Pasta perfect

As winter begins imperceptibly to yield to spring, I’m filled with a sense of urgency to make the most of my ‘winter kitchen’. Soon, both the smoker and the massive pot that cooks the leg of ham will be put away for the year. And the pasta machine will have to be unclamped and stored in its box. Through much of the year, when it’s far too humid and hot for pasta-making at home to be a pleasure, I make do with what’s there on restaurant menus. But in winter, I’m no longer compelled to order the heavy, sauce-drenched interpretations that often feature in the filled pasta sections. Depending on what’s in season, my mood or the occasion, I create different combinations of taste and texture — highlighting one seasonal ingredient, assembling a subtly seasoned dish for a light lunch with friends or a rich, luxe preparation that’s fit for a celebratory dinner.

So while the cool dry weather still holds, I’m caught in a frenzy of pasta-making — ravioli, tortellini, pansotti and other filled pasta, delicate packages of exciting flavours lightly brushed with subtle sauces.

In winter, the flower beds in our Kalimpong home are bare of blossoms, but at their borders herbs grow in profusion — spiky rosemary, star-like marjoram, velvety sage and the ubiquitous, chives and thyme. Returning from visits at this time of year, our luggage is an assortment of local produce, including all these herbs carefully stored between sheets of newsprint.

The herbs provide an exciting range of seasonings both for fillings and sauces. But my favourite is to crisp a handful — marjoram or sage do excellently here — in butter and olive oil and use this golden, green-speckled sauce to dress square parcels stuffed with pumpkin puree, sprinkled with toasted pumpkin seeds or goats’ cheese. A rosemary butter sauce is perfect when paired with ravioli filled with leftover hummus refreshed with parmesan. Add crisped bacon to the stuffing and you take the dish to another level.

A box of tiny, speckled quail’s eggs put me in the mood for plump round cushions of ravioli, each filled with a single yolk, embedded in chives-scented ricotta and served with a smear of creamy, garlic-flecked dressing. Prawns — especially the large-headed ones, referred to as galda chingri in Bengal — are perfect for tortellini. Use the meat, seasoned with parsley, for the filling, and make a gourmet sauce with the coral of prawn heads, a smidgeon of garlicky cream and white wine. When plating, I spritz it with gandhoraj lime for its fresh fragrance and acidic hit.

The char-grilled red pepper sweetness and smoked paprika heat of the Catalonian Romesco sauce cries out to be used with pasta too. Pretty triangles of pansotti packed with smoked Bandel cheese (from the former Portuguese colony, near Kolkata) mashed up with basil and extra-virgin olive oil partner beautifully with it.

Several websites, such as jamieoliver.com, offer excellent guidance on making pasta dough (also see recipe box for basic steps). I’d say a pasta machine is a wise investment. I bought mine (of Italian make) 15 years ago at Siliguri’s infamous Hong Kong Market (a place where you can buy anything from around the globe provided you aren’t fussy about provenance!) and it continues to give me great service. A more recent buy, my food processor, has also simplified pasta-making — no more kneading by hand, the machine does it in minutes.

I don’t claim that making pasta at home is a hassle-free, spur-of-the-moment activity. It takes planning and you can’t rush it. Once you’ve got the hang of it though, it’s not tough to do, and the results are so eminently satisfying that I find it well worth the time and effort.

Along the way, through a number of unhappy experiences and some outright disasters, I’ve picked up a few simple rules. The standard measure for dough is one egg for every 100gm of flour. But because the eggs we get are smaller than those in the West, I add an extra egg for every two eggs. Many chefs don’t add oil or water to the dough, but I find a good slug of olive oil is a must. Resting the dough in the fridge is critical. So too is running it four to five times through the widest setting before gradually reducing the gap to make the sheet thinner. Use small portions of dough at a time (wrap the rest tightly in cling film to prevent drying). Those impressively long sheets of pasta are hellish to manage, and unless you’re a real pro they will tear, bunch up and dry out.

Your work surface needs to be generously dusted with flour at all times otherwise the sheets will stick and tear, ruining all your hard work. At the same time you don’t want to coat the cases with flour which makes for tough pasta. I find using a sieve to dust the surface is a good solution to achieving that balance of covering the work table evenly and lightly.

Make sure you seal the edges of the pasta by brushing the area around the filling with water. Equally important, seal the filling by pressing around it so there’s no air trapped.

The water should be at a rollicking boil and the pot should be a large one. Cook no more than four filled pasta at a time so they have lots of room and come up to the surface only when cooked adequately (three odd minutes)

Since you’re taking the trouble and time to make pasta, make a big lot at one go and freeze what you won’t use. Filled pasta freezes well and all you need to do later is make the sauce. Dust a tray with maize flour (makai ka atta) or polenta. Place cooked pasta, making sure they don’t touch each other and stash the tray in the freezer. Once frozen, store in freezer bags or airtight boxes. Cook as you would fresh pasta but a little bit longer.

In pasta-making, practice really does pay off. So even if you have a few disasters initially, stick with it. Your perseverance will pay and soon your pasta will wow family and friends.

Arundhati Ray is a Kolkata-based food writer

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