Tortelli alla maremmana, a choreography
dancing on my own; dancing with you in the kitchen, making pasta
I moved into a new flat with L. The first few days unfolded with pot noodle meals and take-away orders eaten on cardboard boxes, building furniture and chipping a few cups along the way. I took the wrong Tube home once and I must think twice every time I exit the overground station: we live in a new neighbourhood. I met Gino (he also moved to London seven years ago) and I long to nod at people. Patience, I repeated to myself, until we found it again – olive green, analogue – our old radio at the bottom of a miscellaneous box. L. plugged the radio, settled on Heart 90s, and there she stood: our kitchen. The first full meal we cooked was a mending, one-pot creamy orzo (grated courgettes, oat cream and Parmesan cheese). It’s been an inward week, the sky low under the weight of snowflakes outside while I dedicated my evenings to finding a place for all the stuff I’ve accumulated over the years; looking back to move forward. Still, the music blasted and one evening I chopped vegetables for friends again – roasted, served with couscous and a tahini topping.
for the vegetables:
carrots, peeled and cut lengthwise
parsnip, cubed
red pepper, halved and sliced
onion, thinly sliced
broccoli, roughly chopped
paprika, turmeric, salt and pepper
(veggies to be amended to your taste)
Preheat the oven to 200C. Throw all the vegetables in a baking tray and drizzle olive oil on top. Slide the dish in the oven and cook the vegetables (we did 30 minutes for a crispy result that pleased the crowd over here).
for the couscous (ratio for two):
120g couscous
120ml broth
paprika, salt and pepper
Bring some broth to the boil, simmer. Once the liquid is flavoursome enough to your taste, pour the couscous into a heat-proofed bowl and add the broth. Cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and leave it aside for 7 to 10 minutes. Once the couscous is rehydrated (when the water has been soaked), fluff the couscous with a fork and season with paprika, salt and pepper.
for the tahini sauce:
tahini
garlic, grated
Greek basil, roughly chopped
ice-cold water
paprika
salt
In a cup, pour in all the ingredients and beat vigorously with a fork until you’ll obtain a homogeneous sauce. The water is key so add the element last and slowly, dripping until you reach the thickness wanted.
Tap, tap your feet; knead knead a dough
I put on black tights, turquoise flowers patched on them, a black skirt. There is a buzz in my ears, a wind of eventualities and the promise of movements; a wave, boom, I dance. I dance to find myself – a pursuit, a selfish quest that maps a crowd, I’m dancing with myself. I’m inviting you to dance with me in the kitchen, and we’re making pasta.
Dance v 1 move the feet and body rhythmically in time to music. 2 perform (a particular dance). 3 skip or leap. 4 move rhythmically. n 5 series of steps and movements in time to music. 6 social meeting arranged for dancing. dancer n
Pasta making, a series of steps and movements; me, moving in time to music; a dancer, a cook.
We’re making tortelli alla maremmana. Originally from the Tuscan coastal region of Maremma, this pasta has the shape of large ravioli filled with chard and ricotta (and a grind of nutmeg if you’d like). This recipe is adapted from a cookbook I bought from a second-hand books stall at the market in Livorno (remember Maurizio?), and that I learnt to love. It’s the most confusing cookbook I have ever owned. No measurements, rants and digressions, it reads like home.
Some of my favourite tips from this book:
- the list of beans pairing like herring, oil, pepper and lemon; sardines nantaises, oil, salt and pepper, lemon; salted cavolo nero, black and white pepper, lemon;
- the beautiful illustrations of knife blades and pasta shapes and charts with the dish names that vary across Tuscan regions;
- Tuscan cuisine is the only one that traditionally uses the beetroot leaves more than the actual beetroot in recipes (I haven’t checked this fact), and beetroot leaves taste stronger after a night of frost;
I digress, let’s cook.
for the dough:
500g 00 flour
4 eggs
almond milk (unsweetened)
On a wooden surface, make a volcano with the flour and dig a hole in the middle. Crack two eggs and start kneading. Add the extra eggs and almond milk as you go. You won’t need much milk, two spoons or so, as the purpose is to give the dough a velvet touch. Once you have a homogenous dough, make a ball and leave it to rest under an upside-down bowl for 30 minutes.
for the filling:
250g ricotta
1 egg
1 bunch of chard, stems removed and boiled (and squeezed well)
nutmeg, grated
Parmesan cheese, grated
black pepper
In a bowl, mix all the above ingredients. You can add a pinch of flour if the preparation is watery. Leave aside.
I read that there are two alternative recipes: one with nettle instead of chard, and one with mixed herbs and sheep’s cheese.
for the sauce:
cherry tomatoes, roughly chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 peperoncino, thinly sliced
Greek basil, roughly chopped
In a large pan (preferably one with high edges and a lid so you’ll be able to cook the pasta in the same pan), heat some olive oil and throw the garlic cloves. Cook for 1 or 2 minutes, then add the cherry tomatoes and Greek basil. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer. You can splash some boiling water if the sauce dries out too fast.
Time to shape the tortelli. Divide the dough into smaller bits and flatten each one of them with a rolling pin.
Hum, sing, move your hips; pass the dough through the pasta machine. You are looking for large sheets of dough, which means that you’ll need to fold the sheets. Start on the largest setting (7 on mine) and pass the dough until you have a homogeneous dough. On a wooden surface, fold the dough with a rolling pin, and return to the pasta machine. Pass as many times as you need until you obtain the right thickness (5 on my machine). You’ll need the dough to be strong enough to hold the filling (tortelli are robust!).
Lay out each pasta sheet and spoon some of the filling towards the bottom of the dough sheet. You need to leave enough space at the top to fold it in two. I worked with 5-6 cm long tortelli, but I’m told they can be as big as 14x7 square centimetres.
The tomato sauce had released enough water to cook the tortelli directly in it (with a small top up of boiling water). Turn up the heat, place the tortelli in the sauce and cook for a few minutes on each side. The result was delicate, a nice bounce against the chewy pasta.
A disclaimer: I like mine with a bite, but if that’s not your thing, you can cook the pasta in boiling water for 3 minutes or so before swirling them around the sauce for another minute.
It’s likely you’ll have some leftover dough. This is a good excuse to try something new: I made short Mafaldine because I find them delicious in a thick tomato soup. Cover the leftover pasta with plenty of flour and store them in the fridge until you’re ready for another meal (careful with preserving time; this dough has raw eggs).
I keep dancing on my own, but I'll flirt with you too. If you’d like to make pasta with me.
Margaux
P.S. my debut novel, The Yellow Kitchen, is now available in paperback. And it fits in most coat pockets! If you like the look of it, you can get a copy here, or from your favourite bookshop.