That’s using the old noodle
Wednesday, August 25th, 2010
What do you do when you have an over-caffeinated Sunday afternoon with a new packet of flour, three eggs, a pinch of salt and mechanical contraption that looks like a mini ye-olde-clothes wringer?
It’s a romantic notion to do things the old fashioned way, and like baking, the crafting pasta from scratch is one of those primitive processes kitchens of the world have been doing since grain was ground. Only once you have toiled, with hours under kneaded dough, can you appreciate just how much work goes into transforming a few basic essentials into a pure staple.
We impetuously jumped into pasta all’uovo or egg pasta on a flour plumed sunday afternoon. Recipes are somewhat varied from source to source, but should a resulting dough be too firm–add water or too moist–add flour. It’s a basic rule for those at the beginning of our pasta making lives. Of course, that took us a while to figure out.
We started with 3 1/2 cups ‘00′ grade flour, 3 eggs and a pinch of salt. Blended in an industrial sized barrel (or just mixed it by hand like we should have). Kneaded in a usual fashion, and let it rest for 20min in a film of plastic.
Much to my surprise, the rolling of pasta is not just a matter of placing a lump on the top of the machine and cranking like a yachtsman.
No magical transformation will occur, and no glorious ribbons of golden delight will dangle out the bottom. Instructionless and proud, I asserted there was a mechanical fault with the pasta roller.
My partner was the one who — approaches all machines with an eye of caution — decided to read out the instructions.
Step 1. Roll pasta on number 1 setting. Repeat.
Step 2. Fold and roll on 2 setting. Repeat.
Step 3. Fold and roll on 3 setting. Repeat.
And so on and so forth, torturously until number 9 is reached, by which we’re looking at a membranously thin sheet of pasta.
It was then time to extract those long awaited golden ribbons. They writhed as we wrung them out — worms on a jarrah table. We hung them up to dry from the ceiling light from chopsticks like some bizarre food inspired chandelier.
Cooking fresh pasta is not long affair. My brother, following Stephanie Alexander to the tee, made an excellent Basil Pesto. It was a pity, but being so fresh, the flavour of the pine nuts, parmesan and basil had yet to fester in the bowl to full power. But cooked pasta waits for nobody, and in less than 3 minutes, it was drained and tossed with only (the pesto), cream, pepper and finished with EVOO.
As a first attempt I’d rate 5.5/10. Aside from the table-thumping cries of a hungry family, handmade pasta takes timely skill. It’s something to do like the coddled eggs, where you know you can get pretty close in half the time, but there ain’t no substitute for using the old noodle.
