The Umbrian Thursday Night Supper Club (37 page)

 

THE METHOD

Don't even think of using a food processor for this simple, less than a minute, procedure. It will do you and your hands such good to get in there and
feel
what you're doing. In a medium bowl, mix the dry ingredients by tossing them together for a few seconds until the yellow and white flours are blended. Add the crushed fennel seeds. With a fork, stir the oil and wine together in a small bowl, beating the mixture as you would an egg. Pour it all at once over the dry ingredients and mix together with that same fork or your hands until blended. Knead the mixture in the bowl six or eight times. Leave it to rest for 30 minutes in a cool place covered with a kitchen towel while you get to the
olivada
.

 

THE METHOD

Though I pound away at this mass in a large stone mortar with a wooden pestle, a food processor would be more convenient if far less satisfying.

Place the prunes in the warmed Cognac or brandy for 15 minutes until they soften and plump. Place all the elements, save the oil, into the food processor bowl fitted with a steel blade and pulse until a coarse paste is achieved. With the motor running, begin to pour, drop by drop, the good oil into the mixture until it thickens, emulsifies and turns glossy.

Scrape the paste into a bowl and cover it with plastic wrap, leaving it in a cool place to rest while the Cognac ripens. Refrigeration simply stultifies the flavours and renders the paste like something from a tin. Why the prunes? Because the natural brine in which the olives have been aged is salty. On the tongue, one hardly notices even a whiff of prune but gets rather a sensual, richer, less-aggressive taste of olives.

TO ASSEMBLE THE TART

Generously oil a 30 centimetre metal tart tin (preferably with a removable base) and press the cornmeal pastry into it, taking care to knuckle the dough evenly over the bottom and sides of the tin. Place a sheet of baking paper over the crust, weight the paper with dried beans (or river stones collected from along the Tiber and kept for this purpose) and place it in the freezer for 15 minutes while preheating the oven to 180°C/350°F.

Bake the shell for 12–15 minutes until it begins to shrink away from the sides of the tin. Remove the baking paper and the weights and continue to bake the crust until it's golden, another 10 minutes or so. Leave the oven on. Allow the crust to cool for 10 minutes, spread the
olivada
evenly over the bottom, as extravagantly or as moderately as you wish. Remember the paste is rich. Should you end up with some to spare, spoon the
olivada
into a glass jar with a screw top and save it in the pantry. Use it over the next day or so to sauce pasta or to spread on toasted bread. Now put the tart back into the oven for 3–4 minutes, just to ‘set' the paste. Take it out and leave it to cool a bit. Unmould the tart and serve it at room temperature or leave it in its tin and cut it at table.

If, at the end of a good supper, you've had the orgasmic pleasure of placing a shard or two of gorgeous bitter chocolate (70–99% cacao) in your mouth, allowing it to barely begin melting before tipping your glass to sip the last of the fine red wine which you've drunk with that supper, and then – eyes closed and silent – let the two elements find their way to one another and finally to wander slowly, voluptuously down your throat, you will understand what to expect from this esoteric-sounding dish.

As the narrative recounts, cooking dried pasta in water is a relatively upstart method, it having for centuries been softened in wine or broth. There are any number of methods to cook pasta in wine but it's this unfussy way which, I think, yields the best results. Should there be a Ninuccia-type figure in your life who would dare you to produce a 15 kilo dose of the stuff, refuse.

(As a primo or first course with other courses to follow; recipe may be doubled successfully if the pasta is to be served to six as the main plate.)

 

THE METHOD

Bring 7 litres of water to the boil, heaving in a fistful of coarse salt just as it begins to roll. Add the pasta, stirring well until the water resumes the boil. Quickly drain the pasta after 3 minutes. While waiting for the water to boil, pour 240ml of red wine in to a small saucepan and warm it over a slow flame without letting it approach the boil; add the 35 grams of unsalted butter, stir to melt in the warm wine, and grind in several vigorous turns of the pepper grinder. Keep the buttered, peppered wine warm over a quiet flame.

In a very large sauté pan or a very large shallow pot over a medium flame, melt 125 grams of butter, add olive oil, then stir in the ginger and cinnamon/clove mixture to perfume the oil. Add the par-boiled, drained pasta. With a wooden spoon, move the pasta about in the perfumed oil to coat each piece. Turn the heat to high and, without stirring, allow the pasta to begin taking on some colour and to form a golden crust. After about 2–3 undisturbed minutes, give the pasta a good stir so that more of it can have the benefit of the heat and begin to take on colour and crust. The process of ‘pan-toasting' the pasta will want anywhere from 6 to 8 minutes, depending upon the size of the pan. Now begins the dosing with the wine.

From the bottle, pour in about 60ml, give the pasta a stir and, still over a high heat, allow the pasta to drink in the wine. Give the pasta the next dose when the wine has been thoroughly absorbed. Repeat the dosing and absorbing until the pasta is properly al dente. In most cases, the entire bottle of wine will be needed to achieve this texture. Should the texture be reached before the bottle is empty, pour what remains of it into the cook's glass.

Now add the reserved buttered, peppered wine to the hot, hot pasta and toss and toss, glossing the pasta, plumping it in its final dose of wine. You'll recall that this last dose of wine has only been heated and thus its alcohol has not gone to steam – another reason not to stint on the quality of the wine in the dish or in the glass. I am not suggesting a 1998 Pomeral, for instance, but an honest red with more muscle than fruit.

Immediately ladle the pasta into warmed deep plates and, with a vegetable peeler, shave curls of the chocolate over each plate.

A truly ancient ritual bread made once a year to celebrate the harvesting of the grapes, there are as many ways to put it together as there are women who have and who still do bake it. The single commonality is the rite which dictates that the eldest and the youngest members of a family – holding the secateurs together – cut the first of the grapes while the winemaker's wife stands at the ready with a fine white cloth in which to take the grapes and carry them to her kitchen. This ceremony signifies continuity, the passing down of ‘life' from generation to generation. They actually cut a branch or an arm of grapes on which hang several bunches. This is not only for convenience, since more than a single bunch is necessary for the bread, but also because the grape-stripped branch and the attached leaves are used to decorate the finished bread.

Once the grapes are in the kitchen, the breadmaker's own fantasy and instinct prevail as long as the result is both sweet and salty,
dolce salata
. The taste of life itself.

This harvest bread is distinctly perfumed with rosemary, anise and fennel, while the grapes which are laid on it are again perfumed and then generously sugared and peppered, the sugar forming a kind of crust in the oven which, when broken in the mouth, gives forth a burst of warm luscious juices.

 

THE METHOD

In a large bowl, soften the yeast in the lukewarm wine with 1 tbsp of the dark brown sugar. Cover lightly with a kitchen towel and allow the yeast to activate for 5 minutes. Stir in 160 grams of the flour and, once again, cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and allow the yeast to further activate for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, gently warm 240ml of oil over a low heat, adding the rosemary, fennel and anise seeds and a few generous grindings of pepper. Do not overheat the oil; cover the saucepan, set aside and allow the herbs to perfume the oil.

Now, returning to the sponge, add the remaining flour, the sea salt, 60 grams of dark brown sugar, one-half of the perfumed, cooled oil with one-half of its seeds and finally, add the eggs. Incorporate the elements with a wooden spoon or, better, your impeccably clean hands. You may never use a food processor for breadmaking again. Turn the mass out onto a lightly floured pastry marble or work surface and knead in a forceful slapping–turning motion for as long as 8 minutes or until a satiny, elastic texture is achieved. Wash and dry the bowl and pour in the 1 tbsp of oil; place the worked dough into the bowl and turn it about until it's well coated with the oil. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and then cover the wrapped bowl with a folded tablecloth or a few layers of kitchen towels. I keep a small quilt, once my son's carriage blanket, for this use. We are, after all, in pursuit of continuity here.