem.) Add the 6 tablespoons of butter to the pot, plus a pinch or two of salt. Bring it to a low boil, and then turn it down to a gentle simmer. Keep it uncovered and stir every once in a while. Continue cooking for about 45 minutes, or until the onion has broken apart and little drops of fat on the surface of the sauce. It will smell good and taste good. If it needs more salt, add it now. Remove the onion pieces and either discard or save for a future project. Your sauce is done! Velvety, rich, and oh so pretty. Serve with pasta or just eat it all out of the pot, standing at the stove. If it's a weeknight, have a salad and some bread with it. If it's Friday night, then you are really tired and you are allowed to just have the pasta, all by itself.

Now that you have the first part of the Italian Grandmother Plan, you'll need the second part. The pasta. Here's what you need:
2 C flour
dash of salt
6 T water
1 1/2 T olive oil
5 egg yolks
(This is easily multiplied. I recommend making a double or triple batch. It's the kind of thing that, once you get into it, you might as well really get into it. And it's a really great thing to do with a group of friends or your family. You know, like a party activity for culinary nerds?)

Here's what you do:
Get out the food processor. If you don't have one, don't panic. Italian grandmothers in 1722 did not have food processors, and it's likely that many authentic Italian grandmothers don't even use one now, in 2010. If you have a bowl and a spoon, it will all work out fine.

Pulse the flour and salt together (or stir it). In a separate bowl, whisk oil, eggs, and water. Add this mixture gradually to the flour mixture, keeping the food processor on the whole time. (If you are stirring, just add half of it at a time.) It is done when it the dough makes a clump in the bowl -- it doesn't take very long! Remove dough, knead 5 times on the counter (yep, that's it!) and divide into two balls. Wrap each in plastic wrap and put them in the fridge for at least an hour, or more if you need to.

When you are ready to shape the pasta, lightly flour a few rimmed cookie sheets. Cut each dough ball into 8 pieces, and then roll each one into a long snake, about 1/2" in diameter. You can make any shape you want! For cavatelli, just roll small pieces in your finger for a second or two. For orecchiette ("little ears"), make little balls, then press your thumb down to make little saucers. It may help you to either study the shapes of pasta in the stores, or to research pasta shapes online. You can even make up your own shapes! Keep in mind that it is okay to make a dozen of one kind of shape, cover your dough, and cook your pasta to see if you like how the shape turns out. Experimenting with dough shapes is really the best part.

As you make each pasta piece, toss onto the floured pans, shaking every once in a while so they all get covered with flour and don't stick together. When you've finished shaping the pasta, transfer it to a colander, shaking gently over the sink or garbage can to get rid of excess flour. If you want to use it right away, then you are ready to do so! If you want to freeze it, you will need to transfer the pasta to freezer bags --it should be in single layers. You can also freeze the pasta on the pans, but your freezer will have to be wide enough to accommodate them. If you can cram your pans into the freezer, freeze the pasta for about an hour, or until firm. The, fill up bags or plastic containers with the pasta and return to freezer.

Cook your pasta! Boil a big pot of water. When it boils, add a little salt. Add the pasta. It will be done when it floats to the top (2-4 minutes, usually). Drain. Add the velvety sauce, or any other sauce. (You may want to just add olive oil and Parmigiano-Reggiano, so you can really taste your hard work.) Eat it all up, and then call all your friends. Tell them about how you just became an Italian grandmother. They will be so proud.