The Glorious Pasta of
Italy
Domenica Marchetti
Chronicle, 2011
L’autrice dell’articolo è una
signora americana della Virginia in viaggio per l’Italia con il
marito e due figli.
La Signora Domenica Marchetti
figlia di genitori italiani trapiantati negli Stati Uniti nel suo
articolo racconta che nel loro viaggio in Italia, si sono ritrovati
quasi per caso in Abruzzo, un luogo di incontaminata bellezza, e qui
hanno scoperto un caseificio dove si produce formaggio biologico.
Il produttore di tale formaggio è
Gregorio Rotolo, un omone grande e
grosso
che, quando sono arrivati, ha portato lei, il marito e i due loro
figli alla scoperta della sua azienda agro-biologica.
La Signora Domenica Marchetti
racconta che dopo aver fatto un giro di quasi due ore si sono
fermati al ristorante dell’azienda e guardando il menu, hanno
trovato che quel giorno si serviva un “raviolone gigante”.
All’inizio l’idea del “raviolone”
li aveva spaventati ma, tuttavia, più per curiosità che per altro
hanno voluto assaggiarlo e qui la scoperta è stata gustosamente
sorprendente.
La Signora Domenica Marchetti
stava scrivendo un libro di cucina e un nuovo sapore aveva
incuriosito non soltanto lei ma anche il marito e i figli.
Tornata in Virginia ha parlato e
scritto di Gregorio, del modo di fare formaggio, di cosa è la
ricotta, e soprattutto ha pubblicato la ricetta del “Raviolone”.
Nell’articolo racconta anche
che lei era abituata a cucinare i normali ravioli, le origini
italiane le facevano conoscere queste particolarità, ma i ravioli
che lei conosceva e cucinava non erano così appetitosi come quelli
della cucina di Gregorio, e poi perché non adottare la forma
“gigante”, hanno decisamente un aspetto e un sapore migliore.
Domenica Marchetti
The
Glorious Pasta of Italy
Chronicle, 2011
I dislike big food.
It’s a turnoff to me. I have no desire to be supersized or
doubled-down,
and I refuse to let my kids partake of food that’s defined more by
volume than flavor. You won’t find any of us chowing down on a
bucket of popcorn at the movie theater or slurping a Big Gulp or a
venti or
trenta or
quaranta or however
many ounces we’ve worked our way up to these days.
Yet, somehow, I
managed to fall in love with a giant
raviolo.
In my defense, I was
in Italy, where it’s possible to fall in love with anything from a
lone umbrella pine perched on a hillside to the 95-year-old
toothless contadina
who sells perfect baby zucchini with the blossoms still attached. At
the time, I happened to be in a place of rugged, unspoiled beauty:
an organic caseficio
(cheese farm) in Abruzzo.
The cheese maker, a
large man named
Gregorio Rotolo,
who’s as renowned for his distinctive sheep’s milk cheeses as he is
for the black woolen beanie he perpetually sports, gave my husband,
my kids, and me a tour of the place and a taste of his warm ricotta,
made just that morning and still draining in baskets. For a minute I
thought maybe the Rapture really had come and I’d been called up.
But then I opened my eyes and spied tables in the room adjacent to
the cheese shop. Turns out the farm also runs a family-style
restaurant. My husband and I looked at each other. We weren’t going
anywhere for at
least a couple of hours. The kids rolled their eyes in resignation.
Listed casually on
the menu was Raviolone.
Big raviolo. Big deal. More like big gimmick, I thought. We almost
didn’t order it, but my curiosity kicked in. I was, after all,
writing a book on the
pastas of Italy.
I was expecting a plate of oversized half-moons, each maybe the size
of an espresso saucer. But what arrived on a platter put my
imagination to shame. It was, indeed, one raviolo, as written on the
menu. A single raviolo that was nearly a foot long. As big as a
bistecca or a pounded
veal cutlet. It was shaped like a perfect half-moon, with a fluted
border, and dressed simply, with just a little tomato sauce and a
shower of cheese. It was filled with the farm’s same fresh ricotta
we’d just swooned over.
The four of us
marveled at it; then we divided and devoured it. The pasta was silky
and tender and the ricotta filling fresh and sweet. It was
outrageous and yet, at the same time, understated. It seemed,
suddenly, the most natural thing to find on the menu at this
restaurant tucked in these hills.
Of course there
existed such a wonderful form of ravioli. This was Italy.
I knew right then at
the table that I’d try to re-create this marvel at home. But it
wasn’t until I got back to my kitchen in Virginia that I actually
considered the logistics. How in the world would I assemble such a
large raviolo? How much filling would I need? How would I boil it?
And once it was cooked, how would I get it out of the water in one
piece?
I wish, for dramatic
effect, that I could tell you it took a heroic effort on my part to
master this pasta project, that I went through batch after batch of
dough and tubs of ricotta, that there was failure and frustration
before there was success.
But the truth is,
instead of being ridiculously difficult, it was almost easy. Okay,
maybe it was a little unwieldy the first one or two times, but
definitely not the daunting task that I’d anticipated. Getting the
thing out of the pot proved to be the biggest challenge, and even
that can be accomplished with relative ease thanks to a very large
skimmer.
When I cook
ravioloni for my
family, as I often do, I make one for each of us. It sounds
downright…piggish. But when you consider that a pound of pasta dough
yields just enough to make four
ravioloni, it’s
really no different than if I made lots of small ravioli or just
cooked a pound of dried pasta.
Plus, no matter how
crazy or cruddy the day has been, somehow sitting down to a dinner
of giant ravioli has a way of transporting us from our everyday
lives in suburban northern Virginia right back to Abruzzo—and my
realization that, yes, sometimes bigger
is better.
—Domenica Marchetti
LC Not-So-Giant
Ravioli Note: Domenica tells us you can make eight smaller ravioloni
for serving as a first course to eight people by dividing the
filling and dough into eight equal portions rather than four. You
could. But why would you?
Ravioloni Giant Recipe
Ingredients
For the filling
-
1 pound
sheep’s milk
ricotta cheese or drained cow’s milk ricotta cheese
-
1 cup
freshly grated
Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
-
1/2 cup
shredded ricotta salata
cheese
-
Kosher or fine sea salt
-
Freshly ground black pepper
-
2 large
eggs,
lightly beaten
For
assembling the giant ravioli
-
Semolina flour
for the work surface
-
1 batch
Fresh Egg Pasta Dough
-
2 cups
Simple Tomato Sauce
(I
prefer the smooth variation here)
-
Extra-virgin
olive oil for drizzling
-
Freshly grated
Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
for sprinkling
1. Place the ricotta
in a large bowl and work it with a spatula until fluffy and sort of
smoothish. Fold in the Parmigiano, ricotta salata, 1/2 teaspoon
salt, and a little pepper. Taste and add additional salt, if you
like. Fold in the eggs just until combined. Cover and refrigerate
while you prepare the pasta dough. (You can refrigerate it for for
up to 2 days.)
2. Cover a large
workspace with a clean tablecloth or several flour sack towels and
sprinkle the cloth with the semolina. Have on hand a fluted pastry
wheel for cutting the ravioloni, a wide spatula for moving them, and
a small bowl or glass of water for sealing them.
3. Cut the pasta
dough into 4 equal pieces. Wrap 3 pieces in plastic wrap and set
aside. Roll out the remaining piece of pasta dough on a lightly
floured work surface until it’s about 1/16 inch thick and 28 or so
inches long. Cut the dough in half crosswise to make two strips,
each about 14 inches long. Spoon 1/4 of the ricotta filling onto the
center of one strip and use the back off the spoon to spread it into
a half-moon shape, leaving a generous border. Using your fingertips,
spread a little water on the border around the filling. Place the
second strip of dough over the first and gently press around the
filling and along the edges to force out any air bubbles and to
seal. If you have a fluted pastry wheel, use it to trim around the
edges to create a ravioli in the shape of a half-moon about 9 inches
long. Otherwise use a knife. Use the wide spatula to transfer the
raviolone onto the flour-dusted cloth. Repeat with the remaining
dough and ricotta filling, discarding any pasta scraps. (If you’re
serving the ravioloni the same day, you can leave them out on the
tablecloth for up to 2 hours before cooking. The uncooked ravioloni
may also be frozen. Just divide them between 2 semolina-dusted
rimmed baking sheets, taking care they do not touch. Freeze until
firm, about 1 hour. Transfer each to a large resealable plastic bag
and return to the freezer for up to 1 month. Cook them directly from
the freezer.)
4. Bring a large pot
of water to a boil. Salt the water generously. Carefully lower 2
ravioloni into the pot. Cover the pot until the water returns to a
boil, then uncover and cook for 5 to 7 minutes, until al dente.
Using a wide skimmer, very carefully lift the ravioloni out of the
pot one at a time, letting the excess water drip off. Place the
ravioloni on individual plates and cover lightly with aluminum foil
to keep warm while you cook the remaining two ravioloni in the same
way. (Or you can transfer the plates of cooked ravioloni to a
low-temperature oven to keep them warm.)
5. Spoon a thin
layer of smooth tomato sauce over each raviolone, then dribble a few
drops of oil over each one. Sprinkle lightly with Parmigiano and
serve immediately. |