Sometimes people grow to disappoint you. So is the case with the young man I wrote this story about. The story, though no longer the man, is still good... "He" will now just remain faceless and unnamed.
"He" is at his kitchen counter making pasta by hand. I watch, eager to learn... the same way he watched and learned from his grandfather who alone raised him... make the family pasta. I am struck by the calm that has transformed this man from avid thrill-seeker to contemplative pasta-historian.
When I’d first met him two years prior, he was a well regarded motorcycle test driver, riding the newest and fastest of racing bikes in a daily defiance of death that only the young seem able to fully muster. Then, the deepest set fear became reality when a near fatal crash left him to suffer 2 years of grueling rehabilitation and having to learn to walk again.
There is no pasta “machine”… only a small extruder, worn from years of use, clamped to the counter and his strong hands to work the dough. He combines powder white Italian OO flour (which gives the dough increased elasticity) with the all important semolina flour, a couple eggs, and a drizzle of olive oil. He works the mass into a smooth elastic dough, all the while recounting stories of his grandfather and a childhood spent in the mountains of Umbria. He laughs out loud at the memory of maneuvering his grandfather’s favorite donkey, burdened with gardening supplies and enormous wicker wrapped jugs, some filled with olive oil and others with wine, through the tiny alleyways that connect the streets of poggio Capitone. The tales, some having grown a bit taller over their many years of retelling, continue as he cuts the dough into segments and runs each through the extruder to produce several 4-5 inch long snakelike strands. With deft fluidity, he rolls each strand back and forth, compressing every so lightly, to lengthen the noodle...and then thrusts it forward to release the “strangozzi” onto the counter.
Strangozzi, or tangled strings, are among the many “malfatti” or badly made pastas that are a staple of the Umbrian kitchen and which vary in execution from cook to cook. Some form them thick and fat, some longer and flatter, some roll each strand completely by hand, others use a rolling pin to form a sheet then roll the sheet up and use a knife to cut the sheet into strands. And to confuse matters more, some swear by the inclusion of eggs and oil, while others balk, saying only water and flour are “necessario” to form the best pasta. Moreover they vary in name! Strangozzi, Stringozzi, Strincozzi, Pici, Umbricelli, the list goes on. Regardless of name or creator, their imperfect form wholly belies the utter perfection by which they transport a rich sugo to the mouth.
Cont.../stories-cont.html
"He" is at his kitchen counter making pasta by hand. I watch, eager to learn... the same way he watched and learned from his grandfather who alone raised him... make the family pasta. I am struck by the calm that has transformed this man from avid thrill-seeker to contemplative pasta-historian.
When I’d first met him two years prior, he was a well regarded motorcycle test driver, riding the newest and fastest of racing bikes in a daily defiance of death that only the young seem able to fully muster. Then, the deepest set fear became reality when a near fatal crash left him to suffer 2 years of grueling rehabilitation and having to learn to walk again.
There is no pasta “machine”… only a small extruder, worn from years of use, clamped to the counter and his strong hands to work the dough. He combines powder white Italian OO flour (which gives the dough increased elasticity) with the all important semolina flour, a couple eggs, and a drizzle of olive oil. He works the mass into a smooth elastic dough, all the while recounting stories of his grandfather and a childhood spent in the mountains of Umbria. He laughs out loud at the memory of maneuvering his grandfather’s favorite donkey, burdened with gardening supplies and enormous wicker wrapped jugs, some filled with olive oil and others with wine, through the tiny alleyways that connect the streets of poggio Capitone. The tales, some having grown a bit taller over their many years of retelling, continue as he cuts the dough into segments and runs each through the extruder to produce several 4-5 inch long snakelike strands. With deft fluidity, he rolls each strand back and forth, compressing every so lightly, to lengthen the noodle...and then thrusts it forward to release the “strangozzi” onto the counter.
Strangozzi, or tangled strings, are among the many “malfatti” or badly made pastas that are a staple of the Umbrian kitchen and which vary in execution from cook to cook. Some form them thick and fat, some longer and flatter, some roll each strand completely by hand, others use a rolling pin to form a sheet then roll the sheet up and use a knife to cut the sheet into strands. And to confuse matters more, some swear by the inclusion of eggs and oil, while others balk, saying only water and flour are “necessario” to form the best pasta. Moreover they vary in name! Strangozzi, Stringozzi, Strincozzi, Pici, Umbricelli, the list goes on. Regardless of name or creator, their imperfect form wholly belies the utter perfection by which they transport a rich sugo to the mouth.
Cont.../stories-cont.html
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