I know how it is.
But, alas, this was not the case today. Because at roughly 3:30 this afternoon I managed to find a package of pancetta in the back of the freezer. Well, it wasn't quite pancetta. It was bacon. But if you slice it just so and squint while eating it -- there you go -- it's practically the same thing. I settled on Marcella Hazan's Carbonara Sauce recipe, and, of course it calls for white wine. I could have swore that I drank the lot of it two days ago, but I somehow managed to conjure up a quarter cup -- exactly. Yippee!! (I'm not a lush after all. Shall we have a drink to celebrate?)
I have done a number of carbonara recipes over the years, but (oddly) this was the first time I tried Ms. Hazan's. I generally opt for the one in my Saveur Authentic Italian cookbook, or the one in Michelle Scicolone's 1000 Italian Recipes, the latter being my best and favorite when it comes to all things Italian. But this was a nice change of pace, really. And Marcella Hazan's recipe is completely worth the trouble. What I actually mean by trouble is deciding whether or not to toss that last bit of wine into your pan instead of into your glass. Anyway, all of her recipes are simple (well, those that I've done anyway), and so incredibly good. She seems to rely mostly on good ingredients and letting them cook as long as they need. (A perfect example of this is her bolognese sauce. You could start making it, go out and have a bite, come home and still have hours to go.) I do always laugh at the fact though that she seems to think her general audience is a bunch of blockheads. Her writing style, while quite nice, is incredibly condescending and she will mock you for doing anything except the way she tells you to do it. This includes opting for a pasta shape other than the one she suggests. For instance, in tonight's Carbonara Sauce: 'It is difficult to imagine serving carbonara on anything but spaghetti.' It makes me like her all the more, but it also makes me want to disobey and choose penne (or anything else) that would make her turn her Venetian nose high up in the air. Because really, it isn't actually that difficult to imagine. She also orders you to remove the garlic and then toss it out once it has browned and turned mouth-wateringly yummy. I'm sorry, but I simply cannot do this step. It goes against my nature to toss out gorgeous garlic that has been cooked to perfection. And so, because of this, I always leave it in the pan and pretend that I threw it away. 'Oh, whoops! Where did that come from?! Er, how very odd to find it on my plate!'
And so, while Michael and Emilia ran around in the backyard (he still in his suit from work with his natty new green tie, and she with her Mary Poppins umbrella), Leo in his bouncy seat in the kitchen, yelling at me for his nightly airing of grievances, and Governor hovering right underneath my feet hoping a slice of seasoned meat and/or cheese would land on top his little head, this is what I made.
Fast forward about 30-45 minutes later, Leo is in his bed, and Emilia is belting out as loudly as she possibly can, the words for Three Blind Mice. I grew up with this nursery rhyme, which is why I was not surprised in the least to see it in Beatrix Potter's Cecily Parsley's Nursery Rhymes. Michael, on the other hand, was flabbergasted. And as I sat and corrected Emilia with the words, (No, no, no, not putcher knife, it's butcher knife... She cuts of their tails with a butcher knife. See? Although Beatrix Potter actually says carving knife. You can use whichever you want, really.') Michael was mildy surprised. 'Hmmm, well, I guess the reason I have never heard it is because I did not come from a violent family...blah....blah...blah...words...words...words... (insert whichever holier than thou things you'd prefer).' But really, can the man be serious? He has never heard of Three Blind Mice, yet he is totally down with horrifying the crap out of all of us with March of the Wooden Soldiers every Christmas. I'm sorry, but that mouse is freaky and clearly not right. And neither is that stupid Honey Badger which he has also taken a fancy to these days. But I digress...
Spaghetti with Carbonara Sauce
1/2 pound pancetta, cut as a single 1/2-inch-thick slice, or its equivalent in a good slab of bacon
4 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup dry white wine
2 large eggs
1/4 cup freshly grated romano cheese
1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese
black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
1 1/4 pounds pasta
Cut the pancetta into strips 1/4-inch wide. Lightly mash the garlic cloves with the back of your knife and remove their papers. Put the garlic and olive oil in small pan and cook over medium-high heat. Saute until the garlic is a nice shade of gold. Remove the garlic and discard (if you are a crazy person...).
Put the pancetta in the pan and cook until they begin to crisp up around the edges. Add the wine and let it all bubble up for a minute or two. Then, off the heat.
Break the 2 eggs into the bowl in which you will be serving your lovely spaghetti. Beat them lightly with a fork, and then add the cheese, a big grinding of pepper, and the parsley. Mix thoroughly.
Meanwhile, cook your pasta. Once cooked, drain and then add it to the serving bowl, tossing rapidly. Quickly reheat the pancetta over high heat, and then pour out the entire contents of the pan into the bowl of pasta. Toss well and serve. Recipe from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan. Alfred A. Knopf, 2008.)
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