In our fair windswept city, pasta is a given. It is a non-negotiable, it is as vital as trams, magics, black puffer jackets at the Tan and RM Williams boots in the MCC. From the most high-end, considered dishes, like Gimlet’s pipe rigate with blue swimmer crab, to the humble nostalgia of a gaping satellite dish full of Amatriciana under a Lygon Street gas heater, it is the food that informs our city’s movement and motives.
Pasta is a foodstuff with a near universal approval rating, fawned over by carb connoisseurs, and longed for by coeliacs. I approve of nearly anything in the pasta realm, and am not a traditionalist. One of my fondest formative food memories was working in a restaurant when I was 18, and an enterprising chef slipping me a bowl of a special he had dreamed up. Silky slithers of hand cut spaghettini gliding through a velvety lemon butter, studded with pearlescent pops of just-set Moreton Bay bug meat, and seasoned expertly with a dash of aged Vietnamese fish sauce. I’d never had my eyes opened like this before, and to this day, I am confounded and besotted by the simple, thoughtful gestures that can lift pasta to new heights. As I said, I approve of nearly anything. Except takeaway pasta.
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There is no bigger waste of money than purchasing takeaway pasta from a restaurant. A well made plate of pasta is about timing, harmony, and coagulation; it is about having each component arrive at its optimal state at the same time, achieving a sort of delirious harmony that is more than the sum of its parts. Take, for instance, the aforementioned Amatriciana, a traditional preparation so sacred that many Italians will consider war crimes against chefs who add anything other than pasta, tomato, occasionally onion, guanciale and pecorino to it. A dish this simple requires innate and thoughtful timing, so that by the time it reaches your table, every element sings truly.
The guanciale, properly rendered, variable expressions of crispy and chewy. The tomato, sweet and savoury, reduced just enough to enhance the umami of the fruit. The pasta, perfectly al dente, exuding enough starch to bring the dish together. It’s magic, it’s osmosis, it’s an artform unto itself. Now imagine slapping that magic into a plastic container, sealing it away to steam, soften and overcook, and lugging it on an illegally registered moped across town at peak hour. Sacrilege! (I will make a marginal exception for lasagne, but it is with great hesitation. There are just so many things that work better as a takeaway).
There is a better, more affordable way to prepare your pasta yourself, and it need not be a laborious, all day affair. Today, we present the first in an ongoing series: The CBF Cookbook. In this series we will examine the ways in which we can prepare restaurant-quality dishes at home, as quickly and efficiently as possible. If you or someone you know has ever spent $30+ on soggy, congealed cooked pasta, they need to read this.
The Essentials
The pantry staples that will ensure you’re always protected from the temptation of the delivery app.
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Reasonable quality dried pasta, in a few different shapes
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Extra virgin olive oil (preferably two types, a cheaper cooking oil, and a more luxurious finishing oil)
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Good salt and pepper
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Butter (You didn’t really think your pasta tasted that good without butter, did you?)
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Lemons
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Garlic
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Anchovies (jars of garlic or chilli marinated anchovies in particular are an excellent flavour shortcut for quick pastas)
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Salted smashed chillies (Calabrian is best)
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Stock powder (Half a teaspoon of stock powder when adding your pasta water to finish a dish is a an excellent way to shortcut flavour at the finishing stage, in particular in seafood or tomato-less pastas)
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A piece of parmesan or pecorino
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Fatty cured meats like italian salami, guanciale or streaky bacon (the fattier the better, as the oils that come out of these are almost as vital as the product itself)
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Good tinned tomatoes
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Good tomato paste
The Three Commandments of CBF Pasta
1. Cheap pasta is fine. But don’t skimp on the finishing touches
You can get away with using cheap supermarket grade dried pastas; Barilla, Vetta, Zafarelli, San Remo. I’d personally caution against supermarket own-branded pastas, but at the end of the day, part of the appeal of home cooked pasta is that it’s cheap. Of course, the better quality or expensive the pasta, the better it will taste. But the real magic comes in the adornment. Invest your culinary collateral instead in a good quality chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano; it will last for ages, and a little goes a long way. Failing that, pecorino is an able and, sometimes, preferable substitute. Last but not least, there is no substitute for a fragrant, grassy extra virgin olive oil, not only to aid in emulsification, but for finishing the final dish. Buy a small bottle of the best quality you can afford, and keep it aside to finish your pastas with. Liquid gold.
2. Reduction = expansion
I adore tinned tomatoes, and would go as far to say they are my favourite ingredient. While these tomatoes are already pre-cooked, the deep sweet and savoury complexities of the fruit are realised when they are further cooked down. It is important to remember that a vital step in cooking restaurant quality pasta at home is the mantecare method (more on that later), whereby the partially cooked pasta and starchy pasta water is introduced to the sauce in the pan, where it continues to cook in harmony. For this reason, your sauce needs to be over seasoned, and perhaps taste too intense, to accommodate for the addition of more water. The best way to do this is to heavily reduce the tomatoes to the point of caramelisation, and use deeply umami-rich ingredients like anchovies or tomato paste. In a pinch, the addition of any deep coloured and sugar rich condiment, like a chilli jam or tomato relish, can provide a shortcut to the flavour you are seeking.
3. Bachelor cooking made boujee, or how I learned to cook everything in one pan and clean as I go
Cooking for yourself is self care. It is meditation, it is character building, and more importantly, it is pleasurable. You can make it exactly the way you want it. For me, that means adding way too much chilli, and almost completely camouflaging the top of your pasta under freshly ground black pepper. One of the drawbacks of cooking is the mess, and when you’re cooking for yourself, tired and just want to eat, you will never be more tempted to fire up the delivery app. Here’s how I make the best quality pasta I can in the least amount of time.
Step 1: boil the kettle, and fill your sink with hot, soapy water.
Step 2. In a high sided fry pan, add just under a cup’s worth of water, a good pinch of salt, and put it directly onto a high heat to boil
Step 3. When kettle is boiled, add the boiling water into the now simmering frypan of water, and fill to around 75% of its capacity
Step 4. Add your pasta directly into the fry pan, and cook until a hard al dente, being careful not to let longer shapes like spaghetti hang out over the side, as they will burn
Step 5. While this is happening, prep your sauce. A personal favourite is a clove of garlic, two anchovies, a teaspoon of salted crushed chilli paste and a small shallot, or around a quarter of an onion. This is also a good opportunity to use up any vagrant veg remnants in your fridge. I particularly like broccoli stems, silverbeet and kale in this position. Around a cup of that, roughly chopped.
Step 6. Drain your pasta, making vitally sure you retain at least a cup of pasta water. Leave the par-cooked pasta in the colander, but toss it gently in some EVOO. This stops the pasta sticking, and aids in emulsification.
Step 7. Now, the action. Give the same hot frypan a quick wipe with a tea towel to dry it, and immediately get it back on the heat. Add a good glug of olive oil, and in go the aromatics; garlic anchovy, chilli, etc. This is also the stage where you would add guanciale, bacon etc if using them. This won’t take long, 30 seconds or so until fragrant, then add the chopped veg and colour slightly. Not too much, as we need to factor in the tomato, and we don’t want anything overcooked.
Step 8. Add a tin of tomatoes and reduce for about 3-4 minutes, using a fork or your wooden spoon to crush your tomatoes down. I find that waiting until the tomatoes are crushed and mixed through into a more even sauce is the optimum time to season. Have a taste; if the tomatoes are no good, it may need a cheeky pinch of sugar. If the anchovies have’t delivered on their end of the bargain, more salt must be added. If something’s off and you’re not sure what, a squeeze of lemon or capful of vinegar is probably the answer. Now is also the optimum time to add fresh or dried herbs, or anything else you may desire. I’m particularly fond of adding a tin of Sirena tuna in olive oil at this stage, or a handful of your favourite olives. It’s important to remember that you will be adding the pasta and more water to this sauce, so it must be overseasoned at this stage to make sure it tastes good at the final stage.
Step 9. When the tomatoes have tightened up and thickened, add the par cooked pasta, and immediately mix through. Once mixed, add the pasta water, enough to loosen things slightly, but be careful not to overdo it. Now, using the mantecare method, flip your pasta through the frypan to emulsify and combine silkily. If feeling particularly fragile, a tablespoon of butter at this stage never hurt anybody.
Step 10. I like to pre-warm my bowl using water from the kettle. Drain off and dry, and plate up your pasta, flipping til the last minute to maintain gloss. Dump the frypan and any cooking implements, chopping board etc into the pre prepared hot soapy water, and wipe down your bench. There should be no signs of a struggle. Start to finish, this should take no longer than 15 minutes.
Now, the adornment; fresh soft herbs, grated cheese, lemon zest, breadcrumbs, anything is permissible, but a good drizzle of extra virgin olive oil is mandatory. Eat in your most comfortable clothes, watching your most comforting show.
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