il nido

"Il nido" means nest in Italian...i nidi plural.  I love this word.  I got to thinking about nests, dreaming about nests, taking note of my desire to "nest" and what that means, considering the intricacy and beauty of nests, etc.  Saw one high up in a tree at Bosc di Sot this weekend, and I took it as a good sign.  Then I got the inkling to make pasta.  The most beautiful pasta, I think, comes in a nest.  It could be linguine or spaghetti or angel hair, just tossed into a beautiful nido as it dries.  Dry, it is fragile and swirly, and seems as purposely tangled as elegantly wind-blown hair.  Cooked, it becomes soft, and supple, fluid, still swirly.  And then, even after all the trauma of a rapid boil, when set in a bowl, sauced and seasoned as it may be, it is still a nest.  What is more comforting then a piping hot nest of spaghetti?

Nests make me think of Easter colors, baby blues and soft greys and buttercup yellows, and of sweet song birds.  Nests make me tranquil and hungry, as what is actually done in a nest?  Sleeping and eating.  And waiting around blissed out in a polka dotted shell till it's time to be born.  It's a utopia, or at least it seems that way to me.

So it is Monday afternoon, and I am making nests.  Linguine, to be specific.

 The first step is fairly simple...as long as you do it right.  3 eggs dropped into the well dug into the center of a mountain of 300g of semolina flour.  Salt and olive oil, and I popped in a little pinch of nutmeg and cinnamon.  Whisk, but be sure not to lose your mountain!  Slowly incorporate the flour into the beaten eggs, allowing the mountain to implode upon itself.  Once it is well incorporated, kneed.  And kneed and kneed and kneed.

Then make a ball, and allow to sit, covered, for half an hour.  Once it has sat and risen a bit it should be firm and elastic.

Roll it out, cut into strips, and slide into the pasta  maker.

These flattened sheets then go right into the setting marked "linguine" (or the one that makes thin, flat noodles).

Well floured and hung up to dry, after an hour they will be ready to be tossed into nests.

The pasta can be cooked fresh after an hour, or sealed and kept in the refrigerator (up to three days) or the freezer (a month).  If left to dry out completely, about 24 hours, the pasta will take on the consistency of that found in stores, and can be kept in the pantry, in an airtight container, for several months.  The key is allowing enough time for the pasta to dry, so that mold is avoided.

The reason I slipped nutmeg and cinnamon into the linguine is because tonight, Paola, FL's mom, is going to make ragu'.  I love a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg in my ragu' but Paola would have a fit if I tried to slip some into her sauce.  So I hid my secret ingredient right inside the noodle.  Pretty brilliant, huh?

I plan on making pasta again tomorrow...maybe with a little saffron or red pepper...and if it dries right I am going to send it to my friend Jane, in Philly.  If it get there ok, if she cooks it and says that it is fresh and perfect, the little nidi undamaged...then who knows?  Maybe i'll send you some someday.