Nero di Seppia

Had a hankerin' for squid ink pasta, so I decided to give it a go.

The recipe is as simple as can be, just add a tiny packet of squid ink into the mix of eggs, semolina and olive oil.  Salt isn't necessary, as the ink is pretty salty on it's own.

The thing about making pasta is that it isn't hard at all.  It just takes an understanding of the right feel of the dough, and the desire to actually make it, which can take quite a while.

A few things I learned this time around:

Run the pasta through the pasta maker, lightly 'puff puff' with flour (does that make sense?), and tangle immediately into nests.  I had been advised to let the pasta hang and dry out a bit before making the nests, but as the consistency of my dough was already, well, perfect (la la la), there was no risk of the nests turning into jumbled, gooey blobs.  If I let it dry more than a few minutes, it would crack when I tried to tangle it.  So.

I finished the pasta up and almost immediately set a little water on to boil.  I couldn't wait to see how it was, if it had actually worked.  Chopped up some marinated squid, and tossed it in a pan with a little reduced wine, shallots, capers, lemon juice and butter.  Prezzemolo over the top, and when FL came home, cosi sporco from a long, cold day at work, I presented him with a gorgeous plate of black linguine, little white squid tentacles waving bravely out of the tangles of the nest, the perfume of salt and sea and vibrant green parsley steaming up.  He deemed it delicious, just perfect, and though I believed him, FL is not exactly my harshest critic.  Before I could hide the evidence of my experiment, in came papa bear, Giorgio.

He is nothing if not the strong, silent type, and tends to eat his lunch and dinner with merely a grunt of approval or distaste, depending on how suitable he finds the meal.  Giorgio walked directly over to the pan of linguine and lifted the lid.

"Porco dio!" he exclaimed, "You actually made squid ink linguine!"

He scooped up the remainder of the linguine and rambled back to his seat.  FL, Paola, Middle Brother Matteo and myself all paused to watch the first bite.

Giorgio chewed and chuckled.  "Cavolo, everything this girl touches turns to gold.  You could sell this!"

I smiled modestly and FL beamed.  Il Nido the pasta company seems like not such a bad idea.
 


Now that the weather is pleasant I have been walking the mountain every day.  The "fire road", as it would be called in Marietta, runs at a straight 45* incline for a few kilometers, and then hits a real hike at the final peak, which is practically, at least to my sweat-bleary eyes, about a kilometer at 80*.  A really awesome work out, and with my head phones in at a fast pace I feel exalted when I hit the top.  There I am every day after lunch, powering up the mountain, throat raw and heart pounding, totally in the zone, and it has been several weeks that I pass the same two ladies getting their afternoon workout the exact same way.  These ladies, however, are about 80 years old, and nuns to boot.  So while I am there, all of 25, in running shorts with an ipod strapped to my arm, there are these sweet tiny nuns, hiking the same hills in habits, a tiny black umbrella to ward off the sun, their 80 year old bodies functioning at a fitness level that I probably will never reach.

After several weeks of passing each other on a daily basis, smiling and waving, the smaller of the two flagged me down, and asked me my name.  I told her Eleonora, cause it's simpler that way, and explained that I was American (which always gets "oooh, really"s) and was living here with my moroso, Friulano for fidanzato, Italian for...serious boyfriend.  They wished me good luck, and we went on our way.  Two days later, we saw each other again.

"Eleonora!" the little one cried as we passed.  "Eleonora, I only remembered afterward- the day we met, the day you told us your name, was the day of Sant'Eleonora!  I thought it was so lovely to have met you on your special day!"

God, I loved this.  Grinned from ear to ear, my heart fluttered a bit.


Sunday is FL's birthday.  He has requested a grand brunch (piles of egg-in-a-holes!) and bloody marys.  Am off right now to pick up some flowers and blue paper to make a banner.