Fresh Fettuccine and a Pasta Class Recipe
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of taking a pasta making class with Peter Ciuffa, the owner and operator of an artisanal pasta line sold in Vancouver called Pasta Famiglia. Peter grew up in an Italian family, so pasta is in his blood. However, he has also finessed his pasta-making abilities by working with some of the best Italian chefs and restauranteurs in the trade. Homemade pasta can be a trial to figure out from a cookbook, so why not get an Italian pastaio to show you the way?
I learned a few things I that gave me a smooth, satiny and supple dough that I was looking for–a stark contrast to the hockey pucks I’ve created on previous solo attempts. I won’t give away all of Peter’s secrets–for that you will need to take his class–but here is the gist.
The class was offered in a brighty lit and airy studio on the West Side, with a huge island in the kitchen that accommodated the six pasta makers that comprised our group. We slowly warmed up to the task with some easy banter over a bottle of red wine, which one of the participants kindly brought to share. It has been many years since I’ve taken a cooking class of any sort, and I found myself wondering why I didn’t do this more often. It was a fun and different way to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon.
First, you need one egg per person, per 100 grams of flour. You need a bit of salt and might need some water. I learned that you must start with good eggs, preferably organic, or at least free range. Brighter yolks create a richly golden pasta and a superior flavour.
Peter taught us to start the dough in a mixing bowl. It’s less messy and easier than trying to clean sticky flour off a counter or wooden board. You start by making a well in the centre of the flour, where you plop your eggs and start whisking them with a fork like you’re scrambling eggs, slowly incorporating flour from the edges of the bowl. I found that my dough was more crumbly and drier than the others’, so I patted it with wet hands, which was just enough water to bring the clumps together. Peter told us to get ready for at least twenty minutes of kneading.
With everyone engaged in the surprisingly meditative and easy rhythm of pasta kneading, Peter began to pepper his lesson with Italian culinary history and anecdotes about his family, replete with the appropriate Italian accent, of course. He did this really well considering he is a highly trained and accomplished actor. The entertainment alone was worth the price of admission.
After we all brought our dough to the desired state, Peter showed us how to put it through the pasta machine, along with a lesson on the best type of machine to get and where to purchase it. Some of us put our pasta dough through the machine to initially flatten it, and then cut it by hand into pappardelle and lasagna sheets, while others, like myself, used the machine to make fettuccine or angel hair. I can tell you I was thrilled to bits watching my little slabs of dough come out of that machine in perfect, long, silky noodles, and got my first real inkling why taking the time to make pasta from scratch is so satisfying.
Peter also taught us how to make a rustic sugo–a tomato sauce from strained tomatoes folded into parsley and garlic and heated in olive oil for a simple yet authentic Italian country dish. He tossed it with the pasta he’d made and served it to us at the conclusion of a three-hour class full of laughs and good learning.
As soon as I bit into my fettuccine I understood why I might want to spend a weekend afternoon at home, tiring my arm out kneading pasta dough and cranking it through a machine. The texture was incredibly light and gently springy, with a smooth hint of salt and egg yolk–so much better than fresh pasta I’ve bought at the store. That evening I happened to have invited to company to dinner and they were equally impressed.