The other day, I read a long and detailed recipe for ravioli filled with paté-like meat and served with reduced meat glaze. It was so detailed, and in such small handwriting, that – like a novel with many characters and a complex plot – I had to keep doubling back to remind myself what had happened. Recipe and reading felt like hard work. Until the last line, which was like a skip, and suggested that any scraps from the ravioli should be boiled, tossed with butter and parmesan, and eaten by the cook immediately.
I was sitting at my desk with a hot-water bottle on my lap, and my mouth watered. Not for the ravioli, but for the scraps and offcuts – the maltagliati, or “badly cut bits” – some thicker than others, because they had folded or twisted, making them even better collectors of butter and grated parmesan. Sadly, however, eating ravioli scraps immediately involves making ravioli in the first place, and I wasn’t about to do that at 11.45am on a Tuesday (or ever, in the case of this particular recipe), but I did have a polystyrene tray of fresh fettuccine in the freezer (which doesn’t need defrosting), so I put on a pan of water to boil and got out the grater.
Taken to an extreme – that is, 200g raw unsalted butter and 450g 24-month grated parmesan for every 450g pasta – fettuccine Alfredo, or simply Alfredo, as served at the Roman restaurant Alfredo alla Scrofa on Via della Scrofa, is quite something. Oretta Zanini di Vita and the American writer Maureen Fant have a version (directly from the restaurant, apparently) in their book Sauces & Shapes: Pasta the Italian Way. They warn against taking too many liberties with the quantities, or the consistency won’t be right. My version, prompted by the scraps, is not Alfredo. It is fettuccine (or tagliatelle) with butter and parmesan. It is also inspired by my landlady Giuliana, who is convinced that no pasta with cheese and fat (cacio e pepe, parmesan and butter, or guanciale and pecorino) needs to involve a technique. Simply put them in a bowl and – she mimes two forks, moving her arms up and down energetically – giri, giri, giri, turn, turn, turn.
For each person, I suggest 150g fresh fettuccine, tagliatelle or ravioli scraps (or 110g dried), 25g butter, two heaped tablespoons (about 30g) of grated parmesan and lots of black pepper. Having mentioned the beauty and relief of a simple instruction (and my neighbour’s advice), I hope I am not undoing that by writing more than one sentence – or, indeed, by offering a variation with the second method that involves a frying pan.
Butter and parmesan are circular foods, I think. What I mean by that is their complex fatty nature and full flavour makes them hang on and go round in your mouth in the most satisfying way, even when you eat fast. Even more so if they are clinging to long ribbons of pasta, which is something they do well. What’s more, while they both melt, the crystalline nature of parmesan keeps things slightly gritty, which is alway a good thing. Happy New Year!
Fettuccine with butter and parmesan
Prep 2 min
Cook 10 min
Serves 2
300g fresh fettuccine or tagliatelle, or 220g dried
50g butter
4 tbsp grated parmesan
Black pepper
Method 1
While the pasta is cooking in salted water, cube the butter, divide it between two warm bowls and mash it a bit. When the pasta is ready, drain, divide it between the bowls and toss. Divide the parmesan between the bowls, grind over some pepper and use two forks to toss.
Method 2
While the pasta is cooking in salted water, melt the butter in a frying pan. When the pasta is ready, drain and tip it into the frying pan, tossing so that each ribbon is glistening. Divide between two bowls, top each with two tablespoons of grated parmesan and plenty of freshly cracked black pepper, toss again and eat.
