Pasta alla Norma

I often think of Sicily, though I've never been there.  From scenes of Corleone in the Godfathers (scenes I think were actually shot in Savoca on the other side of the island), to books on the burgeoning scene of reactionary wine makers going back to contadino roots, I really want make a trip of it some day.  For now though, I keep reading up and drinking the island's biodynamic wines, allowing me to sip what Sicily might taste and smell like, now or 50 years ago.

Norma's pasta is comprised of elements you'd find from Rome to Tunisia, but in the romantic way Italians like to identify time honored dishes, it's an ode to Bellini's heroine from the opera of the same name.  I won't pretend to know much about that though. I used to think it was called pasta all nonna (grandmother), which would have probably had a nicer back story for me, but maybe some day I'll be more into opera.    

Anyway, something kind of wonderful happens when the strands of pasta, just thinly coated with tomato in my version, dance in your mouth with the bitter/sweet fried eggplant and the bold creaminess of good ricotta salata, or fresh feta, which I used.

My advice would be to get smaller eggplants, Japanese, graffiti, something without too many seeds.  And, for me at least, good ricotta salata can be hard to come by around the shire...the brands I often find are chalky and dry, not akin to my fond recollections of what it should be, which is a little moist and not too crumbly.  So I opted for a fresh goat's milk feta recently, which I thought worked beautifully; tangy and salty, a little going a long way.  Look for fresh stuff, often packaged in brine.

Fry eggplant, 3 smallish ones, in the usual way: cut them, skin on, into 1 inch cubes, toss with an abundant amount of salt, and lay them out on something perforated, or in a colander, for instance, for 45-90 minutes so that some of the brown water drains out.  Then rinse them with cold water and pat dry to eradicate any excess liquid.  Heat 1 1/2 to 2 inches of frying oil of your choice in a heavy pot, and fry the eggplant, in batches, until golden brown, then drain on absorbent paper.  You shouldn't need to salt them since they retain some from the initial salting, but season as you feel necessary.

Make a quick tomato sauce by sauteing 2 medium cloves of garlic, thinly sliced or minced, in abundant olive oil (I don't know a measurement, so I'll say like 4 full gyrations of the bottle into the fry pan) with a few pinches of hot pepper flakes, and before the cloves even begin to brown, add 1 32 oz. can San Marzano tomatoes, by hand, separating the whole pieces and breaking them up, reserving the excess liquid.  If you like a saucy sauce, something that will coat the pasta to a degree beyond salad dressing to greens, then add the tomato liquid previously reserved (remember though that you can increase sauciness at the end of the dish with pasta water).  This only needs to cook 15-20 minutes, then season to taste with salt, and pepper if you like.

Cook 1 lb. of pasta in well salted water (almost any kind of dried pasta will work except for really small shapes), and when al dente, toss in the pan in which you made the sauce, or in a serving bowl to coat, adding pasta water if necessary, for the right consistency.  Throw in a good handful of fresh basil, torn by hand, and some glugs of extra virgin olive oil for good measure.  Then either gently fold the delicate eggplant into the pasta, or just serve it atop each plating, allowing the diners to mix it in themselves.  Grate or crumble ricotta salata or feta on top and serve.

Thinking About Nusco: White Bean & Escarole Soup with Spicy Polenta

I often think about my stint at La Locanda di Bu...It was this exact time of year in 2005, days after I'd rung in the new year back home in the States.  Jetted off to Italy, right into my first "stage" in a town I had never heard of before, some damn place about sixty miles due east of Napoli.  Little did I know that the hills of Irpinia, on which the little hamlet of Nusco is perched, are nothing like the sunny and palm tree replete scenery of the coast.  To be fair it was winter when I arrived, and apparently the worst one in fifty years for Europe.  It snowed pretty much every week of January and February, making it impossible for patrons to undertake the hike required to come from more populated places to the little forty seater Chef/Owner Antonio Pisaniello runs.   

Being snowed in with nowhere to go more often than not, coupled with my work for food and board arrangement, not much else to do but be in the kitchen.  It was tough to be so isolated, lacking the freedom of movement I am so used to back home, and I never got used to it.  An overnight to Rome between storms seemed like an escape from prison.  But the experience was a good one, mostly in hindsight; incredibly fruitful in learning about the kitchen, the principles of that area's cooking, and southern Italian culture.  I realize now how fortunate I am to have done that in my lifetime, because it was a profound experience, something I'll never forget. 

Toward the end of my Winter in Nusco, all of us from La Locanda went up to Rome, paid for by wine producer Mastroberardino, to cater a wine and dine event showcasing what Irpinia had to offer in those respects.  We were set up at the Cittá del Gusto, which is a big event center run by Gambero Rosso, who, in Italy, is the equivalent of Zagat, Bon Appétit and Wine Spectator rolled into one.

The dish I am talking about here was our restaurant's primo course for the evening.  It was an interesting concept because polenta is not historically a part of southern Italian food.  But it was signature Locanda di Bu in the application of the ingredients, the simplicity but expert marriage of flavors and textures.  Despite not requiring any serious technique, it does involve several steps and separate elements eventually brought together, but it is easily manageable.            

        

'Tonino is a great chef; creative, ballsy and deeply connected to the land from which he derives his cuisine.  What strikes me about his dishes is the paucity of ingredients he uses.  When you get things like ridiculously fresh mozzarella and ricotta, animals raised by people you know personally and produce that's almost exclusively local, it makes so much sense.  But we urbanites and suburbanites here have access to increasingly good products, so we can come close with the right amount of restraint and technique to create dishes that are almost as satisfying.

Chef and I had our differences, stemming primarily from my lack of credentials in the kitchen and my culture shock, but toward the end of the experience I was able to show him that I had absorbed a lot of what I was immersed in.

The recipe from bonappetit.com

Notes on the recipe: I feel fairly certain that when we executed this dish in Rome the beans were completely pureed.  That will yield something like the picture above, but you can partially puree or not puree anything, as the linked recipe suggests.  Whatever you do with the beans, keep the escarole in whole form.    

As for the polenta, in Italy we used and the recipe calls for the instant kind.  I almost never use it, just because.  Real polenta will take significantly longer than the five minute instant kind, but don't be fooled into the myth that it needs to be stirred incessantly like the rice in risotto.  In fact, once you've whisked the cornmeal into the liquid and prevented lumps from forming, just leave it be on the lowest heat setting you can, adding and stirring a ladle of liquid in every ten minutes or so, and let it go.  It can stay like that for an hour or three hours without any problems, in the background while you do other things.  Just make some extra prosciutto broth the recipe calls for.