It makes it seem a very simple affair – 200g plain flour ('00' for preference, as the fine texture gives it a silky texture) is mixed with a pinch of salt, and then 2 lightly beaten eggs. Basic recipeīefore attending Signora Lo Conte's masterclass, I've always relied on the recipe in the Silver Spoon, the English version of Italy's most famous cookbook, for pasta. As Giulana Lo Conte, who has been making her own pasta since she was six, and whose family business supplies Carluccio's, explains to me, it's "a skill you will keep with you for life". Good dry pasta is widely available these days, as long as you're prepared to spend a bit more than you would on the budget varieties, but, with a little practice, you can produce your own fresh stuff which will knock the socks off anything from the supermarket – a product which, as Locatelli says, has "real personality". Fresh egg pasta gets its 'bite' from the egg proteins, and is traditionally served with the butter, cream and rich meat dishes of the north, while dried pasta generally pairs better with the olive oil and tomato recipes of the south. You wouldn't use a waxy potato for baking, for the same reason an Italian wouldn't serve dried spaghetti with a game ragu – it doesn't work.
But the idea of making our own is still entirely foreign to most of the nation.ĭried pasta and fresh egg pasta are two different beasts.
These days we know our pappardelle from our penne, and we're beginning to get the concept of different shapes for different sauces, although we're still more likely to reach for whatever's in the cupboard come Sunday evening, and if it's bow ties and pesto, then so be it. Despite a lingering fondness for "hoops", even Britain has embraced proper pasta in recent years. Garibaldi relied on the power of macaroni to unite Italy, Sophia Loren famously claimed she owed her voluptuous figure to spaghetti, and chef Giorgio Locatelli reckons every Italian is two-thirds pasta. How had it lasted so long, we wondered? A person who could digest wheat, and yet didn't appreciate pasta – well, that was clearly never going to work. "He didn't like pasta." There was a silence, followed by an explosion of incredulity. C ommiserating with a friend recently over a break-up, we ran dutifully through her ex's faults – his insensitivity, his collection of three-quarter length trousers – and then, becoming increasingly worked up, she dropped a bombshell.
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